28 years. That’s now long it has been.
Scotland’s last World Cup match dates back to June 23rd, 1998. Rather than going out with a bang, it was more of a whimper as Craig Brown’s side fell to a 3-0 defeat against Morocco.
And after a nail-biting loss to Greece in Athens on Saturday, every single person north of the border had conceded the fact that it’d be another World Cup sat at home. There’s only so much joy you can take in England’s inevitable failure.
But a Belarusian miracle on the very same night in Copenhagen sent the Tartan Army into disbelief. In a mere twenty minutes, Steve Clarke’s World Cup hopes had gone from a grim death by Greek hands to a stunning resurrection.
For the first time in decades, Scotland had something real to play for. Something – however unlikely given history – special. Something that could prove to be massive. A win would ensure direct qualification to the final tournament in the USA, Canada, and Mexico.
And as much as I would love to be neutral from this point on, being sat in the stands with my father and my brother has given no chance of such a thing happening.
Group leaders Denmark came to a rowdy Hampden Park on Tuesday night needing a mere point to cement their place at a third consecutive World Cup. A sold out crowd was immediately behind the hosts, and never have I heard Flower of Scotland so loud. I don’t think I’ve even sung it that loud, as a matter of fact.
Maybe the extra noise was a front, given just how nervous I – and likely every other fan in the ground – was.
Scott McTominay offered some form of therapy three minutes in. Ben Gannon-Doak’s cross into the area was met by the Napoli star in stunning fashion, who leapt into the air with his back to goal and crashed home an audacious bicycle kick for a 1-0 lead. Cristiano Ronaldo, eat your heart out.
Not one member of the crowd could quite fathom what they had just seen. Nobody had even considered sitting down prior to the goal, and they weren’t in a rush to do so after the best volley Hampden has seen since Zidane’s Champions League final goal. I think my dad leapt up about four stairs out of sheer joy. I wasn’t too far behind.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe that” must have been the most spoken sentence of the day. All of a sudden, we were 87 minutes from a place in the finals.
Disbelief soon set aside. Scotland looked a little more like the Scotland we’ve grown to expect disappointment in, and Denmark found their tempo. Chance after chance was spurned by the visitors – Rasmus Højlund will be kicking himself after failing to convert two glorious opportunities. To make matters worse, Ben Gannon-Doak was stretchered off with an injury after 20 minutes.
Such is life. Scotland were 1-0 up at the break, but in truth we were hanging on.
There were always going to be twists against a good Danish team. Andy Robertson was deemed to have brought down Lazio winger Gustaf Isaksen just inside the box. A lengthy VAR check ended with a penalty for Denmark, and boos that barely masked despair.
Højlund put his previously missed efforts behind him and sent Craig Gordon the wrong way to equalise. As it stood, Denmark were headed through again.
The Tartan Army have been frustrated plenty throughout this qualifying campaign. When Kostas Tsimikas fired Greece ahead in October’s Hampden clash, boos and jeers sounded around the famous old ground. The entire team was booed off the park after scraping past Belarus.
Too much was on the line to repeat such incidents. Negativity had no place with so much at stake.
In spite of the setback, Hampden roared encouragement. You couldn’t hear the celebrations from a strong Danish support if you were to stand next to them.
The next cheer didn’t involve a goal from either side. A mere five minutes after Denmark’s equaliser John McGinn turned away from Rasmus Kristensen and the right-back, already booked, hauled him to the ground. A flash of yellow in the referee’s hand was swiftly followed by a red. 50,000 Scots cheered as if they’d seen another goal.
Steve Clarke, perhaps sensing an opportunity in a do-or-die game, immediately made two attacking changes as Ché Adams and Premiership top scorer Lawrence Shankland formed a strike partnership. The last 25 minutes looked set to be a war.
It took 78 gruelling minutes for Scotland to win their first corner of the match.
At first viewing, the subsequent ball played in by Lewis Ferguson looked pretty dismal. Low, without much whip. The fans behind in the east stand, myself included, groaned and turned away in disappointment.
