SCOTLAND HIDE BEHIND THE SOFA AS UNUSUAL PUNDITS TALK ABOUT OUR TEAM AMID CONSOLING ERDINGERS AND TEARS

The TV viewing was as difficult as in the Munich Arena for the Tartan Army back home

What a relief. What joy. We turn on our TVs and for once there are no politicians, no stiff lecterns with stiffer men behind them, no electioneering cliches.

Instead there will be a jovial wee Scotsman, not stiff but not horizontal like some of the bier-monsters among the estimated 200,000 of his countryfolk who are also present, and though he will say “I tell you what … ” as often as we’ve heard “My father was a toolmaker”, no one minds.

For this is Ally McCoist. This is Friday night in Munich. And this is the start of the Euros.

If you couldn’t be in Bavaria where you might have been pausing every once in a while to ponder the correct spelling of “cirrhosis”, then you should surely have been in front of the TV, restraining yourself with a few Erdingers to toast Coisty and of course the tournament’s hosts.

Or not restraining yourself. For what if Scotland this time were to do what they’ve never done before and get out of the groups? I’ll tell you what, that would be miraculous (as relating to miracles, not the effects of concerted bevvying, but then again … ). At this moment in time - another Super Ally favourite - I can confidently predict that those 73,000 Taylor Swift fans who last weekend at Murrayfield clapped and danced so much they set off tremor monitors will not have heard or felt the like. 

But we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. This moment in time is 6.30pm, a full hour and a half before kick-off. What are we going to do until then? For once, perhaps, revel in the studio blethering - properly luxuriate in it. No offence to our usual pundits but here was Roy Keane, admiring our midfield. Here was Ian Wright, quipping: “I fancy ’em.”. And to keep these two on-message about what Scottish hopes and dreams are all about, here was Graeme Souness. The big guns, all talking about Scots - with an emotional Souey saying a prayer for the stricken Alan Hansen - and all talking about Scotland.

The broadcast began slightly awkwardly with anchor Mark Pougatch in his scripted welcome referencing how the last big tournament had been hosted by “a city state with little football culture”. And the co-sponsors of ITV’s coverage, acknowledged just seconds before? Visit Qatar. Nevertheless there was no doubting that with Germany as hosts normal service had been resumed - with the help of an abnormally large tartan contingent. “Is there anyone left in Scotland watching us?” wonders Pougatch.

“A crazy soccer nation,” enthuses 2024 director Philipp Lahm. “I’ve cried ten times today already,” gushes Lorraine Kelly, grabbed outside the Allianz Arena. And finally, after a Europoppy opening ceremony, and after a roof-raising “Flower of Scotland”, it was time. 

Yesss! (Ryan Porteous makes a tackle). Come on! (Andy Robertson wins a throw-in). Wha’s like us? (John McGinn stands on Kai Havertz). Then, not quite ten minutes gone, Germany score. “Gott in Himmel,” as my old Commando comics would have it.

Wha’s Germany, this time round?  “Efficiency,” the aesthetes always remark, damning with faint praise. “Turniermannschaft,” counter Germans themselves, even if recently the team have lacked their usual Vorsprung durch Technik. Well, not even another ten minutes later, they score again. McCoist: “There’s a problem in front of our middle five and behind the middle four.”

In the build-up to the tournament veteran commentator Clive Tyldesley proposed that all mic-men should be permitted to use the f-word once a season without it being career-imperilling. I’ll tell you what, that’s a wizard idea. For aren’t you fed up with those simpering apologies, every time an exasperated expletive is picked up from the crowd?

When Germany are awarded a penalty, Sam Matterface could justifiably have invited his sidekick to let rip. Mercifully the decision is overturned but the game continues in the same vein with Germany standing on our necks. Not even John McGinn’s backside is functioning properly.

And it isn’t long before the Germans get their spot-kick, Ryan Porteous red-carded for an X-rated lunge. The referee is Clement Turpin, an inviting name for a headline in the event of feelings of injustice, but there’s no robbery involved here. 

Lorraine Kelly must have been greetin’ for an 11th, 12th and 13th time. At the interval the pundits review the super-slick German pass-and-move. “Scary stuff,” winces Souness. Pougatch points out that goal difference will be crucial for any third-place team with aspirations to progress and we all wince.

The action resumes and the Allianz is a whole lot quieter than when the game began. When the cameras cut to the huge Tartan Army detachment, there are lots of red faces, slumped shoulders and hands on heads. If Glengarrys are worn they sit at non-jaunty angles and the feathers have detumesced. It’s to be earnestly hoped the top black market price for a pair of tickets - reportedly £11,000 - was not ultimately proferred.

Super Ally hopes Germany might be happy with their lot and only play at 75 per cent of their power. Fat chance. Only wild shooting and desperate defending - Scottish bodies flailing like crash-test dummies in a Rhineland car factory - keep the score down, but not for long. The fourth goal is the hardest struck, the most spectacular.

What idiot said Germany were bang-average, a shadow of their former selves and not likely to make an impact in their own backyard? At this moment in time - cue dear old Arthur Montford - it’s disaster for Scotland.

2024-06-15T06:34:06Z dg43tfdfdgfd