The price of failure

A 1-1 draw against Canada not however against the run of play. £15.00 & a decent seat in Easter Road, I initially thought not a bad for a meaningless friendly, however I was to buy the ticket, thought at first I was going to get paid for watching Scotland. I had prepared an invoice and if necessary had a purchase order prepared.
However, talk of a boycott against Gordon Strachan, really? Am I right that a Scotland fan boycotting a Scotland  game is really somebody just not bothering to turn up? A legitimate act of defiance or a part-time fan who is more interested in the party when abroad? Just asking.
Dissapointment, poor play, hopeless, these  are  not  modern phenomenon. We may just  not be winning at a lower level, our passionate indifference, it may be terminal.
If I had a £1 for every time I was asked what has gone wrong with Scottish football I would have £23, not bad for a days lack of an answer.
Contrary to the radio report this morning there was no mass booing of Scotland at the end of 90 minutes of boredom, worse there was the rustle of despair.
Where do we go now? Will a victory on Sunday, kick off 7.45pm by the way, will this victory rescue our campaign? Unlikely & probably irrelevant as we are likley to stagger, huff puff and wander into the England game where we will face an enormous gulf in class as well as height.
The Under 17s have qualified for the finals & there is at last a wee peek at a positive future. I for one do not hold my breath. Shame on me.
My social media is full of clips of the good old days, I am more guilty than any at searching the past for heroes with hobnailed Hotspur boots, but even I weary at clips of Faddy in Paris.
I herbey declare that all clips of Archie in Argentina be banned herewith. Baxter & Law ripping England be banished from our screens.
We as fans must face up to our player's inadequacies, demand more from our clubs, coaches & poor poor players. Football is more than success, more than the money & talent dripping from England's leagues, there should however be a glimmer of  hope.
I am a Scotland fan, I have no hope. if anybody finds my  hope let me know.

Hamish

Westa in Edinburgh

Top seed, surely not? Westa's first ever home trip was to Edinburgh for the Euro Qualifier 10th October 1998 and we were top seed in a group that included The Czech Republic, 1996 Euro Champions.

Westa had successfully negotiated their first foreign trip to Lithuania and a 0-0 draw with the only casualties being member's livers. A month later we were to meet in an Edinburgh brewery adjacent to Tynecastle with the prospect of an easy home win against Estonia.

The Ayr branch of Westa took an early train and were soon mixing with the Tartan Army in the capital. Following the France World Cup there was the emergence of the various organised TA group’s and this gathering was a chance to mingle with fellow foot soldiers and share stories and drinks.

I have a memory of a pal not going to the game as he had been left in charge of a dog in a pub, Shambles perhaps, must ask him one day.

The game itself was a stramash, emotion and more. 1-0 down at half-time sub Billy Dodds equalized and then trailing 2-1 with 15 minutes to go the group’s prospects were, and not for the first time looking glum. An own goal and a late Dodd’s goal had Tynecastle rocking. 3-2.

‘Gets the ball and scores a goal, Billy Billy  Dodds’ was the refrain, he was to be for a period a Scotland goal scorer , nearly of note.  The next game was The Faroes at Pittodrie.

Westa Members headed to the poshest hotel in town, The Roxburghe at Charlotte Square. Owned by Sir David Murray there was a rumour that he had personally invited us. I am not convinced as I would have kept the ticket and if he did he did not stand his round. A raucous night was had by all, kilts aplenty and we were graced by the presence of Marjory Nimmo, honourary patron in chief of the TA.

She was doing her royal tour, acquainted with all we paid our respects, there was however a crisis when her bag was nicked. A near riot ensued and the subsequent whip round raised enough money to send her on an all expense trip around the globe.

Missing the Westa bus the Ayr branch were on John Grigor’s bus arriving at 2 or 3am to the St Andrew’s pub where we were welcomed to a lock-in for a deaf club. One brief drink and a taxi home.

My wife was accurate in her explanation; prior to my introduction to Westa I drove to Hampden for home games arriving back barely 2 hours after the final whistle.

That all changed thereafter, home games became an adventure and like a Scotland game, a stramash.

Westa Player of The Year

Tales of The West of Scotland Tartan Army. POTY

During the darkest hours of Bertie’s reign we were faced, not once but twice with the classic dilemma. As a democratic body the choice of Player of The Year was devoid, not of a winner but nominations.

The list of past winners included Christian Dailly and Don Hutchison. Christian was nominated and chosen because, well because he was, and is Christian Dailly. Don Hutchison, scorer of the winner at Wembley, a cracker against Germany and a truly all round good guy. We somehow got the trophy to Christian at West Ham and The Don courtesy of Westa member Andrew Gibson who hand delivered it to a presumably bemused Don at  Leeds Utd training ground.

The following year BBC TV were, I kid you not, filming the Westa Player of The Year award ceremony. The nation awaited our announcement, however we had no nominations, none. The various defeats and humiliations Scotland had suffered left us bereft of hope never mind a hero.

Our best score of the season had been a fortuitous 2-2 draw with Spain in Valencia with an 80^th minute floodlight failure ensuring a draw & a wet lap of honour for the Tartan Army

Lights, camera & action. The Chair stood and addressed the members and a million viewers. No name was inscribed on the trophy, no actual winner was chosen.  We assured the BBC the winner was a closely guarded secret. The hapless, most say hopeless Chair stood and announced; ‘The winner is………………………………………’

 ‘The Spanish electrician’ shouted a Westa Wag. Problem solved, the winner however to this day awaits the prized trophy.

A year later & we were facing the same dilemma, or were we? The Women’s team were becoming an attraction for some of us, and the committee chose a Woman. The choice was narrowed down to the one that worked in Greaves Sports, we could nip down & invite her personally.

Scottish Football’s most prestigious night, our Player of The Year. The wonderful Vera Pauw, Team Manager & our chosen player attended as honoured guests, Mhairi who to be honest looked bemused as well as honoured. They were roundly cheered and as Mhairi left the Iron Horse she looked even more bemused.

I humbly suggest that following the success of Scotland’s Women’s Team they be honoured as Scottish Fitba’s team of the Year. They are off to the Euro’s in Holland & so am I.

 Hamish