Waifs of the European storm, that's what we are.
Tortured souls staring into the football abyss, denied first by the spoilt little rich kids and, ultimately, by those not even as well off as ourselves.
Scottish football is in
Ask yourself honestly - if your ship came in would you and buy a football club?
It's lunacy. Madness. Financial self-flagellation. Why not just put your £100 notes in a and save a bit of time?
Of course, given the lottery win, I would probably be certified insane in that department just like the rest of the fruitcakes through history who have bled themselves dry over the love affair of the local footballing institution.
So the Scottish FA got lucky. It happens sometimes when you press the gamble button.
They were dealt the Hand of God when flashed his C.V. in front of the Argentine FA and they were blinded by its brilliance.
Great players don't necessarily morph into great coaches and I suspect the Buenos Aires blazers may have forgotten to check the small print. But so what, who cares when you look at the view from
The SFA clearly think they are anchored halfway between the Royal family and the Da Vinci Code.
Talk of , clearly sealed over a large gin and tonic by some crusty old blazers after a meeting of the four home associations, belong to a different era.
You can just see them, huddling together in a dusty old London club over another large one, saying: "Let's keep this stoutly British. Never mind what the rest of the world is doing. Bloodlines it is, if you want to play for one of us."
What an anachronism.
The world has moved on. The planet is a melting pot now and the Scottish Football Association had better realise it.
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"Tell them who you are and what you are about," they said. To be honest, there are days when I struggle to remember myself. Forty years toiling at the coalface of football journalism does that to you. But I have reason to believe that I have reached the heady heights of the title of Football Correspondent of ³ÉÈË¿ìÊÖ Scotland which gives me a renown, in Scottish terms, of somewhere between Alex Salmond and the deep fried Mars Bar.
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