Last Wednesday beneath the unforgiving glare of the Astro lights, four warriors entered the arena and only two emerged with their reputations burnished like Roman centurions returning from conquest. It was J & J versus M & M. Jamie Kennedy and John Phelan in the non-bibs corner. Martin Hogan and Mick Hutchinson draped in bibs like battle armour. Forty minutes of Social Ground Hurling became forty minutes of glorious mayhem.

The opening skirmishes served as the sharpening of swords before war. Two furious five minute warm-up drills saw sliotars flying like flaming arrows across the battleground. First came the relentless end-to-end exchanges with one ball, then the chaos intensified with two balls hurtling through the night air as if unleashed from a catapult in the Colosseum itself. By the time the real contest began every man was primed for combat.

J & J burst from the traps like gladiators sensing blood, striking an early goal that rattled the bibs brigade. Yet Martin and Mick were unmoved, cool as emperors surveying the carnage below. Slowly but surely the men in bibs seized control, raining scores with ruthless precision to march into the first break with a commanding 10-5 lead.

If the first period belonged to M & M, the second was a full-scale invasion. Hogan and Hutchinson swarmed forward with the hunger of lions released into the pit. Goals flowed like wine at a Roman feast as the non-bibs pair struggled to stem the crimson tide. By the second interval the scoreboard told a savage story — 19-7 to the bibs and the contest looked all but over.

But wounded pride is a dangerous thing. During the break Kennedy and Phelan gathered themselves like battered gladiators refusing to bow before Caesar. Sticking to “the process” they launched one final charge into the night. What followed was their finest spell of the battle, snatching the last ten minute duel by 9-8 and restoring a shred of honour to their cause.

Still, the night belonged to Martin Hogan and Mick Hutchinson, worthy champions who ruled the Astro like emperors of old. Their 27-16 victory was etched into the cold Nenagh night with thunderous authority.

And what a soundtrack accompanied the warfare. The unmistakable clash of ash echoed around the arena like swords striking shields in ancient Rome. Bamboo met ash. Hurley met hurley. Sparks almost seemed to fly. Poor Jamie’s hurley came off second best in a brutal collision with Mick’s bamboo weapon, another casualty in an evening of glorious sporting combat.

When the dust settled all four warriors could depart with heads held high after a magnificent workout drenched in sweat, skill and savage intensity. Roll on next Wednesday at 8.15pm when the gladiators return once more to the Astro arena.