“13, 14, 15… both sides ready? Captains set? Pitch clear? Start the watch…”

A long blast of the whistle cuts through the air — and another game of Scottish rugby begins.

Every weekend, across the country, hundreds of matches kick off just like this. From youth tournaments in the Borders to club clashes in the Highlands, the players take centre stage — but behind it all, another team ensures the game can even happen.

They are the referees and assistant referees — volunteers who give up their weekends, travel miles in all weathers, and dedicate hours to a role that rarely earns applause but without which rugby simply couldn’t function.

Some are former players who can’t quite walk away from the sport. Others have never played but fell in love with the rhythm and respect of the game. A rare few, like Scotland’s Hollie Davidson, have turned it into a professional calling. But for most, it’s passion — not pay — that keeps them running.

Beyond the Whistle: Preparation and Dedication

The job starts long before kick-off.

Pre-season for referees isn’t a gentle run around the park — it’s a series of gruelling sessions run by regional associations, designed to mirror the intensity of match days. “Brutal,” one referee admits. “But if we can’t keep up with play, we can’t control the game.”

Then comes the admin: confirming fixtures, checking venues, reviewing laws. Many referees spend evenings scrolling through the World Rugby Laws app or the SRU’s Age Grade Variations page, brushing up on details that can change from one level of the game to another.

“It sounds dull,” one official says, “but you might referee four or five different sets of laws in one weekend. You’ve got to be sharp mentally as well as physically.”

Match Day: Rituals and Responsibility

For most referees, match day begins an hour before kick-off. The kit bag is packed with precision: two watches, two whistles, yellow and red cards, flags, boots, spare socks — and, in many cases, a packet of Haribo for quick energy.

At the ground, the pre-match routine kicks in — checking the pitch, chatting with coaches and captains, and briefing players. There’s usually no team of professional assistants, just volunteers acting as line judges.

Then it’s time. “13, 14, 15… captains ready? Watch started.”

The whistle sounds, and the referee bursts into motion.

“The first ten minutes set the tone,” says one experienced official. “You’ve got to show control early — get to that first breakdown, be seen, set your standards. It’s a sprint from the start.”

In community rugby, it’s often a solo effort — one person managing 30 players, dozens of laws, and countless moving parts. “When the tackle happens, I’m checking release, offside lines, ruck entry, whether the nine’s protected — all while staying out of the way,” they explain.

The challenge is constant decision-making under pressure. “People think we miss things,” one referee says. “But sometimes you choose to manage rather than penalise. No one wants a stop-start game — you can keep it flowing just by talking to players.”

After the Final Whistle

When the whistle blows for full-time, the job still isn’t over. There’s self-reflection — or a debrief with an observer if one’s present — and reports to file to the Scottish Rugby Union detailing any cards or notable incidents.

Then, often, comes the best part: a chat in the clubhouse. “A cup of tea or a bacon roll, and some proper rugby banter,” says one ref. “Even the players who’ve shouted at you for 80 minutes are usually shaking your hand afterwards.”

Why They Keep Coming Back

So why do it?

Most referees say it’s the sense of belonging — the camaraderie with players, coaches, and fellow officials. The humour helps too. “The best line I ever got,” laughs one referee, “was after giving a penalty: a player looked at me and said, ‘At least I put my weights away, Sir!’”

From pitchside jokes to post-match hospitality, refereeing offers a unique perspective on Scottish rugby — one that sees the sport not as rivalries and results, but as a community built on respect.

Would they change it?

“Not a chance.”