SCOTLAND'S WORLD CUP
The Universal Scotsman
It’s becoming a depressingly familiar ritual, this. Time was, I only had to worry about three teams in the World Cup; those we were drawn against in the group phase. Being Scottish, you learn not to bother with the “winner of Group A plays runner-up in group B” permutations as the immutable laws of football state that Scotland will never advance beyond the group stages of any international competition. However, in Nature there is always balance and to this end there existed a second immutable law stating that Scotland would always qualify for these group stages, even if it was just to embarrass ourselves in front of the biggest possible audience. In fact, until recently we’d got to more consecutive World Cup finals via the qualifying rounds than any other country on Earth. (The heavy-hitters tend to win the thing, or host it, thereby screwing their eligibility for this most prestigious accolade.) I was ten years old when we first qualified in 1974, part of a generation that grew to adulthood in the belief that our participation in the Finals was part of the natural order of things. As far as we were concerned, it was stitched into our national identity like emphysema and shortbread.
Scotland effectively closed down for the fortnight it took to play our traditional three games and the World Cup pervaded every aspect of our lives. In a country whose thirst for knowledge rivals its thirst for super-strength lager, classrooms full of kids busied themselves running endless points and goal-difference scenarios and the more exotic lands in our group were a godsend for geography teachers from John O’Groats to Gretna. What would you like to know about: Zaire (1974); Peru (1978) New Zealand (1982) Uruguay (1986); Costa Rica (1990) or Morocco (1998)? No, really…ask me something.
You never had to explain to a Scottish urchin where Ali & Foreman’s Rumble in the Jungle was going down, we could reel off Zaire’s population, square mileage and five main exports before you took your next breath. To be fair, thrashing us with belts until we’d assimilated these facts took some of the fun out of learning but I’ll tell you what, you’ll always find a Scotsman on the winning pub quiz team.
You can imagine, then, the void that’s left in our national consciousness in the years when, as a dear English friend of mine rejoices in pointing out, “we didnae qualify” (Cheers Andy Cameron, you twat, for that asinine slice of hubris) It’s a burning itch in an amputated leg and the only way to scratch it is by supporting the nation who can most closely emulate the Scottish World Cup experience.
This is nowhere near as easy as it sounds. First, you’ve got to pick a nation that’s a racing certainty to finish runners-up to Brazil (1974, 1982,1990 & 1998) Then, the group has to have a whipping-boy that we fail to whip as soundly as everyone else (Zaire, Iran, New Zealand) or indeed beat us and make overnight millionaires of bookies the length & breadth of Scotland (Costa Rica, Morocco). Finally there has to be a dark horse, scripted to finish third but who come good at the Finals and send us home before we miss a visit to the dole office (Yugoslavia, Peru, Russia).
And so it is with a hopeful heart, yet mindful of the gravity of the task ahead that I sit down with my Panini sticker book to choose my anointed nation for 2006. Okay, let’s start with our traditional ambition when the circus comes to Europe, coming second in Brazil’s group. That would be Croatia, Australia & Japan then. Croatia look a decent bet for second place, even fielding a Scottish-based player in Dado Prso, although he does play for that shower across the Clyde and as a Celtic man I’m obliged to wish only for his damnation. Add to that the fact that one of Celtic’s few representatives at the Finals is Japan’s Shunsuke Nakamura and supporting Croatia becomes out of the question. I entertain a lingering notion that if a critical mass of Scots do throw in their lot with Croatia they’ll consequently be doomed to third place and Celtic will progress to the knockout stages, but I’m guessing this would be annulled by the same rule that says you can’t deliberately step in dogshit to get the compensatory good luck.
Poland begin to look promising on many fronts. They’ll be fielding two Celtic players: Maciej “Magic” Zurawski and Artur “Arthur” Boruc, although the latter will be vying with Jerzy Dudek for a turn between the sticks and that Champions League medal shines considerably brighter than Artur’s League Cup & Scottish Premier League set this season. Also, they’re drawn with Costa Rica who turned us over in our worst World Cup embarrassment since the draw with Iran. I no longer have that piece of my soul to give away so sorry Poland, and good luck.
I supported Sweden last time as they fielded three Celtic players, including the sublime Henrik Larssen who single-handedly won us the Scottish Premier League on at least three occasions. They’re in the traditional Scottish position of favourites for second place and we have the requisite, potential banana skins in the shape of Paraguay and Trinidad & Tobago, but I’m afraid the link with Celtic or Scotland is just a wee bit too tenuous to justify my support this year. Anyway, Henrik will probably pick up a Champions League winner’s medal with Barca before the World Cup and I should spread the love around, I reckon.