That was until the ball bounced across the face of goal without a Danish intervention, and Lawrence Shankland prodded home. It seemed to take an eternity for anyone watching to realise that the ball had wound up in the back of the net.
The celebrations were promptly just as wild, albeit they didn’t last long whatsoever. 10 man Denmark dashed up the other end and Andreas Christensen held the ball up before squaring for Patrick Dorgu. The Manchester United full-back swept into the bottom corner for 2-2.
Hampden fell silent for the first time on the night. A dream shattered by 10 men. Another glorious failure in Glasgow, which would surely be followed up by inevitable heartbreak in the play-offs.
Not one person left the ground, perhaps out of sheer delusion. Maybe that gesture would be for nothing, as Scotland didn’t look like scoring despite a push in the closing stages of normal time. McGinn whipped a left footed effort over the bar from a tight angle and Ché Adams flashed a diving header wide of the mark.
A red number appeared on the touchline. Six minutes. 360 seconds to pull a rabbit out of the hat. McTominay’s bicycle kick would have been handy had it been scored about now.
With blue shirts swarming the Denmark penalty area, Kenny McLean – who had been subbed on to replace the injured Gannon-Doak – thumped a long ball forward. A loose ball bounced off Lewis Ferguson and to the feet of Morten Hjulmand. The Sporting Lisbon man desperately swung a leg at the ball and sliced his clearance, the ball trickling towards the 25-yard range.
From my point of view, way off in row V, I had no sight of the ball. Sure, I could work out the trajectory of the miscued ball from Hjulmand, but a red Danish shirt surely would win the race.
Kieran Tierney, playing on his opposite side at right back, had other ideas.
The ball ran all the way out to the Celtic man, who whipped an outrageous first-time effort past club teammate Kasper Schmeichel and into the bottom corner. No sooner had the ball dropped on the edge of the area was it returned to sender in spectacular fashion. 3-2 Scotland, and the dream was back on. More unnaturally…
It seemed possible.
Three frantic minutes followed. A pattern emerged of a desperate Denmark giving the ball away and Scotland players dashing to the corner flag. The six minutes added on seemed forgotten, and the Tartan Army who would have sold their soul to see the referee blow for full time after six had to endure an additional two excruciating minutes.
Enter Kenny McLean for one last moment of magic.
With Denmark giving it one last push, Hjulmand found himself the culprit again as his loose touch 40 yards from Craig Gordon’s goal gifted possession to Kenny McLean. The yells of broken voices begged for the Norwich City midfielder to run the ball to the corner.
McLean, as it turned out, had other ideas. It took him until he got to the halfway line to spot Kasper Schmeichel well out of his goal.
Within seconds, the ball had left his foot and soared into the Mount Florida sky. It seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before crashing down over the line beyond a scrambling Schmeichel. Game over.
And for one last time in this dramatic, chaotic, downright magical campaign, Hampden Park blew its roof off with cheers.
For the older generation of Scotland fans, that was long overdue. 28 years of ache and heartbreak had finally come to a close in what was arguably the most sensational match that historic pitch will ever see. For the younger generation – my generation and perhaps the one before that, it’s the very first.
Every single Scotland player and coach involved has immortalised themself. Will we win the World Cup next summer? Probably not. But we’ll be sure to bring the noise and let everyone know that we have arrived, and that we’re not here for the sake of participation.
A lot of people in the country will talk about where they were when James McFadden scored from goodness knows how far out against France. A moment so incredible, a goal so outrageous, that fans will recall exactly what pub they were sat in and what drink they had in hand.
For the first time since then, there’s a contender. Or perhaps four.
Where were you when McTominay Scored?
Where were you when Shankland Scored?
Where were you when Tierney Scored?
Where were you when McLean scored?
Well, I was in Hampden Park’s East Stand, with my dad in one arm and my brother in the other, watching Scotland make history.
We’re off to the USA. Let the countdown begin.
