Sideline Chatter

A Look Inside the 49ers' Press Box

One would think that after witnessing the Seahawks beat the 49ers 27-24 in one of the best NFL football games in recent years, I would have a raspy voice and a bad hangover for the next couple days after the game. After all, the essence of attending an NFL football game includes ridiculous chants for the home team, cold beer and ridiculous chants for more cold beer. But the short-term loss of vocal chords and a desperate need for an aspirin the morning after were not issues, because I sat in the press box during Monday night’s game at Levi’s stadium. 

The press box, which is often located at the top floors in the suit levels of stadiums, is a second home to many members of the media. It’s where the magic happens–where writers make the story sing and the words dance off the page. Reporters are glued to computer screens gravely trying to make deadlines while simultaneously updating Twitter feeds with injury updates and insider knowledge. 

Being a rookie sports journalist, I have a limited understanding of the process. However, I did appreciate how elusive the press box is for the majority of sports fans. It truly is a unique place–in fact, it’s pretty much the exact opposite of a typical fan’s experience. Here’s how.

Once you enter the press box, you check your fan hat at the door. At Levi’s Stadium, especially for a Monday Night Football game, there are three rows in the press box that contain reporters from ESPN, The Athletic, San Francisco Chronicle—and a plethora of other publications. 

Journalists from all these organizations need to remain unbiased and impartial—not to mention fully concentrated in order to finish their stories on time. Therefore, there is no cheering allowed. 

As a fan, I often get emotional when the referee makes a bad call or when I boast about my favorite players hitting home runs. Fans everywhere scream at the opposing players, heckling “HEY, YOU’RE A BUM!” They shatter glass with shrieks after touchdowns and interceptions. 

But on Monday night, I found myself holding my breath to refrain from yelling in excitement. After the 49er rookie Chase McLaughlin tied up the game 24-24 in regulation with his 47-yard field goal, I let out a silent shrill that luckily went unnoticed. Instead, I accidentally sent a soaring fist bump to no one, knocking over my water bottle in the process.

I also refrained from shouting in frustration when McLaughlin botched a kick of identical length in overtime. I couldn’t be the regular fan I normally am; I couldn't hold a light to the 71,000 fans in Levi’s Stadium. The environment in the press box is serious and grievous, much the very antithesis of the roaring chaos that exists beyond its walls.   

Because of this professional vibe that permeates the press box, there is nevertheless a certain energy that gets created whenever a potential story angle makes its appearance. Thus, when the Seahawks scored the go-ahead touchdown, a wave of anxiety washed over the writers, many of which I suspect were secretly rooting for the 49ers–not necessarily because they were fans but because of the potential undefeated season in decades. 

When the 49ers scored a touchdown from a fumble recovery to bring the game within a field goal, writers soundlessly sighed in relief–perhaps imagining writing the possible catchy headline, “Niners Are 9-0” for their post-game article.

There is also an underlying sense of competition that fills the press box. Each beat writer for the Seahawks wants to release the first story about how Russel Wilson took down the undefeated 49ers defense. Each reporter for the 49ers wants to get the best quote from head coach Kyle Shanahan about how his team fought a hard fight. In the end, it’s all about who is first and who is best.

Thus, a sober, quiet, cheerless room with a dog-eat-dog atmosphere. What fan would ever want to step foot in the press box?

Despite these qualities, the press box is full of hope and unity. The beauty of sports journalism is describing events in elegance, passion and wit--—to impart a feeling for what it is like to be there in the stands or on the field. 

There is so much promise at the beginning of a sporting event, so much that is yet to be discovered. The press room does a brilliant job of illustrating those unknowns. While each writer is hoping to create a better story than the next guy, everyone in the press box is working for the same goal. There is a sense of community in there that binds each writer together. 

At the end of the day, journalists all root for the story. They all thrive on the excitement of plays and the power of performance–and this unifying power of sports journalism fills the quiet little 

glass media box.

Not to mention, the food in this room of enchantment is remarkable. All different cuisines are served—mexican food was offered in quarter one and prime rib was sliced up at half-time. Journalists might go mad from the stress of the deadline, but they definitely won’t go hungry.

But even if they only served stale potato chips and stale beer, and even though a true fan like me isn’t allowed to cheer, I can’t wait to get back. I could spend my whole life in the press box. 

Contact Lacey Yahnke at lyahnke@scu.edu or call (408) 554-4852.