No risk, no reward as Strachan falls short
CAUTIOUS. Canny, some would call it. Plenty wouldn’t blame Gordon Strachan for a little safety-first sensibility, either. Prudence, after all, is one of the more valuable personality traits associated with the Scots.
Yet it is impossible, in the wake of one more failed attempt at qualification, to excuse the manager his every fault and foible. Of which an aversion to risk may be the most damaging to the nation.
Has Strachan become a better Scotland head coach over the past couple of years, developing a more solid grasp on the niceties and necessities of a qualifying campaign? Yes. Up to a point. And we have reached that point.
Because, if it is essential to judge this World Cup qualifying attempt in the round, it is equally important not to sugarcoat an effort that never quite recovered from a shamefully timid beginning.
In truth, any student of history cannot help but be reminded of Winston Churchill’s famous letter to General Sir Harold Alexander, complaining of said officer’s excessive erring towards slow and steady progress following the Allied invasion at Anzio.
‘I expected to see a wild cat roaring towards the mountains,’ wrote the most quotable Prime Minister in history.
‘And what do I find? A whale wallowing on the beaches!’ Now, military historians have since afforded a little more slack to a commander swiftly relieved of duty for his perceived lack of swashbuckling derring-do.
Watching Scotland flounder 70 or so miles from the Adriatic coast last night, however, it certainly felt as if the country was being punished for one man’s tendency towards the pedestrian.
Strachan’s refusal to be bold when boldness is required? That’s a failing. And it is partly to blame for another failure.
This isn’t just a critique of the final anguished 90 minutes, incidentally. That’s not what any closing assessment should be about.
Taking off a striker and putting on a wing-back, leaving Callum McGregor idling in reserve, with all that energy wasted … those are merely symptoms of a wider malaise.
No, look at the bigger issues, not just the sight of Leigh Griffiths being left more isolated than a Donald Trump supporter at a Hollywood mixer.
And acknowledge that Strachan’s innate conservatism — with a small ‘c’ — has been a brake upon progress.
His failure, early in the campaign, to recognise Griffiths as the most obvious candidate for the main striking role in the starting XI is a case in point. But hardly the only example.
This is a coach who instinctively goes against the wisdom of the crowd, who almost seems to back away from obvious decisions because they’re, well, obvious.
But the basics of management remain unaltered. Pick your best players. Your most dangerous players. Then arrange them in a team capable of beating the opposition.
That’s why Griffiths (below) should have been a stick-on starter back when Chris Martin and/or Steven Fletcher were slogging away at the main forward’s role. Back when the damage to our World Cup hopes was actually done.
Look, in 20 years away from major finals, the formula hasn’t changed much. Even allowing for the opening up of the Euros.
Pitched into a group as second, third, fourth or worse seeds, you need to win your home games. Maybe you can afford a draw against the top team. We’ll give you that.
But you’ve also got to duff up the diddy sides home and away. Then get a draw away from home against your main rivals.
There’s a reason why last night’s all-or-nothing attempt to reach the play-offs felt like a sloppy go at doing your homework on the bone-shaking bus into school.
Take a look back at the start of Group F. Go on, force yourself. So. Many. Dropped. Points.
We were in trouble the moment we drew at home to Lithuania. Lithuania, for goodness sake.
Getting trounced away in Slovakia effectively meant we needed snookers. This isn’t rocket science. It’s not even O-Grade arithmetic.
Yet on we trundle, time and again, being told that the next game definitely isn’t a must-win. Until it finally, actually, mathematically is.
The big question now isn’t whether Scotland can do better. We absolutely must do better.
Alas, the Scottish Football Association have shown time and again that they lack the basic imagination needed to look beyond their own comfort zone.
This is a body who passed on the chance to hire Lars Lagerback, a man whose current situation with Norway shouldn’t overshadow his reputation as a master of guiding nations to major finals.
And then doing something once they get there.
If really pushed, would Michael O’Neill have left Northern Ireland to manage the country where he has actually made his home and life? Nobody thought to propose the idea with sufficient persuasive force.
Many of us are sick of banging on about the differences between club and international football, not just for players but for the men in charge.
And it’s not the obvious ones that the coaches themselves talk about; the excess of free time and the lack of opportunities to work with players are the least of it.
No, the real key is understanding that a short, sharp, ten-game campaign needs momentum from the off. Not when it’s already too late.
That’s why there is a breed of globe-trotting gunslingers so valued by small to medium-sized nations. These guys get it.
If the most publicly patriotic manager since Ally MacLeod can’t get the job done, what’s the harm in looking for a mercenary with a track record? No, not a Berti Vogts. Someone who has proven, time and again, their suitability for this specific kind of qualification job.
Because yes, we might look back on the late goals conceded against England and point to that as the result that ‘did’ us.
Yet you could also point to our own record of late strikes as
evidence not merely of great heart — but proof that we’ve got roughly the points total our play deserved.
Admittedly, qualifying for the World Cup is hard. It’s meant to be hard. This isn’t the bloated European Championships, where half of the continent seem to fall into an invitation to the party.
As things stand, Argentina may miss out on a place in Russia next summer. That’s the Argentina of Lionel Messi.
So let’s not pretend that Scotland being absent from even the play-offs — round two of the UEFA qualification process, as FIFA calls it — represents some shock.
Nor should anyone believe that the world will bemoan our absence. If it wasn’t for the colourful antics of the Tartan Army keeping their own ‘brand’ visible across the globe, fans in Africa, Asia and beyond might have forgotten that Scotland even have their own international team.
Amid the national mood of resignation, of course, it’s impossible not to feel sympathy for Strachan.
He’s a heck of a guy. A really good manager who has excelled in the club game.
Funny, spiky, absolutely 100-percent genuine, he doesn’t pretend. Doesn’t attempt to dress up his beliefs and philosophies.
Getting him to explain those ideas to the great unwashed at times is a challenge, mind. But, then, it would be false and fake of him to start schmoozing at this late stage in life.
He looked tired last night, though. Done in. Not just emotionally exhausted by the strain of it all; anyone as close to the players as Strachan is would be drained by the knowledge of how much they were hurting.
He’ll know that Darren Fletcher ending his career without a single measly appearance at a major finals is not merely an anomaly, but a cause for collective anguish. Nobody in that squad deserves it more.
Yet his post-match chatter about Scots being genetically inferior to nations who produce giant athletes is hollow and flawed. Has he even seen Jonny and Richie Gray? We’ve got big, quick, powerful and athletically gifted lads all over the country, Gordon. We’ve also good some fine footballers.
The fact that the two categories don’t always overlap shouldn’t be an excuse for not picking the best XI, failing to select obviously talented candidates for selection — and veering towards the comfort of the familiar when something a little more enterprising is required.
You can’t cross a mighty chasm in a series of small hops. If Scotland are ever to return to the main stage of world football, a terrific leap forward is required.
It’s perfectly acceptable to argue that Strachan can get that job done. But the evidence of the past 13 months would suggest that he lacks that intrepid streak without which no nation can ever hope to achieve even limited greatness.