Scotland v San Marino Twitter Moment

[Alex Anderson]

I'm a recent convert to this part of the world - my need to find places to run that minimise the chances of being seen and ridiculed by anyone I know has taken me in the last couple of years to Arran twice, Islay and Mull and all being well I'll be heading to Skye and Campbelltown next year (possibly others).

As I commented to TrL after I'd been to Mull via Oban this year, I can only imagine the horror in the 1970s on our family holidays to Oban and Ullapool with my dad (at the time younger than I now am, but already an old man in his ways) driving whatever British Leyland built shitcan he had at the time, pulling a badly loaded and shaky caravan, while my mam knitted Arran (not that one) sweaters in the passenger seat, him smoking a pipe, her smoking fags while whatever permutation of us lot were crammed in the back threatening to vomit at any given time, all set to the backdrop of Radio 4 (if he had his way) or Radio 2 (if my mam put her foot down). I can "only imagine" because I can barely remember, being very young at the time - I can remember being in Lossiemouth (Elvis died while we were there) in the same caravan, but that's an anecdote for another time - maybe when you are trying to punt a spare ticket for a home tie against Andorra at Pittodrie and the thread diverts to discussing the surrounding area.

I'm quickly turning these fine pages into a selfishly personal travelogue, Walt - doing my usual thread-killing verbosity - this time of my holidays past and imminent - so, in that I've decided to let it breathe again, you and Kingsbury Saint have just narrowly avoided a bullet.

Arran, youse say?

All I'll say is I got an original painting of Arran, viewed from Ardrossan's North Shore, painted by an Arran-based artist, purchased from an Arran gallery (no deal on tea and scones), for my 40th birthday. Classic Scotsman, yes - "I've moved half an hour up the road but OH GOD, I MISS MY HOME TOWN SO MUCH I WILL TALK ABOUT IT ENDLESSLY AND DECORATE MY NEW HOME WITH REMINDERS OF THE PLACE I COULDN'T WAIT TO LEAVE"!!! - but I used to do my embarrassing running along that shore, looking over to Arran,

You could see Goat Fell from my bedroom window in Ardrossan and, probably, at a squint, from the window of the bathroom where, as I lay in that bedroom as a 7-year-old, I heard my dad knock on the door to tell my mum Elvis had died. How poetic. (I think she was in the bath, though, rather than on the pan ... and I've always been the burger-eater of the family).

Arran from Ardrossan is the view I cherish most in life - and the only better one on the planet is the view of the Holy Island, low cloud and mist around the summit, as you walk over the final hill from Brodick down into Lamlash. Love it, Walt.

I'm slowly realising me going on about it for a 1,000-words per post isn't the best way to persuade someone of that love. So I'll just say thanks for mentioning Arran (and - yeah! - my mum also knitted matching Arran sweaters for my sister and me ... for when we went to Blackpool for the first time ... GOD, the temptation to say "another great present for my 40th" is almost overwhelming!)

I look forward to your Lossiemouth anecdotes - bring them on, sir - but if we draw Andorra at Pittodrie, nothing will part me from that ticket ... the first time anyway.

Pine Martens, Beavers, Otters - every kind of fish worth battering and absolutely no wolves. Who's got time to watch Scotland v San Marino when you've a pair of binoculars and a few days off in Argyll?

Although a comfy international victory and three points for the home side is perhaps the most lesser-spotted creature in all of the west of Scotland.

[Alex Anderson]

Erskine Bridges Yeah, just checked with the missus and her maternal grandfather was born in Ardrishaig and her maternal grandmother in Lochgilphead. He was a policeman in Argyll then got a promotion up to Shetland. When he retired (1970s?) they built their own place on a hillside off the main road just outside Ardrishaig.

So there ye are - I'm practically a native. (Because being any kind of relation to a local policeman is always sure to win ye friends in Scotland's towns and villages)

[Erskine Bridges]

Sorry mate, this is Ardrishaig we’re talking about, I was born there and I’m not really local because my parents were Weegie incomers so you’re not getting citizenship. Although, to be fair, Bruce is an old name in the village. Might be that the Bruce’s were one of the four fisher families that founded the village.

I wrote a piece years ago about the first game of football I ever saw which was at Ardrishaig Park ( George V Park I think) which was quite exciting. If I can find it, it might fit into this thread.

i also love Arran. Used to play golf on the same weekend every year at Whiting Bay back in the eighties. Great fun, apart from the fingering incident which I’ll maybe share later. It’s not what you think but quite shocking in its way.

