Siliva Havili, 178 centimetres by 104 kilograms of island-forged granite, eyeballs Junior Paulo from across the way.
Paulo stands half a head taller, and 20-odd kilograms heavier, but Havili slowly and surely marches towards him.
Teammates behind both players stalk back and forth, eyes rolling deep, cheeks flaring and the air vibrating.
Solomone Kata is every chance of spontaneously combusting. The same goes for the 18,000-plus fans crammed into Waikato Stadium.
Then, between one of the most incredible displays of passion on a rugby league field and belting the tripe out of each other, Tongan and Samoan players pause for a moment. And applaud each other.
“Leading that Sipi Tau [in 2017], I’m sure Junior Paulo feels the same, it was such an honour,” Havili says.
“It’s one of the proudest moments of my career. That scene from back then, at the time there was a lot going on in New Zealand.
“There was a lot of trouble on the streets between the two nations.
“So for us to come together and do the Sipi Tau the way that we did, it was heart-warming just to show that unity; that we could rise above some of the petty stuff.
“We might’ve been about to go to war against each other on the field, but in those war dances, there was unity.”
A global pandemic and paucity of international footy has seen the great Pacific rivals clash only once since those spine-tingling scenes at the 2017 World Cup.
Almost five years to the day, Tonga and Samoa meet again (Monday 1.30am AEDT), a small constellation of Samoan stars, following the lead of Jason Taumalolo, and Tongan co. playing for their island heritage.
The crowd that day in Hamilton did eventually combust after full-time, repeating the violence that plagued Tongan games throughout the 2017 tournament, spawning dozens of arrests and ugly social media footage.
Paulo, Jarome Luai and Brian To’o are just some of the Pasifika stars to speak out against gang violence in western Sydney since, the trio featuring in a NSW police campaign this year.
John Asiata, the former North Queensland star who now plays with English club Leigh, straddles the Tongan-Samoan rivalry like few others, becoming the second player to represent both nations after Jorge Taufua.
More than once, he has found himself physically shaking when performing the Samoan Siva Tau and Tonga’s Sipi Tau.
He has Taumololo’s family staying with him in Leigh and will be in Warrington for the quarter-final clash. He has felt a shift in what is, at times, a tense and complicated dynamic between the two cultures.
“When I switched over to Tonga, I got a lot of hate for it because when it comes to rugby league, Tonga and Samoa clash,” Asiata says.
“The history behind [the rivalry] and the battle between the two, it’s tough. But when you’re off the field, those Samoans and Tongans are starting to come together a lot more as a community.
“It’s not about, ‘We’re better than you’ any more. It’s about Pasifika people being able to represent who they are and where they’re from.
“There’s the cry to war, then the battle. And then at the end of it, a lot of Polynesian teams, they come together, they get on their knees [and] they pray. That’s where the unity comes in.
“The battle’s on the field, the peace comes after it.”
Samoa coach Matt Parish this week bristled on Paulo’s behalf when he was “unfairly” asked during a press conference if the rivalry could be compared to State of Origin.
Paulo trod carefully too, wary of Origin’s 40-plus years of history and the tired narrative that international eligibility rules are diluting passion among players for the interstate clash.
But for the loud and proud fan contingents marching the streets throughout Australasia, there is little doubt.
So too, the Samoan and Tongan fans in the UK, having travelled everywhere from down the road to rugby league heartlands like Honolulu, just to partake in the merry mayhem. Cult hero Fuifui Moimoi often leads it, in thongs and a traditional sarong on eight-degree northern England evenings.
“This means everything to our people,” Paulo said.
“Both the Samoan and Tongan communities, I think it’s amazing what both cultures are doing and the way they are celebrating all around the world.
“We’re seeing the parades that are happening in Australia, New Zealand and the islands, seeing the fans and supporters is everything for the team.
“There’s a lot of people around the world who are supporting us and it’s about how we can inspire them and make them proud.”
Havili hasn’t played this tournament due to a nagging calf injury and is racing the clock to stare down Paulo once more in the moments before kick-off.
For the next generation, young Pasifika men and boys especially, there are few more important moments.
Self-expression isn’t easy during the formative years. Polynesian diasporas especially can wrestle with the notions of pride and place, masculinity and emotion.
When the Sipi Tau and Siva Tau collide, there is little confusion. The impact goes well beyond goosebumps.
Those war cries speak to generations past, present and yet to come, in a tradition that predates rugby league by a thousand-odd years.
“A lot of Polynesians, we can look scary, we look like intimidating people,” Asiata says.
“But it’s the opposite. It’s different for the young kids to see what you can actually achieve, do something different.
“We look at our parents, they all sacrificed so much to come from Samoa or Tonga. They come with no jobs, they have to fight for everything, to make sure that when we’ve grown up we can make better decisions for the next generation.
“That’s what our parents did and that’s why we do this now. We go back and play for our heritage and say, ‘This is for the life they gave us’.
“Whatever we do now, is for our kids. Whatever they do will be for their kids.”
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