Paw Broon - It's all doon the hill fae here

Ah read in one o’ the Sunday papers after the Moldova game that “supporting the Scotland football team is the emotional equivalent of bungee jumping”.

Utter shite. Ah mean, wi’ bungee jumping ye always get back up tae the top, dae ye no?. Well, let’s face it, Scotland huv got fuckin nae chance o’ that happenin in this group.

It’ll take a recovery o’ Lazarus proportions tae even get tae the play-offs noo.

Be in nae doubt though, the scoreless draw in Belarus wis a tremendous result.

Aye. A tremendous result for Norway and Slovenia.

Honest tae God, whit a dreich game. And they used tae accuse ME of puttin’ oot negative Scotland teams!!

Fuxxache. Compared tae this, ma tactics were pure cavalier.

Nothin nothin just aboot sums it up. Nothin happened. Nothin looked like happenin’.

Ah spent the afternoon afore the game in the company ay the Tartan Army getting bevvied up oan cheap voddie and Russian beer. Pure blootered so ah wis. It’s the only way tae watch a Scotland game.

Ah took ma seat in the stands and settled doon wi a beetroot and cabbage pie tae watch the match.

After aboot 5 minutes ah wis caught short and hud tae bugger aff tae find the lavvie fer a much needed Jimmy Riddle. It took us ages tae find the Gents, mind, seein as how aw the signs were in Russian.

Ah got back tae ma seat aboot ten minutes later and asked the Scottish gadjie next tae me whit ah hud missed. “Ye’ve missed fuck all, Paw. Ah’ve hud mair excitement watchin’ milk go sour,” he says.

Aboot 15 minutes ay mind-numbing boredom later, ah got an attack o’ dry-mooth, due nae doubt tae the dehydration caused by the buckets o’ vodka swillin aroond in ma system, so ah nipped oot again in search o’ a decent cup o’ tea. An never found one, but ah did manage tae find a beetroot juice vendor – any port in a storm, eh? Ah got back tae ma seat again just afore half-time and asked the same Scottish gadjie if ah hud missed anythin’.

“Naw” he says again, “ye’ve missed fuck-all Paw”.

Just after the second-half kicked off, ah started tae feel a nasty wee rumblin in ma tummy. Ah really shouldnae huv had that beetroot and cabbage pie. Ah detected fae the way it smelled when ah bought it that it wis pure boggin’, but ye ken whit it’s like when ye’ve got the drink-inspired munchies, anythin’ll dae. Noo it wis fightin’ back, big time. Ah rushed oot again tae the lavvies and gave the porcelain a guid dose ay traditional Scottish pebble-dashing, three times.

Ah got back tae ma seat and asked ma neighbour whit ah hud missed. Yet again he says “Ye’ve missed fuck-all, Paw. Tae be honest we might as well be sumwhere else, there’s that little happenin’.”

He hud a point. Whit little o’ the game ah’d actually seen wis pure pish.

Ah looked aroond the stands tae see if there wis any decent looking Belarussian tottie aboot and sure enuff, just in front o’ us ah spotted a bonnie wee Minsk minx lookin’ as bored as fuck.

Ah tapped her oan the shoulder and asked her if she’d ever sampled pure Scottish beef.

“No” she says.

“Well, noo’s yer chance, hen. Dae ye fancy a shag?”

Needless tae say, she wis only too willin’ tae play ball, if ye get ma drift. Ah mean, it’s no every day ye get invited tae play wi’ a Scottish fitba legend.

We nipped back doon tae the gents lavvies. Ever the gentleman, ah made sure we didnae use the cubicle ah’d been in earlier as it wis still mingin’ fae ma previous exertions.

Last thing ah needed wis fer her tae gag. At least, no unless it wis fer aw the right reasons.

Chivalry dictates that ah should spare ye the details o’ whit transpired next, but suffice it tae say that she’ll no be walkin’ wi’oot a limp fer a week or so.

Ah got back tae ma seat wi’ just a few minutes o’ the game remaining and a big smile oan ma face. “Huv ah missed anythin’?” ah asked ma pal, mair in hope than expectation.

The reaction ah got this time took me completely by surprise. “Missed anythin?!! Ye’re fuckin’ right ye’ve missed sumthin’!!!”

“Whit??!! Whit huv ah missed, whit huv ah missed?” ah asked excitedly.

“Yer cock’s still hingin’ oot yer troosers ya daft auld krunt, that’s whit”.

Och weel. At least ah scored. And that’s mair than baith teams managed oan the night.