On a clear day you can see Arran from my mother’s house in Ardrishaig.

[Alex Anderson]

I'd be disappointed if it was any other way, EB. If there's no-one missing a darts board in Ardrishaig the minute I take the left onto the A83 at Tarbet, sensing an outsider coming, then it's just not a place I want to be going on holiday.

Aye, his brothers were all fishermen. Bruce, Fishing Family - Argyll: Really narrowing it down for you here. Apparently he had legs and spoke words too.

I'll be more disappointed if I don't see the George V Park story and more so again re that Arran incident.

[Satchmo Distel]

Hampden classics: Scotland 0 Australia 2 from Nov 2000 is available in full on Youtube:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRzfsTcncYo

[KingsburySaint]

I bought tickets for that from the old SFA offices in Park Circus. I sometimes wonder what happened to the SFA badge mosaic floor when they sold the place. Perhaps there is a correlation with the decline of the team.

[Sporting]

Just wondering what the attendance will be for this. Not the official figure, which will no doubt be doctored, but the actual number of diehards in the stadium.

[Lang Spoon]

This is the kind of thing that should be at Easter Road or Pittrodie, max. Fuck sake, Rugby Park is too big a venue.

[Felicity, I guess so]

I, too, have Lossie memories, having lived in Elgin 1973-6 and went back a few years ago to see the school before demolition.

[KingsburySaint]

This is the kind of thing that should be at Easter Road or Pittrodie, max. Fuck sake, Rugby Park is too big a venue.

Rugby Park is smaller than the other two but I agree with the sentiment. They also need to remove every second row from Rugby Park so those over 5ft can sit in comfort.

Personally I'd go for St Mirren Park or Keanie Park in Johnstone so I can get home quickly.

[Erskine Bridges]

OK AA, you asked and you'll get. I wrote this piece a long time ago intending to post it in the Old Lochgilphead And Surrounding Areas Facebook page. Old pics of old friends and of me occasionally show up. Old school line ups, an ex-girlfriend as she was 40 years ago, the odd action shot from a game from the late seventies where everyone has aggressive sideburns and thousand yard stares.

Anyway, an old team line up featuring yours truly as an 11 yo proudly hoisting the Mid Argyll Junior league trophy was posted which triggered the following memory. Ardrishaig winning the league was a big deal BTW. We were a wee village, Lochgilphead were the big city slickers. They had TWO teams, Red Star and A&B!

( A&B was Argyll & Bute Psychiatric Hospital. Why they had a junior football team remains a mystery to me. It was a mystery then but I never asked. On reflection, I let a lot go by me then. Still do to be honest. But they had the best playing surface in Mid Argyll and it hosted one of the dirtiest, most exciting and skillfull, back story inundated games I've ever played in. But that's another story.)

The win wasn't expected and it was (I can still vividly recall) much celebrated by the whole village. The trophy and team got an open backed lorry parade through the village. I knew, even as a 10 yo that this meant something to adults. Maybe meant more to them than to us. But we had a core of four or five very good footballers and we did win it . They say you'll never win anything with kids. Well it's easier if you are playing against other kids but I don't think that detracts from the achievement. Anyway, this is what I wrote, tidied up a bit. I never did post it.

Looking at that picture reminded me of the first ever football match I watched, with my own eyes like. It was at Ardrishaig Park. Was that what it was called? I’ve played there hundreds of times but I don’t know what it was called. Stad ‘Drishaig? The Theatre of Bad dreams? No that’s not right. It had a royal name, George V Park I think. I’ve got a lot of very happy memories from that park. Winning the Junior League there in 1972 0r 73 with an historic 2-2 draw v Red Star and we were entitled to every one of the 10 minutes extra time required to do it. Thank you Ref Andy Jap. Some painful ones too. Giving away the goal that lost the young Lochside ( although that wasn’t what we were called, what was that late 70’s very young/very old team called?) a cup final in 1978 ish remains a raw wound. Worse actually that the two, yes two, own goals I managed to score in front of a Rangers scout in a game for Cowal Boys Club but that’s a different story.

It was in the early seventies. I’d have been somewhere between 7 and 9 years old. Ardrishaig were playing someone in a quite important game as I recall, maybe a semi final. It was a hot night, redolent with the scents of summer. Freshly mown grass, the faint scent of violets and roddendrum, the overpowering blast of Blue Stratos as Kenny Rowan rushed into a last ditch tackle in the six yard box and the faint vapour of Skol lager as Andy Jap threw himself into yet another acrobatic save. On reflection it could have been Lochiel in goals and Andy Jap at centre half in which case the save would have been more of a burly spread-eagled type Schmeichel type effort but the vapour would still have been Skol.

