Okay, we know it's not big and we know it's not clever, but it's a fact of life nonetheless. Nothing, and we mean absolutely nothing, comes between the Tartan Army and a good bevvy.

A typically idiosyncratic Italian design job for the 1990 World Cup Finals mascot

Never, in this footsoldier's experience at least, was that simple truth better illustrated than at the 1990 World Cup Finals in Italy, and specifically the game in Genoa between Scotland and Sweden.

Thanks to our English cousins who, in time honoured tradition, decided to run amok through the streets of whichever Italian City they happened to be in or passing through at the time, a total alcohol ban was put in place throughout the country on match days.

This was not good news. Watch Scotland play football whilst totally sober? Perish the thought! It's inhuman. Plan B was immediately drawn up and put into effect.

Plan B, for this particular platoon of the Tartan Army at least, involved filling plastic litre bottles of Fanta with a mixture of roughly two parts Fanta to eight parts vodka before catching the train for the trip from our Tuscany base to Genoa. That's a litre bottle of Fanta per person, by the way.

The Tartan Army's Vodka

Suitably prepared, we boarded the train and discovered to our deep joy that nobody had told the Italian railway service not to serve booze. It was even brought round on trolleys for our convenience. It would have been churlish not to take advantage. So we did. Fully.

We arrived in Genoa with about three hours to go before kick-off, already half-pished and with our "secret" carry-outs still intact.

There was one small problem though. Outside the station was an unbroken cordon of Carabinieri waiting to search every Scottish fan off the trains before allowing them onto the streets of Genoa. The buggers were thinking ahead. Surely we'd be rumbled if we tried to walk through.

It was either that or a two hour drinking session in the station toilets though. "What was Genoa like?" our friends back home would ask us. "Like a toilet" we'd have to reply. Fuck it, we thought, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

You don't fuck with the Italian polis, as these protestors at the G8 summit discovered to their cost.

Brass-necked, we headed for the exit and the obligatory bag search. Sure enough, the Fanta bottles are pulled out, with a knowing look from the policeman.

"Fanta" we say. "Orange Juice."

He unscrews a bottle and takes a whiff. Then, to our horror, takes a swig. Surely there's no way we're getting away with this.

He replaces the cap, hands the bottle back and casually waves us through. YA BEAUTY!!!!!!!!! HERE WE GO! HERE WE GO! HERE WE GO!

Once on the streets of Genoa, it soon becomes evident. The party's in full swing, the whole place is rockin' to the Tartan Army beat and virtually every Scotland fan in sight is necking happily from very large Fanta bottles or similar. Thankyou, Coca-Cola Corporation, thankyou.

By kick-off time, the majority of the Tartan Army are blootered on electric fizzy juice and feeling very bouncy bouncy. Scotland win the game 2-1 and afterwards we're all dancing in the streets and kissing everyone in sight. Even Swedes. In fact, especially Swedes.

The magnificent Stadio Luigi Ferraris where Scotland beat Sweden 2-1.

It was just one of those special, special Scotland days of which there haven't been too many at World Cups. And the hazy memory of it will live on for a long time.

The following day, in the Italian press, the Scots fans are praised to the hilt by the Genovese authorities and FIFA alike for "setting such a good example and knowing how to have a good time without drinking".

Laugh? We nearly hurt our hangovers.

Easy fooled, some folk, although in fairness there probably were a few misguided souls there who let the side down and stayed sober.

There's always that small minority that wants to spoil it for everyone else, isn't there?