HE may have the gait of a new-born giraffe, and an accent as Lancashire as hotpot. But he has a Scottish dad, too, and thank the lord for that. Now, Scott McTominay has forever reserved his place in Scottish football folklore.

The Manchester United midfielder’s late brace against Cyprus at the weekend was welcome, but will become no more than a footnote of his Scotland career. His brace here to down the mighty Spanish will go down in history. The sort of goals that the Tartan Army would walk five hundred miles for, and five hundred more.

By the end of this chaotic, enthralling encounter though, there was barely a Scot within Hampden that could walk the length of themselves. All 50,000 odd had given everything of themselves to the cause, and no more than the heroes in dark blue on the pitch.

A pitch that was much maligned in the lead up to this game, don’t forget, but there were certainly no complaints when it contributed to the Scots striking out in front early on. Pedro Porro was a pantomime villain on the night in the eyes of both home and visiting fans - more of that later - slipping on a patch of wet turf to allow Andy Robertson to steal in and scarper to the byline.

The captain’s pullback found McTominay arriving in support to finish past Kepa Arrizabalaga via a nick off Inigo Martinez and blow the roof off the national stadium.

Another chance came and went as Ryan Christie’s direct running allowed him to advance right to the edge of the Spanish box before toe-poking just wide, but as the half wore on, the Scottish midfield were more often than not playing the part of destroyers.

At the heart of that was McTominay, using his physicality to break down Spanish momentum, and his reading of the game to stymie their attacks. Indeed, the biggest threat from the visitors was coming rather uncharacteristically via crosses into the box for their big striker Joselu to attack. He did twice in quick succession, finding Angus Gunn’s gloves with one attempt and the face of his crossbar with another.

Every good superhero story needs a villain, of course, and there were more than a few players in red attracting the ire of the Tartan Army for their antics. None more so though than Porro, though, who went down after squaring up to Robertson as if he had been clocked on the chin by Tyson Fury.

In fairness, by today’s standards, Robertson may count himself a little lucky not to have seen red. He definitely made contact around the Spaniards throat with his shoulder, but a yellow card was judged to be punishment enough.

The rolling around and screams of anguish from Porro though were like a red rag to a bull for the Scotland support, who howled and harangued his every touch before he was withdrawn at the interval, presumably for his own safety.

You might have also thought that the Swiss referee Sandro Scarer would be a beacon of impartiality, but that’s not the way the Tartan Army saw it. He too failed to reappear for the second half, and his removal through injury seemed to remove a little of the rancour from the contest.

So too though, did yet another miraculous McTominay intervention early in the second half. Though, Kieran Tierney’s part in Scotland’s remarkable second goal wasn’t half bad either.

Real Madrid full-back Dani Carvajal had been brought on for Porro to lend his experience to the encounter, but Tierney made the Bernabeu superstar look like a hungover sub from the Dog and Duck as he drew him in before powering away from him with ease down the left.

He advanced into the area, where his cross was partially cleared by Spanish defender David Garcia. The whole of Hampden knew who would be there. And there, indeed, he was. Those long legs of McTominay sensed where the ball would land, and carried him there first to crack a half-volley past Arrizabalaga and send Scotland into dreamland.

Once the scenes of jubilation had died down, the Tartan Army almost didn’t know what to do with themselves. So accustomed are they to living on the edge of their nerves, they could scarcely believe what they were witnessing.

Thankfully, this Scotland team is blessed with top-level experience to go with their undoubted talent, and they knew exactly what they were doing. They managed the game superbly.

Sure, they could have held onto the ball better at times, but they were compact, organised, and hardly gave their storied visitors a sniff from there on in.

They won clever fouls. The back three put their heads on everything that the Spanish threw into the box. They stood tall, and they made their nation proud.

And there was no prouder Scot at the heart of the celebrations than McTominay. If James McFadden will always have Paris, then McTominay will always have this glorious night in Mount Florida.