(Actually, I was at the Chris Anderson Stadium recently to watch my girls compete in Athletics and the track runs around a football pitch. They'd just cut the grass, the lines were freshly painted, the nets were tight. I near fainted! I was 15 again. The colours and scents took me out of myself. I was transported back in time. The flutter in the stomach, the will to win, the overwhelming desire to not f*ck it up. But most of all, the emotion. The being there, the doing it, the being part of a team. But that was all to come...)

Anyway, it was a long time ago and I don’t think google will help much here with mining the fine detail so you’re just going to have to accept my recollections. Of course, if you were there you’ll have your own memories but for the time being you’re going to have to go with mine.

I was watching from the … road end and I recall lots of action and efforts on goal and its end to end stuff with a real edge and well, to me, my first game, it’s just brilliant. Then there was an incident in the box right in front of where I’m standing. Ardrishaig were piling on the pressure and the ball was pinging around the box. Someone goes down, shrill whistle, Pelanty! ! The guilty party took the decision badly and a punch is thrown! There is pandemonium, shoving, pushing, slapping. It is a melee, a stramash! This is incredible, violent, a bit scary but exciting, more exciting than anything I’ve ever seen. Almost certainly more exciting than that film Rollerball that I wasn’t allowed to see at the flicks at around the same time because I was too young. A loady pish frankly because my older brother got to see it and he was much more of a pussy than me. But I'm over it now.

Anyway, back to the action. I’d never seen anything like it. Things calm down and the jostling stops. Then the referee, Eenie MacGregor (also in the picture) one of the immortals although sadly dead now, strides up to the guilty party and brandishes the red card with a stern but quite theatrical flourish. Nobody was really surprised. This was 1970’s amateur football and robust tackling was the norm. Tackling from behind wasn’t banned, it was expected. So long as you got the ball at some point it was acceptable. However, scything tackles followed by forearm smashes were beyond the pale. The bloke, his name is dancing in front of me, just out of cognition. Someone will know. Maybe he won’t want his name known. Anyway he starts the walk of shame towards the changing rooms before abruptly turning round, marching up to Eenie and headbutting him with a casual competence that indicated to me (a child remember but growing up quite quickly at this point, you didn’t see this kind of thing on John Craven’s Newsround) that it wasn’t his first time. The ref goes down. There’s stunned silence. Nobody moves. It is quite shocking. The blood is bright red and spattering alarmingly around. I’m looking around me at the players, at the spectators. Is this normal? This seems absolutely mental to me. It’s not normal, people are shocked. The guilty party strides towards the changing rooms with a look that says, F*ck yous, naebody sends me off.

I’m aware of a small wiry man rushing onto the park and helping Eenie to his feet, insisting that the game must go on. The ref will continue, he says with a calm authority. Well I could have told him that the very last thing that ref wanted to do was continue but the wee guy is insistant. And Eenie slowly gets to his feet and someone gives him smelling salts. On reflection it was probably a flask with strong drink in it but it helps. The wee guy, as those of you who were there will know, was Campbell Kilberry. Fletcher was his name but he was called Kilberry. I don't know why. Another question not answered but I knew him as a lovely, decent man right into his football and respected by all. I recall him turning out for Red Star when he was close to his sixties and I’m not sure if he was close from the 50 side or the 70 side. I can remember it vividly for some reason.

I do remember some years on from the incident under discussion I was playing at Ardrishaig Park against Red Star and attacking the same …. Road end. I’d won the ball in midfield and played an exquisite one two with Jonesy ( you remember him) before firing a left foot swerver into the bottom left side corner for the winner. Past Collie as I remember and I bet he does too. (I’m writing this so I set the script but I do remember it clearly. Probably because there weren’t that many). Anyway, Kilberry came up to me after the game and told me that that goal had given him more pleasure than anything he’d seen that season on the telly. I was stunned and felt really proud that a guy who was so knowledgable about the game had even bothered to give a young guy such a compliment. I hadn’t the heart to tell him I was aiming for the other corner which was where Collie was going and I will take his look of ‘you flukey f******’ to my grave.

Anyway, I digress. But this Face tube thing/string/… does get you reminiscing.

