Did That Raally Happen

GOD HAS TO BE a woman – and a Scotswoman at that. For only a Scotswoman: “getherin' her broos like getherin' storm and nursing her wrath tae keep it warm” could have inflicted that Thursday night game on the Tartan Army. It was a Scottish performance which we have seen too often over the years.

After an hour or so, Scotland, having failed to disturb the Greek goalkeeper's spectating in the game and trailing by a goal which had been coming long before it was scored, looked to be heading out of World Cup contention. Then, suddenly, we woke up, grabbed an equaliser we had hardly deserved and hope was re-kindled. The TA found their voice and, wonder of wonders, we equalised.

Next, Angus Gunn demonstrated, maybe he is better than third-choice 'keeper at Nottingham Forest, before, wonder of wonders, Lyndon Dykes took advantage of a Greek bearing a gift goal and, bloody Hell, we had won 3-1. Should we go on and claim that spot in the World Cup Finals, you can bet, for the 25^th year anniversary celebrations, there will be over 250,000 Scots claiming - “I was there, the night we beat Greece at Hampden”.

Mind you, this is a Scotland World Cup Campaign, history tells us, we have a few more twists and turns and at least two further heart attacks to endure before we get on that aircraft to North America.

And let's be honest, supposedly better Scotland teams have played better and lost; however, there is something about this group of players and this manager which defies all logic and history – dare we keep dreaming?

I feel we should. Celebrated Scottish victories in the past have also been immediately followed by pratt falls of embarrassing quality. We also have a history of following up bad nights at the office by some very good displays – so, which Scotland will we see on Sunday?

IN THE TOXIC waste lands of BBC Shortbread's pitiful efforts at sports coverage, one gem of a programme stands out. It's one I don't always see, since it comes on at around or just after my bed time, but, after watching Friday night's episode, I felt I just had to give a boost to the always interesting 'A View From The Terrace'.

Now, quite how this series got to be made is a mystery to me. The dead hand of the usual suspects from The Lap Top Loyal or the Celtic Family are nowhere near it; these guys are genuine fitba fans, who all follow so-called “Diddy Teams”. Their enthusiasm for the game has not been hammered out of them by having to toe the corporate party line, and they don't take themselves too seriously. Also, as yet, they haven't fallen into the Tam Cowan/Stuart Cosgrove trap of believing their own publicity – I hope they can avoid this.

One of the highlight of Friday's programme was a wee item on this new SPFL initiative of associate clubs, which allows promising youngsters from the bigger clubs to go out and get regular game time with lesser lights. They covered the pros and cons of this and I must say, while I am broadly supportive – I wish we could go back to the good old days of full-scale Reserve Leagues, whereby, while say Kilmarnock's first team was up at East End Park, facing Dunfermline, the respective Reserve teams were clashing at Rugby Park.

But, then the Managers decided, they had to be there to see why they were ignoring certain players and Reserve Games became midweek, floodlit affairs. This brought about comments such as former Partick Thistle centre half, later Glenafton Athletic legend Alex Kennedy being known as “The Vampire” - because he only came out to play at night.

A friend of my Dad's, a long-time Kilmarnock supporter and share-holder, because of his business commitments in the town, could seldom travel to watch the first team; but, he always made time on a Saturday to go to the home reserve games to keep an eye on the emerging talent. It was not unusual for him to telephone Willie Waddell on a Friday, to find out if the teenaged Tommy McLean would be playing for the reserves the next day – in which case, he would certainy be there.

Not every fan can travel to every game, so, maybe we should go back to those good old days, so the fans unable to fork-out to traipse the length and breadth of Scotland to watch shite, could simply nip along to their local ground and see a cheaper form of shite than usual.