« FIVE-STAR SCOTS SHOW METTLE AT LAST
AGAME utterly devoid of joy, settled by an ordeal that somehow continues to evade the attention of those charged with enforcing the Geneva convention.
And a result plumbed from the depths of a miserable contest completely lacking in style. A victory for functionality over flair. How terribly 2020.
Charged with producing a performance to lift the mood of the nation, Scotland instead gave us 120 minutes perfectly reflecting the deep, dark, doom- l aden despair of the pandemic age.
Yet, when it came to a test of nerve and trial by fortune via kicks from the penalty spot, Steve Clarke’s men had enough to see off opponents 44 slots below them in the world rankings. For now.
In a game that did little to strengthen the case for international football’s continuation during lockdowns and travel bans, a contest memorable only for the paucity of play, the result is the only thing that matters, ultimately. Nobody remembers losing semifinalists, after all. These penultimate ties are often cagey, cautious and tepid affairs settled more by discipline than daring.
And so we’ll take this. Run all the way to Belgrade with a result that flattered the home side. Does anyone fancy our chances against Serbia in the play-off final? That’s a rhetorical question. On the evidence of this, Scotland wouldn’t be favourites to beat anyone.
In a formation that seemed designed to negate the strengths of our best players, with an attitude negativity that prevented the home side from playing with any kind of verve, Clarke’s men spent most of regulation and extra time on the back foot.
Yes, the penalty shoot-out was thrilling. Honest. But few would argue that Scotland deserved victory. Because, in all honesty, this was a night both teams lived down to the occasion. No matter how accustomed we’ve become to ghost games and piped-in crowd noises, the absence of fans from this — of all fixtures — felt like a crime against football.
In the build-up to last night’s game, plenty had scoured the history books and memory banks for comparable occasions.
Honestly? It wasn’t a lot of fun. Because, regardless of what happened on the pitch, there was no way this game could ever stand side-by-side with some of the big nights at Hampden.
Personally, it’s impossible to look beyond that Euro 2000 play- off first leg against England — a defeat, but so what? In terms of atmosphere maybe the 2003 clash with Holland comes close as it had the bonus of actual celebrations.
The 1-1 draw with Norway in ‘89, forever remembered by those lucky enough to be there for the steady, cacophonous, monotone roar that filled the final 20 or 25 minutes with such glee, as we watched our boys qualify for a fifth consecutive World Cup Finals?
Nothing that happened here could top those experiences. And the absence of a full house in full- on berserker mode undermined the home team from the off. Where was the tempo, the energy, the gerrintaethem spirit? Without pretending that i nternational football can ever be conquered by guts a nd gumption a l one, Scotland aren’t nearly good enough to win by sweetly playing their way through opponents.
So yes, the twin targets of Lyndon Dykes and Oli McBurnie offered plenty of scope for the Scots to build attacks through simply chipping or driving the ball into the head, shoulders, knees or toes of either striker. But for most of the first half, in particular, the centre-forwards seemed to have been placed in isolation by their ultra-cautious team-mates.
What were Scotland playing, a back seven? It looked like that, as the three central defenders were joined by wingbacks and two holding midfielders dropping deep.
And, even through the medium of the talking picture box in the corner, armchair viewers could see the visitors grow in confidence.
They looked at Scotland and weaknesses, and thought: ‘Oh yes, we’ve got this.’ On the break, they were willing to move the ball at speed, passing and running into space, looking for a give-and-go… pretty basic, if effective, stuff.
Simple, too, was the Israeli plan to attack down between/behind right wing back Stephen O’Donnell and central defender Scott McTominay. Without ever having seen Scotland play before, the opposition analysts could have picked out that area of the pitch as the most likely to yield results.
For the Scots, chances were rare; they needed to make the most of any opening comng their way. That’s why Scott McTominay’s free header wide from a corner just before half-time was such a sickener. He had to hit the target from six yards out. Has anyone asked the Manchester United defender if he’s been placed under a curse? It would offer one explanation for his recent run of luck for both club and country.
A bright start to the second half, with John McGinn reprising the agent of chaos role that is key to his game, gave us hope. Ah, hope. The real auld enemy.
As the game got more stretched, so were our nerves. Watching the ball ricocheting around the Scotland box, mercifully always falling just an inch or so away from a visiting player, was torture.
And still Scotland sat in. Still they got nine behind the ball and looked for, well, what, exactly? Good Lord, they were actually playing for extra time and pens. At home. Against Israel. No, that couldn’t be right. Well, Red Star Belgrade did it in a European Cup final. Craig Levein played without a striker in Prague.
That 89th- minute shot that McTominay headed away and behind felt like it took four-and-ahalf minutes to play out in agonising slow motion.
When the cameras cut to Clarke at the start of extra time, he looked about as comfortable as President Trump in the worst balcony appearance since Madonna in Evita.
At least the shoot-out had drama to commend it. And, be honest. When Kenny McLean scored the decisive penalty, you cheered.
Whether you watched it in your front room or a bar granted a late license, the promise of ending our long wait to get to a major finals still moves you in a way that few sporting experiences can.
If Clarke’s men do this all over again in Serbia, complete with a shoot-out win, who will complain?