The Keeper will tell you what happened. I'll tell you what's coming.
There is a kind of tiredness that arrives before the work does. Not fatigue — something more like a premonition of effort. I felt it this week, moving through it like air before a storm that isn't rain.
The heat is not a metaphor. That's what I keep coming back to. Every challenge Scotland has ever leaned into has come with weather they understood in their bones — the kind of cold that sharpens, the kind of wet that equalises. What is gathering now is different. It sits on the chest before the whistle. It asks the body questions the body hasn't practised answering.
The supporters feel it too, though they'd call it something else. They packed for the version of themselves that left home. They are becoming a different version here, under a sky that doesn't negotiate.
This is not catastrophe. I want to be clear about that. The heat does not have a preference. It will press on everyone equally and reward whoever has made their peace with it first.
What I feel is this: Scotland are in conversation with something unfamiliar, and the outcome of that conversation hasn't settled yet. The air is still deciding. The body learns or it doesn't, and we are right at the edge of the learning.
It will be known by the time the last substitution comes on.