Analysis

The night Strachan’s Bravehearts told our old companion of bad luck to take a hike

IT was over. We were out. Desperation, frustration, desolation – all our usual companions were crooking their fingers at us. Again.

Then Chris Martin told them to take a hike, just as he had against Slovenia to kickstart a crazy ride that might just take us all the way to Russia.

Gordon Strachan’s sub put Martin Skrtel under pressure after fellow replacement Ikechi Anya sent in a cross the Slovak skipper turned home.

Strachan got that right but to be fair he got most things right.

And yet until the 89th minute it looked for all the world like rank bad luck and great goalkeeping was going to deny us all over again.

We had 70 minutes to score against 10 men but it just wouldn’t come as the clock ticked down all too quickly. Then for two minutes of normal time and four added on – ironically because of Slovak timewasting – it dragged.

Two of our players ended up in bandages but each and every player carried this battle to a team that needed only a draw.

So often the Tartan Army had turned up on nights like this full of expectation. But this felt different.

Yes there was hope – there always is – but it was tempered with realism.

The very fact Scotland were still in this thing at the start of the month was something of a miracle in itself.

Somehow Strachan had managed to haul us back into contention with 10 points from the last four games.

Suddenly this was back in our own hands. That kind of comeback and momentum would normally have had the nation up to high doe – a deer – but then came Brussels.

Scott Brown, the man who had grabbed this campaign by the scruff of its neck and shaken it back into life, limped out of Celtic’s Champions League clash last Wednesday and tore a giant-sized hole in Strachan’s midfield at the same time. If that wasn’t bad enough Stuart Armstrong wasn’t fit to start against Anderlecht and still wasn’t available.

Nobody else in Strachan’s squad possesses Armstrong’s drive, energy and ability to create or finish things.

Without the pair it’s fair say the balloon of optimism that had been swelling was pricked.

Suddenly the apprehension was back. Yes there was hope. But expectation? Not so much.

Still, Hampden was packed and the players came out to as much of a crescendo as this unfit for purpose National Stadium can muster.

Seeing us in our pink away strip – the one which we’d won only once in the five times it has been worn – on our own patch was surreal.

But Strachan’s team could have come out wearing tutus and it wouldn’t have mattered as long as they got the result.

It was a big ask though. The visitors were filled with players of repute, none more so than their talisman Marek Hamsik who was winning his 100th cap.

Darren Fletcher, in for Brown and wearing the armband, was deployed with keeping an eye on him as James Morrison and Barry Bannan played around him. On paper it looked like a trio lacking the energy a John McGinn or Callum McGregor would have given the side. On the grass they started reasonably well.

In the ninth minute it was a whole lot better than reasonably well when a rat-a-tat of one-touch passes saw Kieran Tierney charge into the box only to be barged over by Robert Mak.

The striker scored twice against us in Trnava and he’s a better attacker than a defender because this clumsy tackle should have been punished.

The Serbian ref gave nothing though. Hampden howled but the Scots were on the prowl.

Mak was booked for a foul on James Forrest a few minutes later but worse was to follow for him as he was sent packing for a blatant dive.

Scotland had been the better team up until that point. Now they were the better team against 10 men.

The Slovaks were unravelling but their goal remained intact thanks to Martin Dubravka’s heroics to deny Leigh Griffiths 10 minutes from the break having also produced a wonder stop from a Christophe Berra header. The clocks on the big screens behind the goals were whirring too quickly.

Before we knew it half-time had come and the Slovaks had regained their composure.

The lack of tempo in the minutes after the break was worrying. As the hour mark neared the tension in the stands was becoming suffocating.

It appeared to be catching because there was little happening on the pitch to rattle the Slovaks with their fans the ones making the noise.

Strachan made his first switch as Martin replaced Forrest, a move that wasn’t universally popular but which prompted an immediate burst of pressure with Dubravka saving well from Griffiths.

Martin then smashed a 22-yarder off the bar. Inches. But still Russia remained a million miles away.

Griffiths smacked the same frame with another free-kick a la England before the keeper made the save of the night to deny Morrison.

And that clock kept ticking us down towards our doom.

Then time stood still. Griffiths to Anya, ball to the near post, Martin lunge s... GOAAAAL.

Now it’s on to Slovenia. One game, one win away. This time. Surely.