A few weeks ago in the Herald Sports Diary, I made reference to how a great many had celebrated ‘Faddy Day’, a decade after James McFadden had scored ‘that goal’ against France in Paris.

My point, agreed with by some, argued with by others, was that in the great scheme of things it was so typically Scottish, getting all emotional for a goal which ultimately counted for so little.

Like Archie Gemmill’s goal against the Dutch. A superb act of defiance before we boarded the flight back home from Argentina. Or, like defeating England at Wembley in 1967. The first team to beat Sir Alf Ramsay’s world beaters, but, no different to the fate that eventually befalls every prize holder in football. While I’m here, despite defeating the English in their own back yard, it was a battle won; England won the war by qualifying for the European Championship finals. 

And lest I forget from this campaign, Leigh Griffiths and his double at Hampden. But enough congratulations over games and goals from the past. 

Today, all Scotland has a real anniversary to mark – although I bet the SFA don’t go overboard with the glitter cannons and tweets. Not after Sunday anyway.

Because today, October 11, is the 20th anniversary of the last time Scotland qualified for the World Cup finals. Not play-offs. No, the real thing, the finals, staged in France in 1998.

I’m not quite sure if it feels like yesterday, or, a very long time ago, or after Sunday’s efforts in Ljubljana, that it ever happened at all. 
Scotland qualifying for the World Cup? Away, that only happens to big nations, like Iceland.

Aye, Iceland, population 334,000 (although that tally may climb rapidly after Monday night’s victory over Kosovo), which in terms of bodies, makes it about the same size as North Lanarkshire. Imagine, Buckfast being exported to Russia. 

So much then for size mattering, although that particular argument was one spectacularly disproved that summer of ’98 when Croatia – population around the four million mark then – reached the semi-finals and eventually finished third. Not bad either for a country, which until a few years earlier, didn’t exist and had to fight a war just to survive. Puts things in perspective, just a tad.

Twenty years ago today, all Scotland needed to do was turn up at a three-quarters built Celtic Park and beat Latvia. That easy, despite the farce of ‘one team in Tallinn,’ the resulting 0-0 draw in Monaco in the replay, and, facing Belarus at Pittodrie amid a media storm arising from the SFA’s original decision to play that game on the afternoon of the funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales. Minor obstacles, and viewed as little else on the way to France.  

On that sunny afternoon in the East End of Glasgow, goals from Kevin Gallacher, before half-time, and Gordon Durie 10 minutes from the end sent Scotland wild with delight. Having missed out on USA 94 after a five tournament sequence, we were back at the World Cup finals. It felt fantastic, the excitement and realisation we had done it.

The same feeling as when Joe Jordan headed the winner against Czechoslovakia in 1973, or when Kenny Dalglish did the same at Anfield four years later versus Wales. Even the drab 0-0 draws against Northern Ireland and Australia that took us to Spain and Mexico respectively, were good enough excuses to party (even before lunchtime in the case of Australia), although the only feeling I had against Norway at Hampden in 1989 was that it could all go horribly wrong.

So what were my emotions on Monday morning after coming up short against Slovenia?

Mostly disappointment – that we have a manager in Gordon Strachan who offered up the excuse for failure that we have the wrong genes, that we are genetically deficient, and, sufferers of wee man syndrome. Rubbish. 

Strachan was seen for what he was; namely, someone lacking on a number of fronts, managerially. Thankfully, at least the former Scotland midfielder will be remembered for something - his take on Darwin’s theory of evolution.  

This was, for wee Gordon, the equivalent of Craig Levein’s ‘4-6-0’ moment. And we’ve never let that one go either.

AND ANOTHER THING

This week I was party to a conversation between an agent and a manager over the possibility of the former providing, and the latter signing, a 29-year-old, out of contract full-back.

“It’s a lot of money for a player of that age,” said the manager. “I was really looking for a player a lot younger, someone with a few years in them, who you could develop and shape over a couple of seasons.”

The agent nodded all the way through the manager’s analysis of the situation, and then offered up his opinion.

“I see what you mean, getting a player who you could have here long-term, with age on his side.

“But just one thing. Do you think you’ll be here that long, really?” Ouch ...