I was a Scotland v France fly on wall in Six Nations press box - haggis, predictions and third team in stadium

For me, it was the third time watching rugby live - and my first in the press box. I was going to be a fly on the wall in the world of sports journalism, which felt serious and intimidating.

After collecting my press pass, I wandered the area surrounding the stadium, soaking in the sun.

Four men dressed as musketeers strolled past. Behind my sunglasses, I saw flags, hats galore, painted faces, costumes, and red, white, and blue wigs. When the French come to town, they deck out.

I met Graham Bean, the specialist rugby writer for The Scotsman, outside and walked with him into the stadium.

We paused amid a crowd as the Scottish team arrived, led by a bagpipe band. Gazing up, all I could see were people standing on every available surface from the ground floor to the stairs ascending to the stadium's upper level.

Through a small blue door labelled "press," we entered the maze of tunnels inside Murrayfield.

Large round tables dressed with white tablecloths lined the back of the press room. A small stage with a table was positioned on the opposite wall, with the all-too-familiar backdrop featuring sponsors' names I had seen in interviews.

Graham and I joined the table with The Scotsman’s sports editor, Mark Atkinson.

Haggis for lunch

It was lunchtime, and photographers with lenses that looked more like telescopes than cameras were gobbling down haggis, neeps, and tatties before heading through the doors.

One of the men at the table beside ours called out, asking what The Scotsman thought. Mark gave him two numbers. Then Graham gave another two before the man looked at me.

Turns out the numbers were the press room’s predictions for the match about to take place — a tradition maintained by David Barnes of The Offside Line. Caught off guard, my nerves softened at the inclusion.

We made our way upstairs, finding our seats just in front of the Scottish coaching staff box at the top of Murrayfield, giving us a clear field view.

Within the first five minutes, one of the Scottish players broke away, running towards the try line. When it looked like he was going to score, I got so excited I nearly shook Graham's arm before questioning how much of a poker face I should keep.

The press around me were taking notes on everything happening on the field. Every minute, try, player, injury, penalty, and scrum were scribbled down meticulously.

Graham's computer screen displayed the live broadcast, which has a natural delay, allowing him to rewatch key moments.

I got a sense of real camaraderie among the media team, despite them working for different publications and even countries.

If one of them missed why the referee had called a penalty, someone would offer an explanation. If someone needed to verify a player's name, everyone chimed in. To me, they felt like the third team in the stadium.

I stepped out to the toilet during half-time. I was washing my hands when I felt the floor shake and heard a ruckus, voices screaming. I thought a brawl had broken out in the corridor, since the media room was right next to the French team’s changing room.

I stood still, thoughts racing, until I heard “Allez, allez!” as footsteps rumbled. Only then did I realise the French players were hyping themselves up for the second half.

Walking back to the press box, I climbed the stairs behind French coach Fabien Galthié before climbing back down 40 minutes later.

The race against the clock

Back in the press room, all laptop screens sprang up, each displaying Word documents as sentences were written and reworked.

It was a hustle against the clock to get information out.

The 50–40 Scotland v France match kept being described as the best most of the journalists had ever experienced.

Naively, I hadn’t realised that every time I’ve had a question about a game, I’d just Google it and probably read one of the articles written by one of the men in that room.

Mark and Graham, and some of the other journalists, sported red, bloodshot eyes that had not been there that morning.

The captains and head coaches of each team came into the media room for the post-game interviews.

Something about seeing both the winner and loser sit at the same table felt so human.

While I suspect it must be easier for the winner, I can’t fathom what it must feel like to answer questions after a loss.

In that room, away from the noise, these men didn’t feel like rugby superstars but just men in an extraordinary situation.

It’s nearly a year since I published a feature on Scottish rugby and coffee.

Earlier in the match, I spotted Matt and Zander Fagerson playing, and assistant coach John Dalziel on the side, all of whom have coffee businesses.

It’s strange to see them at work when only a year ago we were having coffee and talking about the human side of team bonding.

“You coming?” a few journalists asked as they stepped out of the media room to interview more players.

Outside, I rushed after them in a fast-moving media conga line winding around the crowd.

In the evening, I left the press room, the journalists who had taken me in for the day still typing on their laptops. Bright lights lit my way through the empty stadium.

I walked home on clouds, but ready to crash, knowing the next day I would read all about the historic clash between Scotland and France.