Anyway, there is a general milling about as Eenie is helped to his feet. As I’ve said, this is all new to me but I’m aware this is somewhat out of the ordinary. One of the Ardrishaig players walks slowly and purposefully towards the changing rooms. I’ve been distracted by the ref spitting blood and teeth and the ridiculous proposition that he might continue but I’ve semi aware that the players, and not just the Ardrishaig boys, have been talking. One has been dispatched, or may have volunteered, to sort this issue out. I know this is what is happening because for at least 3 years now I’ve been watching the Virginian and I know how these things pan out.

[Erskine Bridges]

Next Part, ran out of space!

The bad guy gets away with some malarkey but before the end of the show he always gets sorted out. It was usually hot head Trampus (Doug McLure as those of you of a certain age will know) but sometimes the Virginian himself ( will have to google him) got off his horse and meted out summary but equitable justice. The guy walking towards the changing rooms looked like Trampus but was walking like The Virginian. I wasn’t quite sure what was coming next but I knew the Guilty Party was absolutely humped.

At this point I need to wallow in a spot of almost tearful reminiscance. As a kid from around 5 to 10 years old, the best time of the week was our Dad coming home from work on a Friday night with salt & vinegar crisps and sticks of hard basset liquorice and sitting down to watch the Virginian. Think about it. One packet of crisps a week, one treat and very few TV programmes to watch. Black & white then as well I think. But were we any less happy? (I'll leave that hanging there. I'm not sure actually. That's maybe a worthy discussion topic.)

Anyway, what happened next was like something out of Tom & Jerry, one of the very few TV programmes you’d drop the football or fishing rod to go home to watch. You will recall that Tom would occasionally find himself trapped in Spike the bulldog’s kennel. Spike would catch Tom yomphing his steak dinner and there would ensue a mighty stramash with the kennel lifting off the ground as Spike wreaked his righteous revenge. Ardrishaig had a small corrugated iron hut serving as changing rooms and the whole structure seemed to lift off the ground as the Guilty Party took his righteous pasting.

Looking back on it now it may seem quite shocking. It wouldn’t happen today because of the lawsuits and charges and it’s not really the done thing but at the time it seemed to be accepted as the right thing to do. As a kid I knew sort of what was going on and thought it was all quite scary but also kind of cool. It was what the Virginian would have done, if Trampus hadn’t rushed into town earlier and done it first. I know I shouldn’t make light of violence but it all seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It some ways it still does but it’s not really the way forward and I’ve never seen anything quite like it since. But that was then and this is now.

I know who played the Trampus/Virginian part and so will the Ardrishaig boys but I suspect he won’t want his name mentioned in relation to this. Because that was then and this is now. I played football for Ardrishaig in village football quite young and as a young guy growing up in a small community you know everybody and you meet everybody and as the kid you’re painfully aware of your position.

Ardrishaig Trampus always treated me with respect and was the nicest guy you’d ever meet, when I played football with him and when I was just a youngster before playing. But he was a right hard man. I was told he did a bit of time in Borstal for affray. The story was he threw 5 Tarbert boys though the window of the Argyll in Lochgilphead which ended a confrontation in cinematic style. I personally think that's pish. It would probably have been no more than 3 and Tarbert boys usually fought with Ardrishaig against Lochgilphead so I suspect the whole story is legend.

I also think back to those days to how the older guys treated you. I played village and amateur football at a very young age. Some guys tried to bully you, or, not quite bully, but put you in your place. Some guys just accepted you as a team mate. Some guys looked out for you. Talked to you. They knew you were just a scared kid. A quick, talented and committed kid, one that might take their place in years to come but a kid nonetheless.

The ones that looked out for you, the ones that treated you well, they always, always turned out to be good guys. Guys worthy of respect. Guys like Gary and Victor and Alex and Ally. The ones that didn't pretty much always turned out to be pricks.

As a young man making my way in my profession, I came across both types. I think I know that a grounding in football taught me a lot of life lessons, taught me to recognise and deal with one and respect and thank the other. 'Don't be a prick' has to be right up there as a goal and I hope I haven't.

Anyway, to finish. Eenie did complete the game, stumbling about the centre circle spitting blood and barely able to blow his whistle but I think he did manage to book someone for dissent. Eenie never liked the back chat as I learned when I got older.

Still, as I walked away from that game, head spinning with what I’d seen, what I’d experienced close up for the first time, there was only one thought in my head. On reflection it should have been respect for Eenie for carrying on with the game when he was quite badly hurt. It should have respect for Kilberry for being the catalyst for Eenie carrying on. Maybe it should have been respect for the shock & awe of Spike sorting out Tom’s much less savoury cousin. But it wasn’t.

