Kilts, Kansas and Kieren Tierney – 28 years of Scotland madness finally made perfect sense

‘That was your fault,’ I hissed at my mate Ossie. ‘You and your Kansas City. Who do you think you are, Dorothy Gale?’

As Scotland conceded a late equaliser to Denmark that looked like it had ended our hopes of qualifying for the 2026 World Cup, that was who I had decided to blame. 

Yes, the man responsible for our misfortune was my friend, who I’d reasoned had ‘jinxed us’ by absent-mindedly commenting earlier that if we did travel to the USA, he’d prefer Kansas to Los Angeles or New York. 

Not the defenders who didn’t clear their lines properly, not the midfielders who didn’t close down Patrick Dorgu, nor even the manager Steve Clarke, criticised so often for an abundance of caution.

Such is the twisted logic, the lack of reason, the sheer cosmic stupidity of supporting Scotland. After nearly 30 years away from the World Cup, we’ll turn to any explanation, cling to any superstition.

Previously, I’ve insisted on watching games with certain people, in certain places, to try and recreate any hint of success. 

I spent one tortured afternoon in a kilt before a crucial qualifier torn between wearing a pair of boxers I’d envisaged were lucky, and the ‘true Scotsman’ commando tradition. In the end, I genuinely think I did a half with each.

But it didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. Because it never does with Scotland.

Not when it comes to the World Cup. It’s always glorious failure, bad luck, refereeing decisions, selection mistakes. The wrong underwear choice. Something, anything, always seemed to stop us getting to the big stage.

Until last night. Last night was different.

Because while so much of that match (the self-defeating tactics, the moments of madness, the nerve shredding complications) felt like the same old Scotland, so much of it didn’t.

And that’s what made this match, this reaction, and this group of players so special. 

For years, we’ve been a team that had those big moments, those game changing incidents done to us. Now we’re the team that inflicts them on others.

We don’t score last-minute goals to reach the World Cup, we concede them. We don’t lob keepers from half way, we watch our own keeper pick those goals out the net.

Something, anything, always seemed to stop us getting to the big stage – until last night

We don’t have Balon D’or nominees burying overhead kicks, we watch other players do it and wonder why we don’t produce that talent. 

Not any more – it’s now typical Scotland, typically, bafflingly, inexplicably brilliant.

Some of my earliest footballing memories are from the last time Scotland qualified for a World Cup, at France 98. 

Then just 7 years old, I still recall travelling on a bitterly cold overnight ferry from Hull, cheering Craig Burley’s delightful finish against Norway, and dancing with Cameroon fans in Nantes. 

I used to love sharing those memories, but as the years stretched out behind and ahead of me, while the near-misses and disappointments grew, they just aged me. 

Sick of relentless failure, I started to sound like a jaded war vet from a hackneyed film – telling future generations ‘you weren’t there man! You don’t know what it was like!’ 

And boy was there failure – in standard Scottish fashion, it isn’t games against big nations that cost us, or that stick out.

Among the bleak visions seared into my brain are draws against Moldova, Lithuania, and Macedonia. Defeats to Wales, Slovakia and Georgia.

But for a new generation, watching the Scotland national team moments are going to be looked back as times of hazy drunken joy, not hazy rueful regret. 

Instead of tutting as we recall that Iwulemo miss, or that Armstrong clearance against England, we can smile as we recall that McTominay stunner, that McLean finish, that Andy Robertson interview that didn’t leave a dry eye in the house.

And there’s a feeling that this might be the start of a journey, not the end of one. Scotland returned to major tournaments in 2020 and 2024, and promptly stank the joint out on both occasions. 

‘No Scotland, no party’ was the battle cry at the past two European Championships, but there remains a tinge of regret that partying was pretty much the only thing we managed to do successfully. 

With the World Cup expanded and minnows like Haiti and England in the hat, there’s a sense we can go further than we managed.

I was in Germany and London during those two tournaments, and despite a crippling fear of flying, I hope to make it to North America too.

I’ve always thought I’d cure my aviaphobia when I settled down and found a partner  – often telling people ‘I’ll eventually find someone I love enough to get me on a plane.’

It turns out that someone was Kieran Tierney. 

Last night, everything went our way, the Danes were left cursing their luck, and we turned the page on 28 years of hurt. 

For once, the stars aligned, the jinxes didn’t affect us, and that sheer cosmic stupidity felt like galactic intelligence.

I can’t wait for next year – but just to be safe, I might give Kansas a miss. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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