As a humble footy hack, it’s not everyday you get to go right in amongst it.

Because of the construction work and the accompanying chorus of jackhammers playing over on ‘the hill’, a press conference at the SCG took a different course this week.

Instead of standing on the boundary of the hallowed turf, it was down the Paul Kelly Players’ Race we went.

Yep, my teammates and I (okay, the other 10 or so journos present) made our way into the Swannies’ team meeting room. Anyway, it’s certainly where the team gathers just before they run out on match day.

I don’t know about my ‘teammates’, but sitting in the first row, my adrenaline was pumping. I could smell the liniment.

I was front and centre as I looked around at a few of my comrades, all of us eagerly awaiting the arrival of the coach.

Would he be in a good mood today? Had he seen me demolish that pie on the way into the ground and if so, would I cop a spray in front of the group?

Part of me wanted to see someone cop a serve. Would Roosy blow his top, I wondered?

I surveyed my surroundings, soaking up the atmosphere. There was a large TV screen and video player up the front.

I considered pulling out a video of me kicking a goal in the under-10s back in Geelong that I carry around with me – to show Roosy just in case Barry Hall’s knee is still a little dodgy – but thought against it. Plenty of time for that after the formalities.

The doors swung open and Roosy entered. My teammates quickly circled him, eager for the coach’s address.

I hung back a moment and ensured there was no pastry dangling in my beard before I moved in.

The topic of Des Headland and Adam Selwood was brought up and I thought Roosy might get fed up with this persistent line of questioning and really give it to someone.

But no. He was typically cool.

Then I heard a door shut. A female journo had stepped in late. For a moment I imagined she was a fringe player arriving late to our pre-game team meeting.

“Oh, this is it. You’re gonna get it!” I thought. No-one has ever seen Paul Roos lose it, and I’m gonna be here to see it. But no. Nothing. Zip. Diddly.

And then, barely before it had begun, it was all over. The cameras stopped rolling, the dictaphones were turned off, and our coach left.

We’d all got through unscathed. Roosy had been, as ever, calm and collected.

While there were no fireworks, it had been great just to be in the inner sanctum of the SCG, and live the life of an AFL player – if only for a few minutes.

I wanted to charge back out of the race and run through the banner I’m sure I saw the Swans cheersquad working on earlier. It could have been for me, it could have for Leo Barry’s 200th game this week – I’m not entirely sure.

Anyway, I opted against sprinting onto the ground. There is always next week.