I walked away from that game thinking ‘I want some of this!’

[torres]

There's a belting pennant of Ardrishaig FC hanging up in the Argyll pub. I was always tempted to ask the owner if there was any chance of of passing it on to me.

[ursus arctos]

This match is on ESPN+ here

There look to be plenty of good seats available

[Toby Gymshorts]

Any truth to the rumour that Steve Clarke's half-time talk at 3-0 up was "Don't worry lads, we're still in this"?

[Stobart]

"He literally couldn't give it away..."

One free ticket for Scotland v San Marino going to the first OTF regular who wants it.

I will not pay you to take it off me but you won't have to sit next to me, you won't have to sit next to anyone I know - in fact, you'll probably have Hampden to yourself.

I can't go. No-one else in Scotland wants to go. But if you have a fetish for failure, need to get San Marino on your Seen list or happen to be in Glasgow on Sunday 13th October and hate alcohol, cinema and being in your hotel for any longer than absolutely necessary, drop me your address via private message and I'll pop it in the post.

Back row of the bottom tier of the South/main stand, level with the East goal. Great seat.

A cracking seat overlooking the shallow end. I'd an enjoyable night - thanks Alex.

[Patrick Thistle]

Any truth to the rumour that Steve Clarke's half-time talk at 3-0 up was "Don't worry lads, we're still in this"?

Arf

[Nocturnal Submission]

A cracking seat overlooking the shallow end. I'd an enjoyable night - thanks Alex.

[Alex Anderson]

Glad you got the result, Stobart and saw a Scotland hat-trick up close (we score so many of them now!) and caught a safe sailing home.

I watched the rugby at lunchtime and, frankly, that was enough for me. It took me temporarily out of my Argyll idyll and I'd no plans to do that again. So I was quite relieved the telly in our wee cottage only had the basics. No satellite channels. Didn't even keep up with the goals on-line and didn't even watch the highlights on terrestrial beeb that night.

If my ticket had been unused though - especially with such a poor-but-not-as-poor-as-feared turnout - I would have felt a lot more guilty than I did. So thank you!

And fuck that wee double-glazing bloke who presents the rugby on ITV ...

"Sorry we cheered Japan, Scottish people ...". Yeah - no problem - sorry, I drove from Minard to London on a Sunday purely to firebomb your car you previously inoffensive prick.

[Alex Anderson]

The bloke, his name is dancing in front of me, just out of cognition...

This is my favourite line - and maybe the one that best sums up your story, Erskine. Bloody great, sir - thank you for posting that. Loved it. And I don't know where to start with my list of "I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU MEAN!!" moments ... but my missus did say to me in Morrison's yesterday, as I looked for something to maintain my light alcoholic buzz over the return to Earth in Weegie Land this weekend, "Who knew they still made Skol?!"

I had no idea. And it's not as if I'm a stranger to the lager-beer-ale aisles of the nation's supermarkets.

As I said to Stobart, above, we only had the basic tv channels in our beautiful wee holiday digs (Merrylee Cottage - second on the left as you go through the traffic lights in Minard, towards Lochgilphead - fucking heavenly), and instead of bringing any of our own stash of DVDs or bothering to get into watching stuff via t'internet, we chose to play Holiday Home DVD Roulette, taking a chance on the resident collection. It's one of those pass-times - like eating meals at a table - that remind you you're on holiday: It forces you to watch stuff you'd normally turn your nose up at and/or gives you the right to re-watch stuff you've already seen. We watched Little Miss Sunshine again. I'd forgot about the Proust theme. And here it is again, in your posts.

Okay, the "basic channels" nowadays is five terrestrial and then yer ITV's 2, 3 & 4 and More4 and E4 and BBC News 24 and a few, erm, more. But - hey - if I'm looking out my window at water - especially water that flows on down to the Sound of Bute and into the Clyde Estuary - if I'm sat within a Blue Stratos skoosh of any West Coast shoreline - then I'm right there with you, sir; back in my own particular 1970s "Ard" - Ardrossan.

For me it was Rockford Files and my dad coming home from his dominos night at the Winton bar on a Thursday, usually with chips from Luigi's, across the road on Princes Street ... just round the corner from the harbour and just along the bend from South Beach, looking out over to Saltcoats, the Heads of Ayr, Ailsa Craig and beautiful auld Arran.

