Scotland at the Euros

Dave Ewing's Back 'eader said:
Shouldn't it be 'Scortland's gan hame?' I've heard those folk in Glasgow 'n Edinburgh an' they don't talk like Mancs, particularly those from 'Apper'ay!
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The folk in Glasgow & Edinburgh don't even sound like each other, never mind Mancs. I know as I live right in the middle of the 2.
 
I was at Anfield in 77 - my Dad did lots of work in Liverpool and knew someone who knew someone and managed to get us some tickets in the Welsh end - we were a bit worried until we got there but nothing to worry about, there were no Welsh fans there - just Scots necking whisky from broken bottles. What an atmosphere - from where I was I've no idea whose hand touched the ball - but the sweeping goal that led to Dalglish's goal was a thing of beauty. great great night and we really thought we had a team that could do us proud in Argentina - oh well - at least we got there!
 
kippaxwarrior said:
Are they still dining off the win against the Dutch in '78 but ultimately ended up in defeat or Euro 96 when they beat The Swiss but didn't qualify
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You can read. Well us dining out is fucking rich coming from you lot. We have endured 66, Gazzas goal, more times than you have shat it at tournaments. And let's face it, for a major nation in football, that's fucking plenty..So far this one again you have been utter pish to watch. So, concentrate on your own dining out. You have plenty to be getting on with.
 
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good luck to the sweaties tonight, wont happen though will it :/
 
Bill said:
they think they are going to win.

bless.
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They have a decent shot at it. Croatia haven't looked the side of a few years ago. It will be a close one I reckon and could go either way.

Plenty of incentive to win as it guarantees a place in the next round.
 
Magicpole said:
Last night as the rest of the household chattered away about normal stuff you chatter away about, I was thinking about football stuff, in a wee world of my own. I went for an internal walk down memory lane, revisiting memories of Scotland games good and bad. You would think with our history of glorious and numerous failures, it was a melancholy affair. But here's the thing, it wasn't. I remembered as a young boy, the game against Wales at Anfield. I remember that day, sitting in School and all we could talk about was the game. The nerves, that sick feeling you get when your team need to win and what it meant if we did. When Dalglish, a hero of mine, but now at Liverpool, headed that cross in. The eruption behind the goal, matched by a similar one in every house in Scotland and everywhere else that Scots gathered. Arthur Montford shouting Argentina Here We Come. It was magical. Then to Argentina, where we underestimated Peru, picked up our arse, on to Iran where again we were awful and a cloud descended on us all. Last game, the mighty Holland and optimism was battered senseless but still we hoped. We are great at hope. As that game raged we were up 2.1 and playing like we belonged. On the right wee Archie got the ball. Beat one, up I stood, beat two, heart going like the clappers, nutmegged the last man, Come on Archie, I screamed, and he did. Our family erupted, all jumping about. I will never forget as we hugged each other I looked out the window and could see in the house opposite the family there all jumping about too. We lost a second goal soon after, but we beat them. We beat the team who got to the final. It kinda summed us up to a tee. Over the years you try to immunise yourself from hope. You remind yourself of the many scars and promise to give that a bye. To be resigned. To expect nothing. The truth however, is that it would be easier for me to learn to fly than do that. I actually love that about us, that no matter how many defeats or disappointments we suffer, and let's face it, they are legion. We brush ourselves down, put a bandage over old wounds and take to the field again. We never give up. On Friday I knew we would take them on. I worried about who would score, but I never worried that we would fight. He changed the team to include Gilmour, two strikers and with Tierney back they all stood up and were counted.

Tonight is again like so many nights in the past. Where nerves are rising, hope is still there, and the dream of finally getting through is not yet dead. My sensible head keeps reminding me that Croatia are a top side. That no matter how hard we fight, that may not be enough for victory, a thing that has been a part of our history. But we fucking fought every time when all was lost. I honestly don't know how it will go. One of our best players has fallen. Someone needs to pick up his banner and carry the fight on.

