Tuesday 18th November 2025

Some teams are doomed to be always the bridesmaid and not the bride.

A series of epic failures dot their history, so near and yet so far from the big summer party of the World Cup.

Tuesday evening, Scotland were to play Denmark with a winner takes all prize of automatic qualification for next year's World Cup in the Americas and the loser would go into the play-offs.

A draw would be good enough for Denmark to top the group, but Scotland had to win.

In the winter of 2001 I was in Scotland with the RAF, and Scotland were in the play-offs, this time against the Netherlands. And won the first home leg 1-0.

We joined the locals at the Beach Bar in Elgin on the Tuesday night to watch the second leg.

Three days of hope was dashed in 90 minutes, with the Dutch running out 6-0 winners. By the time the forth went in, we were the only ones left in the bar.

Laughing and drinking.

Twenty four years had passed since then, and still no qualification for Scotland.

But, to Tuesday: and starting with a very early morning, up at half five for coffee and out to the gym at five past six, getting there in ten minutes for another workout. This time cycling in Utah in the spring, so there was some green, and listening to A Word in Your Ear as I pedalled.

Back home for seven fifteen, so Jools could use the car for her keep fit. Only she wasn't going, so the early start was for nothing.

But it was a glorious day. And a fine day for a haircut.

I am usually fine for three or four weeks, then one morning its though I wake up with a fur hat on.

Time for a trim.

So into town to the new place. There no queue. Heck, there's hardly anyone else and it was nearly ten in the morning.

I had a haircut, shave, eyebrows, ears waxed and a massage. Took nearly an hour and cost just twenty five quid.

Outside the cold icy wind found my shaved face now that the whiskers were gone.

Brrr.

Back home for breakfast and a brew, then a shower and a change of clothes.

I felt good.

Not quite a million dollars, but enough money to buy a compact car, perhaps.

Until the Retinal migraine hit.

I hadn't slept well, but even then, the suddenness and surprise was shocking.

And it was a bad one, I sat with my eyes closed for twenty minutes, then another two hours to recover.

Jools made a brew and we had some fancy chocolates, and I felt better.

By then it was dark, and time to cook.

So I boiled potatoes, then dipped them in oil and roasted them for eighty minutes until crisp and golden. Pies were cooked, and vegetables steamed.

We ate at four, before the cats for a change, and was very filling and warming on a now winter's evening.

And then the football.

The magic of football, or many sports, is the sharing or emotions, both good and bad with ten, a hundred, a thousand or hundred thousand others. And that moment of extasy when it all comes good in the end.

But, if you're a Norwich or Scotland fan, that rarely happens. Which means when it does, its all the more sweeter.

As on Saturday, Scotland were both wonderful and dreadful. Scott McTominay scored an overhead bicycle kick in the 3rd minute to take the lead.

An amazing goal, but probably not the best goal of the night.

Denmark drew level with a hash penalty. Then Scotland took the lead with a tap in from a corner with just seven minutes to go.

The game had turned a few minutes earlier when a Dane was sent off for a second yellow card, because up to then it was all Denmark and Scotland were defending so deep.

Four minutes later, Scotland failed to clear their lines and so it was 2-2.

So far, so Denmark.

The Danes, down to ten men, were timewasting, faking injuries, cramp, whatever. Which would come to damn them.

Scotland were never going to score. And then they did.

Denmark cleared a cross, and it fell to Kieran Tierney, who hit it on the volley and it curled into the far corner.

Cue mad scenes.

Ninety two minutes gone, four to go, but the goal and celebrations meant it was closer to ten.

Denmark piled forward, crossing, shooting, but not quite good enough. The keeper went up for a corner.

No luck.

One last push and the attack broke down, Scotland broke with the ball at the feed of substitute midfielder and Norwich City captain, who looked up, saw the keeper off his line, and lobbed him.

From inside his own half.

I saw David Beckham do that at Palace thirty years ago, but Kenny McLean, the Mayor of Norwich?

The ball cleared Kasper Schmeichel as he ran and jumped to try to stop the shot, but the ball curved into the corner, making it 4-2.

It was the last kick of the game, players ran onto the pitch to jump on Kenny, fans inside the stadium and around Scotland went wild.

Twenty eight years waiting was worth it for that moment.

It even brought a tear to my eyes.

Scotland are going to The Show next summer.