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In one of his most searing and celebrated monologues from Trainspotting, Mark Renton articulates the utterly dismal experience of being Scottish. “We’re the lowest of the low,” he rails, “The scum of the [bleep]ing earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilisation.” While the cynical Edinburgh antihero views his national identity through a relentless lens of abject failure, colonisation, and corrosive self-loathing, his bleak perspective seems entirely irreconcilable with the widespread, ecstatic jubilation that greeted Scotland’s dramatic qualification for their first World Cup finals in 28 years at Hampden Park last night. This collective outpouring of joy suggests a profound national paradox: whatever dim view certain Scots might take of themselves, last night’s triumph was met with almost universal warmth and celebration, making it abundantly clear that fans and observers across the international football community hold them in remarkably high regard.
As a 20-year-old student at Leeds University in 1979, I was jettisoned for a year as a foreign language assistant in deepest France to Montbeliard, home of the then legendary FC Sochaux Montbeliard, [Bigger Vase] quarter finalists. As a keen footballer, I joined the local amateur team AS Montbeliard to keep fit, train and play for the season. It didn’t go to plan at first. In true French bureaucracy, I had to complete a registration form with photo, age etc. On the day I was set to make my debut, my trainer approached me, hands around my shoulders: ‘really sorry Steve, you’ve been banned from playing by the local authority.’ ‘Why’, I enquired? ‘On your form you entered current team as Leeds Uni (as in university) and they understand you are a professional playing for Leeds United on a Saturday and then moonlighting for AS Montbeliard’ – seven hours by train from Paris, on the Sunday. I was both flattered and flabbergasted, Uni was rectified, I did even play in a French Cup match, my amateur status proven as I came on as sub, lost the ball and gave away the only goal in a defeat” – Steve Lewis.
Given the astonishing achievement of Curaçao (the island, not the drink) qualifying for the GWC despite a population of only 156,000, it would take a very petty man to use that as an excuse to crowbar in a sarcastic comment about former Jamaica manager Steve McClaren, especially as he’s only just resigned. So, let me be that man. I wonder if he used a parasol?” – Noble Francis (and no other very petty readers).
I am finding it difficult to decide which facial expression I like best from this incredible week of GWC qualifiers: Troy Parrott realising that he secured himself a lifelong supply of Tin, or Kasper Schmeichel realising he is going to get beaten from the half-way line. Pure gold!” – Yannick Woudstra.
Currently working on creating a GWC cocktail whose ingredients include Curaçao with Advocaat, Mexican tequila, a dash of Earl Grey (with raised pinkie) from Blighty, a splash of Schnapps, and some Irn Bru (gawd almighty!). All served in a frosted Norwegian drinking horn, and garnished with a Brazilian coffee bean and the number of your local emergency room. Playoffs will determine if I can add some Chianti and a Guinness head to the concoction. I think I’ll name it The Orange Buffoon” – Mark McFadden.
I know much was made about England’s perfect record of playing eight, winning eight and not conceding a goal. I feel Liechtenstein’s perfect record should also be mentioned: Played eight, lost eight, scored none” – Alan Bolsom.
Continue reading…Sign up now! Sign up now! Sign up now? Sign up now!In one of his most searing and celebrated monologues from Trainspotting, Mark Renton articulates the utterly dismal experience of being Scottish. “We’re the lowest of the low,” he rails, “The scum of the [bleep]ing earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilisation.” While the cynical Edinburgh antihero views his national identity through a relentless lens of abject failure, colonisation, and corrosive self-loathing, his bleak perspective seems entirely irreconcilable with the widespread, ecstatic jubilation that greeted Scotland’s dramatic qualification for their first World Cup finals in 28 years at Hampden Park last night. This collective outpouring of joy suggests a profound national paradox: whatever dim view certain Scots might take of themselves, last night’s triumph was met with almost universal warmth and celebration, making it abundantly clear that fans and observers across the international football community hold them in remarkably high regard.As a 20-year-old student at Leeds University in 1979, I was jettisoned for a year as a foreign language assistant in deepest France to Montbeliard, home of the then legendary FC Sochaux Montbeliard, [Bigger Vase] quarter finalists. As a keen footballer, I joined the local amateur team AS Montbeliard to keep fit, train and play for the season. It didn’t go to plan at first. In true French bureaucracy, I had to complete a registration form with photo, age etc. On the day I was set to make my debut, my trainer approached me, hands around my shoulders: ‘really sorry Steve, you’ve been banned from playing by the local authority.’ ‘Why’, I enquired? ‘On your form you entered current team as Leeds Uni (as in university) and they understand you are a professional playing for Leeds United on a Saturday and then moonlighting for AS Montbeliard’ – seven hours by train from Paris, on the Sunday. I was both flattered and flabbergasted, Uni was rectified, I did even play in a French Cup match, my amateur status proven as I came on as sub, lost the ball and gave away the only goal in a defeat” – Steve Lewis.Given the astonishing achievement of Curaçao (the island, not the drink) qualifying for the GWC despite a population of only 156,000, it would take a very petty man to use that as an excuse to crowbar in a sarcastic comment about former Jamaica manager Steve McClaren, especially as he’s only just resigned. So, let me be that man. I wonder if he used a parasol?” – Noble Francis (and no other very petty readers).I am finding it difficult to decide which facial expression I like best from this incredible week of GWC qualifiers: Troy Parrott realising that he secured himself a lifelong supply of Tin, or Kasper Schmeichel realising he is going to get beaten from the half-way line. Pure gold!” – Yannick Woudstra.Currently working on creating a GWC cocktail whose ingredients include Curaçao with Advocaat, Mexican tequila, a dash of Earl Grey (with raised pinkie) from Blighty, a splash of Schnapps, and some Irn Bru (gawd almighty!). All served in a frosted Norwegian drinking horn, and garnished with a Brazilian coffee bean and the number of your local emergency room. Playoffs will determine if I can add some Chianti and a Guinness head to the concoction. I think I’ll name it The Orange Buffoon” – Mark McFadden.I know much was made about England’s perfect record of playing eight, winning eight and not conceding a goal. I feel Liechtenstein’s perfect record should also be mentioned: Played eight, lost eight, scored none” – Alan Bolsom. Continue reading…
