Scotland 0, Serbia 0 (a Doombar Laden Reflection)

It’s no fun being Scottish and a follower of the national football team.  We’re crap, and we know we are.

The national affliction is hope, it is what kills us, every single time. And just like my love life, it is a glorious failure, snatched from the jaws of victory.

The game today was a case in point.

Before the match today I read in the Scottish papers that our experience had made us stronger.   We had learned from our defeats, and we had an “embarrassment of riches” with which to clinch success.  Optimism rode high, after decades of failures, this time it would be different.  We were destined for the Promised Land.

The game started.

Apprehensive from the off, the superior opposition showed it’s class from the start.  It took time for us to be confident in this kind of company, even with a full house brimming with belief.

Serbia settled quickly, and we struggled to get going.  There was the odd memorable flourish, enough to get the hopes up, but no consistency.  The pre-match promises failed to materialise.

I spent a lot of the match biting my nails, clinging to hope.

The crowd waited patiently for the players to get us excited.  It happened in fits and starts, only to fizzle out in disappointment.

Hope turns to despair.

We try again against Macedonia on Tuesday.  Hope springs eternal.  It’ll be the bloody death of me…