Behind the curtain: game day on the HSBC SVNS circuit

We all see the end product. The physicality, agility, and blistering pace. The instinct, guile, and all-out guts. The tears and the trophy lifts. But what goes on in the bellies of these humming stadia? Where do the teams actually go when they’re not thrashing it out for our delectation?

How a day looks is – mostly – dictated by two factors: the side in question, because each has its own constantly-evolving quirks and preferences, and how the players are trucking.

“When you’re playing well,” Broderick observes, “when there’s a good vibe, and you’re flowing, the days are awesome. Some you never want to end.

“Others bring you crashing down to earth. We’re all pretty emotionally attached, and – while we’re process-based – this is a performance industry. The highs are pretty high, the lows pretty low, and you can cram about six of each into a weekend.”

Days can easily last 18 hours – whisking players from their hotel to the ground and back again, via dedicated ‘base camp’ dressing rooms, canteens, recovery spaces, pre-match pens, warm-up zones, and the pitch itself.

While coaching Brazil’s Yaras, Broderick discovered just how crucial the time in-between games is, and how delicate those ecosystems are. 

These periods need tailoring for individuals but must also serve the team as a whole, and his own contributions had to be ‘very intentional’: to have an impact, but respect and trust his athletes’ ability to know their own needs.

Those ‘needs’ are two-fold, Mitchell argues: physical and mental.

The former is more black and white – with performance-optimisers to tick off throughout the day. Electrolytes are essential on a circuit which chases the sun, beetroot juice helps with lactic acid; some brave souls swear by ice baths, and others spend an eternity in the shower to soothe battered bodies. 

Physios hustle from dawn until dusk, strapping, massaging, treating, and assessing.

Caffeine? Key, but in moderation. Considerations include: do you have someone kind enough to do a coffee run? Is the stuff at the ground any good? And are you edging towards taking on too much? “I definitely left myself shaking at points…” Energy drinks and caffeinated gum are quick fixes, as was, on one memorable occasion, squeezing honey directly from the bottle into his mouth. “Worked an absolute treat.”

Refuelling post-match is non-negotiable, but looks different for each athlete. Perry Baker only ever grazed and drank protein shakes between games, but Harry Glover has shone on the circuit for almost a decade while routinely “smashing spag bol” in the canteen. 

“There’s such variety to the plates you see,” out on tables, on which laptops are often perched, as players review their latest outings: sifting out learnings, and “putting things to bed”.

Analysis comes in waves. The on-the-whistle debrief is a ‘hot’ one: an emotion-stabilising sum-up lasting a maximum of two minutes. 

Coaches tend to leave it a good while before diving into technicalities – “brains are a little fried” after a match – so brush strokes are kept broad until players have had a chance to switch off a little.

And this, it becomes apparent, is key to it all. Broderick reflects on the nuances of “releasing pressure without losing focus”, and Mitchell describes the “switch on-switch off” metaphor England used to deploy. 

Conserving mental and emotional energy is best done by “leaving rugby for a bit” - whether through donning headphones, tucking into a book, playing cards, or even “catching zees – some lads could be snoring within moments. I was always jealous of that ability.”

It’s easier said than done. There are screens everywhere showing the live action, and roars in the bowl each time a try is scored, but “you’ve got to be in your own little world, so you can be optimally-placed for the next game”.

There’s no such respite for the coaches. Occasionally, they sneak a little moment away, Broderick notes, but they normally “roll straight through”, joined by leaders or playmakers to layer fresh opposition analysis onto what the wider group will have done pre-tournament. 

Speckled throughout are little break-out meetings: team alignment sessions, or one-on-one chats.

Having navigated the descent and spent some time in a rugby-free valley, it’s time to climb again. “With hindsight,” Mitchell muses, “this is a fascinating thing to observe. The slow burn of athletes waking up – sore, groggy, and tired – knowing they’ll be in the tunnel in an hour’s time, full of energy.”

Everyone’s method, their music choice, mobility routine, and head space - is unique. 

Great Britain’s women’s squad reminds Broderick of Brazil: dancing, laughing, and pumping out the tunes. But there are plenty who pull on their armour alone, dialing in quietly. There are superstitions, rituals, and more lucky items in kit bags than you’d think.

Mitchell learned, with experience, that the ‘switch-ons’ themselves varied as much as individuals’ needs. 

“Sometimes you hit that intensity right away. Sometimes, you’re searching and searching for it, but it only clicks into place in the last few seconds in the tunnel. I learned not to stress too much about that.”

As the floodlights’ hum stops and the inflatable T-Rexes teeter from the ground, there’s one final tool to utilise. Sleep is critical, but often infuriatingly elusive: adrenaline plus caffeine plus the stimulus of the day make for a killer insomniac cocktail.

“So much of 7s is making rapid decisions under pressure and fatigue: if you’re not sleeping, you’re not going to be where you need to be mentally.” 

Mitchell remembers realising, on a late bus home after edging a thrilling final match, that the team had to be back at the stadium 10 hours later and promptly shutting down the dance party in favour of rounds of soporific cherry juice and chamomile tea.

It’s the coaches who bear the brunt of the sleep deprivation, he admits. Broderick concurs. It’s far from uncommon for staff, poring over analysis and seeking every possible marginal gain, to fall asleep with their laptops open in their bed: “You just want to be sure that you did everything you could.”

“Show us a pitch – and we’ll show you a party” the official HSBC SVNS website reads. But it turns out that the on-field fizz and fanfare are just the tip of the iceberg. 

Down the corridors, away from the disco balls and pyrotechnics; in the analysis and recovery and preparation – that’s where the competition is won.