THE SHAMEFUL RETURN

THERE was to be no protest. No great show of sound and fury. Not a word raised in even mild rebuke. Not for this lot. Scotland arrived back at Glasgow Airport yesterday afternoon after one of the most embarrassing showings in even our long and bleak footballing history… and a nation shrugged. Two SFA staff members, a small knot of media and a gaggle of bemused bystanders — one lad in a Barcelona tracksuit, two younger kids in Poland jackets — gathered by the welcome zone at International arrivals. And it quickly became clear that, with the exception of the guys in the branded Scotland teamwear and the professional agitators wielding cameras and notebooks, nobody else in the building had even the faintest clue that Alex McLeish and his men were due to touch down. Nor did they care much. The Scots, lest we forget, were given an absolute doing by Israel in Haifa on Thursday night. Lucky to lose only narrowly to a team just inside the top 100 of the FIFA world rankings, the paucity of their performance held the entire nation up to ridicule on the world stage. In some parts of planet football,

any national side returning from that kind of humiliation would have to run the gauntlet of an angry mob. Here? There were a couple of Portugal fans still disappointed that their heroes, who play Scotland tomorrow, had snuck out the back way to their waiting team bus. Many of the rest barely seemed aware that Scotland had played a game. Those who knew their fitba passed comments that demonstrated just how little they thought of McLeish’s side. ‘Is that right, aye?’, said one arriving passenger, when he’d asked why there were TV crews waiting. ‘Scotland? I saw enough of them last night, thanks…’ A younger lad greeted by his mates laughed as he asked them: ‘What’s all this, a heroes’ welcome for a 2-1 defeat?’ No, son, it wasn’t quite that. But neither was there ever going to be even a minor display of public disaffection. Scotland, this Scotland, simply don’t inspire that kind of passion. That has to be a worry. Because, believe it or not, genuine anger would give the SFA something to work with. If nothing else, a semi-mutinous gathering voicing their disapproval — or even the odd shout or half-mocking boo — would prove that the general populace still feel for the national football team. As it transpired, a couple of bolder souls took the opportunity to grab a selfie or two with players they half recognised from the club game. The way you might approach some actor who used to be in a programme you once watched. Such apathy just feels wrong. Especially here, in a nation where football matters to so many. Per head of population, we support our clubs in greater numbers than just about any other country on the planet. In terms of popularity and participation numbers, there is no other sport that can touch the beautiful game as Scotland’s pastime of choice. Yet 20 years — and counting — without our senior men appearing at a major finals have taken their toll. The diehards who can have their day or night made or broken by Scotland’s result are in a shrinking minority. Fewer and fewer people really care. So, yes, Big Eck and his boys — all of whom had been ordered to avoid all media enquiries under pain of death — might have turned a few heads yesterday. But people quickly turned their attention back to the things that really matter to them. ‘Scotland?’, asked one older gent, waiting for family to arrive back from holiday. ‘Why would I hang around to see them?’ Nobody could provide an answer.