England beat them, and we should have beat England. I know that's not how football works. I know my inner voice telling me to calm the fuck down and accept it wont happen, will be talking away to me all day. But what I also know is he will be shut the fuck up as we take the field tonight, and I will be kicking every ball, screaming my support, calling Croatia all the cunts of the day and as long as the game lasts, believing we can win.

To our players I say, give it your all lads. That is all we ask. I know you will. We are all behind you. Who will be the Dalglish tonight? The boy in me wishes it could be me. But, I will take anyone doing it. Come on Scotland.
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Great stuff Magic. I'll be watching the Scotland tonight if Foden don't start for England. Best of Blue luck.
 
Magicpole said:
Last night as the rest of the household chattered away about normal stuff you chatter away about, I was thinking about football stuff, in a wee world of my own. I went for an internal walk down memory lane, revisiting memories of Scotland games good and bad. You would think with our history of glorious and numerous failures, it was a melancholy affair. But here's the thing, it wasn't. I remembered as a young boy, the game against Wales at Anfield. I remember that day, sitting in School and all we could talk about was the game. The nerves, that sick feeling you get when your team need to win and what it meant if we did. When Dalglish, a hero of mine, but now at Liverpool, headed that cross in. The eruption behind the goal, matched by a similar one in every house in Scotland and everywhere else that Scots gathered. Arthur Montford shouting Argentina Here We Come. It was magical. Then to Argentina, where we underestimated Peru, picked up our arse, on to Iran where again we were awful and a cloud descended on us all. Last game, the mighty Holland and optimism was battered senseless but still we hoped. We are great at hope. As that game raged we were up 2.1 and playing like we belonged. On the right wee Archie got the ball. Beat one, up I stood, beat two, heart going like the clappers, nutmegged the last man, Come on Archie, I screamed, and he did. Our family erupted, all jumping about. I will never forget as we hugged each other I looked out the window and could see in the house opposite the family there all jumping about too. We lost a second goal soon after, but we beat them. We beat the team who got to the final. It kinda summed us up to a tee. Over the years you try to immunise yourself from hope. You remind yourself of the many scars and promise to give that a bye. To be resigned. To expect nothing. The truth however, is that it would be easier for me to learn to fly than do that. I actually love that about us, that no matter how many defeats or disappointments we suffer, and let's face it, they are legion. We brush ourselves down, put a bandage over old wounds and take to the field again. We never give up. On Friday I knew we would take them on. I worried about who would score, but I never worried that we would fight. He changed the team to include Gilmour, two strikers and with Tierney back they all stood up and were counted.

Tonight is again like so many nights in the past. Where nerves are rising, hope is still there, and the dream of finally getting through is not yet dead. My sensible head keeps reminding me that Croatia are a top side. That no matter how hard we fight, that may not be enough for victory, a thing that has been a part of our history. But we fucking fought every time when all was lost. I honestly don't know how it will go. One of our best players has fallen. Someone needs to pick up his banner and carry the fight on.

England beat them, and we should have beat England. I know that's not how football works. I know my inner voice telling me to calm the fuck down and accept it wont happen, will be talking away to me all day. But what I also know is he will be shut the fuck up as we take the field tonight, and I will be kicking every ball, screaming my support, calling Croatia all the cunts of the day and as long as the game lasts, believing we can win.

To our players I say, give it your all lads. That is all we ask. I know you will. We are all behind you. Who will be the Dalglish tonight? The boy in me wishes it could be me. But, I will take anyone doing it. Come on Scotland.
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where the fuck is big Jim Holton or Gordon McQueen when you need them.
Hope is everything. It is what kills you but also what keeps you going.
Sadly, we don't have anyone to follow the footsteps of Baxter, Johnstone, McGrain, McNeil, Dalgleish, Mackay, Bremner, Jordan, Souness even fucking super Ally (what would we do to have prime Mccoist tonight) from a pure talent perspective. What we can expect though is heart, determination and fight. Who knows that might be enough.
 
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