Speaking of Trinidad & Tobago, they’re definitely coming up on the rail. Bizarrely, they have no less than five (honestly, five!) Scottish-based players, two of whom ply their trade at Falkirk no less, and they even have a bloke by the name of Jason Scotland who turns out for St. Johnstone. In addition, the West Indies have a long-standing historical link with Scotland; in fact half the population has a Scottish surname. Admittedly this is because the Scots pretty much ran the Caribbean slave trade but I’m hoping this might be the reconciliation we’ve all been crying out for.
Shaka Hislop’s on goalkeeping duty, which is more than Scotland could ever hope for and to cap it all, they’re giving Dwight Yorke a run-out. Since that business with the four brassers, the women’s clothes and the hidden camera, I’ve had nothing but the highest regard for Dwight and to support him on the world stage would be an honour.
Should further portent be required, the bloke who fixes other people’s cars in the street outside my house has a Trinidad & Tobago flag in the back window of his Nissan Bluebird. It doesn’t do to ignore the signs.
So that’s sorted. It’s “TNT”, as I’m sure nobody on Trinidad or indeed Tobago ever calls it, for the Cup. I was discussing the results of my deliberations with a mate the other night when he pointed out that I’d overlooked a country that, like Scotland, lives and dies for football. Like Scotland, they never quite fulfil their promise. Like Scotland, they’ll take you to the brink and break your heart with heroic failure. He also points out it’s the birthplace of my wife and children and the land I’ve called home for twenty years.
No…wait a minute.., England? You cannot be serious!
All together now… “Woah Flower O’ TinidadanTobaaaaaaaygooooooooh…”
WORLD CUP SONGS
Sidenetting’s man on the street gives you the hip low down on something or other:
So, after months of increasingly tedious speculation, the FA has finally announced the big footballing decision of this World Cup summer. No, not the identity of the new, post Sven national Supremo but rather which British guitar band would be commissioned to produce the ‘official’ England World Cup song. Those cheeky Yorkshire indie types, the Kaiser Chiefs [why bother coming up with an original idea when you can shamelessly recycle rock’s past for a younger generation and not only clean up financially but, astonishingly, garner critical acclaim to boot] had pulled out of the gig after news of their potential involvement leaked to the press. Poor things, the huge pressure of a nation’s expectations must have been a bit daunting for them, though almost certainly not as daunting as the thought of repeated exposure to it, if England were to make genuine progress in the tournament, would have been to me. Remember, this is the lyrical genius, laughably bracketed by some (idiots) as an equal to Arctic Monkey’s Alex Turner, who presumably had no qualms in rhyming ‘name tag on it’ with ‘plate tectonic’. His old geology teacher must have been so proud of him [and how cool is that eh kids?]
Even if their fellow Yorkshiremen, the afore mentioned Monkeys, had been up for the gig [and let’s hope that they’re never going to be the kind of band that could be ‘commissioned’ to do anything], you can bet those cloth-eared old buffers down at Soho Square would still have plumped for the ploddiest band in Britain [beating off worthy competition from the likes of Snow Patrol and Coldplay], Embrace. Naturally, they’re from Yorkshire too. I suppose the county represents everything that’s steadfast and dependable under pressure about the British character, like, er, David Batty. Anyway, the FA’s Marketing Manager Tom Harold said that he was confident Embrace’s song would ‘capture the imagination of the fans and players alike’ and that ‘the official England World Cup song has become something of an institution and it is really important that we have an original and exciting track’. Yeah, I can just see Rio and Wayne ditching Dr Dre and 50 Cent to make way on the MP3 player for Embrace’s turgid, mid paced balladry and as for ‘original and exciting’ well, I’ve got news for you Tom, Embrace don’t do either [why rip off somebody else’s licks like the Chief’s do when it’s even easier, and prevents any potentially expensive accusations of plagiarism, to just rip off your own instead.]
And an institution? I don’t know about you, but I have absolutely no recall of anything about 1998’s ‘How Does It Feel To Be On Top Of The World’ other than it featuring Echo & The Bunnymen [whose continuing existence had been a well kept secret for almost a decade at the time], a couple of Spice Girls [Sporty and Posh? Or maybe Ginger? Who knows, it was all so long ago..] and, er, the bloke from Space. Or how about Ant & Dec’s ‘On The Ball’. Never heard it, not even once.
But it’s not only because of their relative musical superiority [although a Hooky baseline was some recompense for the Barnes rap and Ian Broudie could always write a decent tune] that I could still [sadly] sing along to ‘World In Motion’ and ‘Three Lions’. Were either ‘commissioned’ by the FA? Not to my recollection. And what happened? We made the Semis.
We could win the thing this time round and you still won’t find me singing along with Danny McNamara to ‘World At Your Feet’. But the worrying thing is that we could get knocked out in the second round, a team psychologically diminished by its association with the dreary, anthemic dirge that Danny and the lads are likely to present to an underwhelmed British public. Anyone know whether the Monkeys are into their football? C’mon Alex, your country needs you!
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