You're absolutely bang on about the glamorously dark allure of your first up-close bit of on-field violence (real grown ups fighting - and not on telly!), although it seems you had a particularly fine example. And, reading about some of your local lads there, I'm partly glad I was so enamoured with this week's rented back garden literally sitting on Loch Fyne that the only trip we took out, other than the compulsory trip back down to the Oyster place (I went for the kipper - jeezus!), we just drove through both Lochgilphead and Ardrishaig and stopped only for a sarnie from the Tarbert Co-Op, enjoyed by the harbour-side while I watched a Great Black-backed gull perched on a rock. Had I stopped too long in any of these three proud toons and ran into the wrong guy, looking all smugly holidayed-up, I might have got what I deserved.

Over the last few years we've started getting more into the self-catering cottage thing. Done it in Perthshire, Northumbria, Yorkshire. Have loved every one of them but never wanted to return to any of them lest we ruin the memory of the first trip. "Never go back" and all that. However, the thought of never going back to Merrylee in Minard scares me more. You could not ruin this experience. The pebbled beach of Achagoyle Bay starts at the bottom of the back garden. Every time you look out a window you think the cottage is floating down the loch. I sat out the back on Tuesday as a Robin sang in the tree in the garden, under a double rainbow which stretched from Strathlachlan castle on the opposite shore to the A83 as it passed the front door behind me. I watched a Grey Heron, a Curlew and a Oystercatcher sitting on the shore just yards from the back gate. I drank a lot but not as much as usual because - ye know - with all this sat on your back door, who needs to!

When I first worked in Glasgow, Glaswegians would say to me "Ardrossan?! What a great place to live! If I was you I'd be down that beach every day!" So I know how outsiders don't get the reality. They don't always understand that living in a place so idyllic but small - rather than merely holidaying there for a nanosecond - breeds Virginian-style men rather than effete makers of found art. But when, on Tuesday, I stopped on one of those tiny lay-bys, between Ardrishaig and Tarbert, because I just had to get out and breathe in that view, I think a few dressing room pastings and foreheads-through the bridge of my nose, would be a small price to pay for having such scenery to hand every day.

But, then again, I did once, in my late teens, start a rammy on the border of Ardrossan and Saltcoats between two works teams. Under the shadow of Goat Fell and the Holy Island, I kicked a guy who'd tripped my mate and started a rammy so bad it forced the referee to abandon the game. And it was the fact no-one could be bothered getting into it again in the dressing rooms - because we all knew we'd bump into each other outside The Metro that weekend - that made me realise it was perhaps time to get out of my west coast idyll. Scenery wasn't everything.

Happy memories are.

[steviecowden]

Aye but your conscience is clear, steviecowden - I hate missing out on games like this, when the misery quota is likely to be high, glory non-existent and stripes are easily earned.

According to UEFA I have a ticket for every game played at Hampden next summer - but when we're pumping Portugal in Mount Florida on our way to our first ever major quarter-final, no amount of Nations League play-off attending will have convinced me I fully earned the right to be there. I'll know I missed a home game in the buid-up ...

Or, someone will block my view of McBurnie's historic nut-meg of Ronaldo because they wanted to hug a female steward for the cameras while singing doh-a-deer and I'll gently request they "GET OUT MY FUCKING ROAD YA TOURIST BASTARD!!

"Were you there when we drew 1-1 with Canada at a three-quarters empty Easter Road??

"Were you there when we got pumped 3-0 at home by Hungary in a ten-tenths empty Hampden? Were you there when, over two home games in 366 days, Belgium beat us eight fucking nil??!!

"Naw? Well, I FUCKING WAS!

"SO SIT DOWN AND LET ME FUCKING ENJOY THIS! THIS ISN'T A MOMENT TO BE GRATUITOUSLY SELF-EFFACING!! THIS IS A MOMENT TO REVEL IN THE HONEST-TO-GODNESS OUTRIGHT GLORY I'VE WAITED MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE TO SEE, TO TASTE, TO FEEL, TO LIIIIIIVE..."

Or something along those lines.

So - aye - enjoy, Stevie. It's always good to be there.

was at the Canada and hungary games.the latter was funny when one of my party had a meltdown at fulltime over the pumping just seen

[Erskine Bridges]

Ha! ha! Cheers Alex, just spotted that. Aye, I think we’d know each other.
Glad you enjoyed Min-Arrd. Mid Argyll is beautiful.