There's little that beats the roar of a full-to-capacity Hampden Park on a Scotland match day. The flaccid dirge 'Flower Of Scotland', when roared by 50,000 Tartan Army footsoldiers becomes an anthem which would make the Gods tremble in the heavens. I've seen victories over France and Holland. I've seen agonising and glorious defeat against World Champions Spain and Italy. I've seen crushing defeats to Belarus. One of my earliest memories, is of - as an uninterested-in-football 6 year old - celebrating with my dad in the living room as Scotland scored a penalty against Brazil. But tonight, I'm done. I'm going AWOL from the Tartan Army. I'm going homeward to think again. I'm washing my hands of the Scottish National Football Team.
This isn't something I say lightly, or happily. I certainly don't consider myself a fair-weather supporter. But tonight something happened, that I never dreamed possible. As I stood in the freezing snow. As the brain donors around me screaming abuse at the peaceful and up-for-a-laugh Welsh fans who huddled just metres away. As yet another Welsh passing move evaded the Scottish defence. I wanted us to lose. Not because it would vindicate my pessimistic pre-game predictions, but simply because Scotland were so bad. I couldn't bear the thought of those spit-flecked lips around me turning into smug grins as our team snatched a totally undeserved win. I'm not saying I was happy when Wales scored. I wasn't. I simply had a feeling of justice being done. I wanted us to lose.
What makes this different from any other Scotland defeat? Truthfully, I don't know. I think it's that this Scotland team is not just useless. They're hopeless, in the purest sense of the word. There isn't, as far as I can see, any prospect of us - them - reaching a major tournament in the next decade. There are no exciting young talents waiting to burst into the team. Six or seven years ago, the prospects for Scotland looked bright. There was a genuinely talented group of players emerging. What has become of those players? Craig Gordon, Darren Fletcher and John Kennedy have suffered with illness and injury. They probably won't play for their country again. James McFadden and Kevin Thomson have had 3 years on the sidelines. Kris Boyd, Garry O'Connor and Derek Riordan have squandered their considerable talents. The team today is made up of average Premiership footballers, seemingly included because of who they play for rather than how they play. Several of them are English. I'm not anti-English. I was born in London. But what connection does Liam Bridcutt have to Scotland? And we to him? I'm not saying they don't care or aren't trying, of course they are and of course they do. I'm just trying to rationalise the detachment I feel from the Scotland team today.
Scotland are bottom of Group A with 2 points from 4 games. 3 of those games were at home. It's entirely conceivable, that with two games with Croatia and trips to Serbia and Macedonia to come, Scotland will not accrue any more points in the campaign. Attendances at Hampden will dwindle, and I can't blame those who stay away - Christ, I'll be one of them. And if Scotland miraculously improve? The incorrigibles who have suffered through this campaign will be shunted out, to make room for anyone who has paid for the privilege of joining the Scotland Supporter's Club. And that's what I kept coming back to, as I stood shivering on the terrace, the March snow stinging my face - I'd rather have been anywhere else. The cinema, the pub... even at work. I couldn't even bring myself to be angry with the team, I felt only a deep sense of embarrassment that a team - MY team - could be so fundamentally AWFUL as they were in the first half hour.
So that's it. I withdraw my support. I simply do not care about the Scottish National Football team anymore. I think, as it so often does, The Simpsons captured the feeling perfectly:
Lisa: Why do you hate the team so much, Dad?
Homer: Because I loved them once and they broke my heart. Let that be a lesson to you, sweetie. Never love anything.
