The Art of the Scrum: What MotoGP media sessions are really like

Ollie was back in 'fly on the wall' mode at MotoGP's British Grand Prix last weekend to get an insider's view of events in the paddock alongside Simon and Megan. He wanted to share this tale of how the dramatic post-race unfolded with the riders:

It’s 2:10pm on Sunday afternoon and Marco Bezzecchi is parading around Silverstone on his in-lap. In the media centre, a hearty round of applause breaks out across the banks of grey desks, hailing a scintillating British Grand Prix. On the array of elevated screens overhead, Bezzecchi kicks his legs, trips, then falls to the ground in unbridled joy at his achievement.

Then:

“Fabio is here.”

Caught off guard, a cloud of journalists flurries from the central hub in the media centre to the scrum room next door, overlooking the start/finish straight.

Forty mins earlier, Yamaha’s Fabio Quartararo had sunk to his knees at the side of the track, confronting the grief of a lost lead, tears pouring from his eyes as his race was cruelly cut short thanks to a failure of his ride-height device. He was now back in the paddock, out of his leathers, conducting his obligatory time speaking to the media about the day’s racing.

He has collected himself and alongside his press officer, is waiting patiently for the arrival of the press at the furthest of three desks. A collective clattering of recording devices and mobile phones are scattered in front of the crestfallen rider, then the questions begin. Fabio is given space to recount his race and everything that led up to its painful conclusion.

He is asked whether the race pace gave him hope for the future.



The word ‘hope’ seems to hang in the air and as Quartararo starts to answer, the wave of emotion strikes again. The 26-year-old rider crumples into his own lap, the magnitude of the loss still so raw. Yamaha press officer Maider Barthe lends a crucial comforting arm to Fabio’s back, and for a brief moment only the thrum of the post-race celebrations can be heard. The respectful silence is punctuated by a warm and resounding round of applause from the semi-circle of journalists that surrounds him, which brings Fabio back up to address his audience, politely apologising.

"Of course it gives me hope - but... f*k it's so s*t what happened today," which no one can deny. David Emmett of MotoMatters is playfully chastised by those around him for asking the question that triggered Fabio’s outpouring, and apologises himself.

This moment of vulnerability shows how striking the media debriefs are for their blend of intimacy, chaos and humanity.

The media scrums take place in the media centre of the Silverstone Wing, arranged with three desks across the room. Ahead of every weekend, and at the end of every day, one by one the riders arrive, flanked by press and communications officers to briefly answer questions from the world’s press. Permanent media are allowed on the front row, with single-event journalists behind and photographers and videographers orbiting the perimeter peering through the huddle.



From the riders’ perspective, it’s an intimidating encirclement as journalists loom around them. If you’re a multiple world champion, you are perpetually documented by an ever-present film crew. With the emotion and potential frustration of the day’s action still coursing through them, the pressure is on riders to get the right message across in English, a second language for most of the grid. Then follows a chance to answer questions in their respective native languages, predominantly Spanish, Italian or French.

At the centre, representatives from Dorna’s communications department have the unenviable task of conducting this chaotic orchestra of logistics and language.



“Pecco in Italian! Rins in English!” cries out the voice of Sandra Bañez (Dorna) over the hubbub, splitting the reporter huddles into their respective dialects across the room. The English-language groups stand straight, compacted shoulder to shoulder. The Spanish writers lean into the table like arrows, pointing their questions at the riders. There is a timing sheet shared via Whatsapp ahead of each session listing each rider’s arrival, but not everything always goes to plan. In fact, it is often downright chaos.

Through overrunning debriefs, commercial commitments and circuit logistics, the schedule can quickly descend into a bustling frenzy. Some riders never emerge, giving gaps in coverage for frustrated writers. Often multiple riders turn up at once. On Thursday, Alex Rins arrives but seeing the three full desks, opts for the sofa in the corner, giving a relaxed air to his look ahead to the weekend.



This no-man’s land of media creates a pressure cooker for news organisations to get sufficient coverage and ensure they’ve captured every word of every session to review with their respective editorial teams. Clashes also emerge as two English-language sessions kick off at the same time. Riders have a mixed relationship with the scrum. Some of them begrudge its existence, delivering monotone updates on underwhelming performances, willing the grilling to pass swiftly. Others use the neutral zone as a chance to converse with fellow riders, as Johann Zarco and Luca Marini lean against the glass overlooking the circuit, exchanging thoughts and opinions ahead of their turn.

The very best understand that it is very much part of the game and use this to their advantage. Hints are dropped, coded messages are sent. There is always a company message and carefully manicured PR line to emphasise, but some riders like to playfully nudge outside the limits.

Pedro Acosta, buoyant and box-office, is bullish about his KTM team’s recent difficulties but more concerned with finding out what happened in the latest Monaco Formula 1 session. Simon Patterson shows him the results from The Race website (where else) on his phone. “Did you see Hamilton? The best f**king entrance to Monaco, hands down” Pedro declares to the room (referring to the seven-time F1 world champion’s arrival on his custom MV Augusta F4 LH44) before swaggering at speed through the double doors to his next engagement.



There is a contractual obligation to appear, but moments of levity reinforce the humanity that lies behind the scenes. Race-winner Bezz kicked off his weekend by proclaiming “I got a new haircut” before lifting his cap to reveal a new look that can at best be described as ‘bogan-chic’ and at worst be declared a mullet. Little did we know that it would be his go-faster stripe.

Honda wildcard Aleix Espagararo is back in the paddock this weekend, joined by his entourage of Max (his seven-year-old son), desk-height adorned with a well-worn cycle helmet with a scuffed 41 sticker, unfazed by the towering adults around him.

Jack Miller conducts his breezy session with daughter Pip bouncing on his lap. The toddler, presented with an array of shiny objects before her, proceeds to grab the nearest recording device, pretending to answer it like a phone. “HELLO!” she squeals, stopping the recording. Miller, still summing up his day, calmly takes the dictaphone off her, placing it back on the table. Pip looks up to her Dad, then selects another two dictaphones holding one to each ear, cheering a defiant “HELLO! HELLO!” into each device. In the spirit of camaraderie, a fellow journalist offers to share their recording that hadn’t been cut short by the toddler.



The intimacy and time with the riders is a closeness that the most hardcore of fans could only dream of, but without the glare of the crowds and broadcast cameras, these scrums nurture a crucial space for journalists to look the athletes in the eye, read their body language and start to weave the narrative of the weekend. These sessions are where the true results of the race can be uncovered that goes far beyond the final race classification.