Paw Broon - It's all doon the hill fae here

There used tae be a smelly auld buffer whit lived up one o’ the stairs in Glebe Street just after me and Maw Broon moved there. He lived alone oan his state pension and never, ever complained that he couldnae afford luxuries like food or new clothes. There were some weeks when he wis so hard up he would get by oan half a pound o’ soor plooms and a bottle of Irn Bru, both o’ which he wid spin oot tae last several days. But, the thing wis, he wis perfectly happy. A fillet steak wid mair than likely huv killed him.

Noo, ma point here is no tae highlight the incredible nutritional value o’ soor plooms and Irn Bru but rather the ability that some folk have tae exist quite comfortably oan the most meagre of rations. Ye make do with whit ye’ve got and just get on wi’ it.

Fast forward tae October 2004.

There are some commentators who say that the Scottish football team’s current malaise isnae the fault of Berti Vogts, and that he cannae be blamed fer the paucity of talent at his disposal.

“We just don’t have the players” they say. “Even Alex Ferguson would struggle to win games with the current squad.”

Well, to put it bluntly, that’s a lot o’ shite in my humble opinion.

If football wis a game wherein success lay solely in having the best players, then I’d have some sympathy fer those who defend Berti’s corner.

But it isnae.

If it wis, Real Madrid widnae currently be lying 10th in the Spanish league. The “Galactico’s” of Madrid, the most expensive array of superstar players ever assembled, are living proof that there’s mair tae the beautiful game than that, thank God.

If it wis aw aboot huvvin the best players, Greece widnae be the current European Nation Champions. But they are.

Can ye name a single Greek player? Can ye remember who scored their winning goal in the final? If ye can, ye’re in the minority. Or ye’re Greek.

The history of football is littered with similar examples of glorious underdog over-achievement. Raith Rovers winning the League Cup, Sunderland and Wimbledon winning the FA Cup, and Denmark winning the European Nations Cup in 1992 to name but a few.

Entirely unpredictable triumphs such as these are precisely what makes the beautiful game so beautiful to its billions of devotees, the vast majority of whom, like Scotland, live more in hope than expectation.

It’s when hope turns tae hopelessness ye’ve got a problem.

Every one of the above teams knew full well that if they relied on footballing talent alone, they were also-rans doomed to failure. Instead, they relied on those other great imponderables of the game, passion, desire, self-belief and perhaps more than anything else, a gameplan that played to their own strengths, and which they stuck to rigidly regardless of what anyone else thought. Don’t like the Wimbledon long-ball game? Well go fuck yerself, as the Wimbledon players might, and often did, say as they knocked the aristocrats of English football firmly out of their strides on the way to Wembley.

Unlike many, I’m actually optimistic for the future of the Scottish football team. We DO have the players capable of doing the business, IF we play to our traditional strengths. They’ve already proved it against the likes of Germany, Holland and Spain.

But, be it Gordon Strachan or Walter Smith, what we desperately need now, more than ever, is a manager who fully understands the simple fundamentals required tae make a poke o’ soor plooms and a bottle of Irn Bru look and feel like a feast fit for a king.

And not some sour Kraut.