Hansard

I take this opportunity to thank my friend and colleague, Keith Brown, for being the first off the starting blocks with his motion. I know that quite a few members lodged similar motions to secure a debate on the subject.

It is a great honour to talk about Scotland’s qualification for the world cup finals. To be honest, if I cannot play for the team, I might as well watch and talk about them, and this is one of the best things that has happened to our national team in a long time.

I remind members that, of course, it all starts in Paisley, because Kenny McLean, John McGinn and Stevie Clarke all started their football careers at St Mirren. Members do not need to thank me too soon; I am quite willing to wait for them all to be grateful for the Paisley connection that has got us to the Americas for the world cup.

In my lifetime, Scotland has qualified seven times for world cup finals, most of them when I was in short trousers. My first adult world cup was in 1990; I watched, I suffered and I experienced what would become a lifetime of heartache.

We lost to Costa Rica 1-0, beat Sweden 2-1 and then went down to Brazil 1-0, courtesy of a scrappy goal in the 81st minute. I still have not quite got over that—I have never forgiven Jim Leighton, who was normally a very good goalkeeper, for managing to let that goal in. Do not even ask me what I think about Gary McAllister’s penalty against England in Euro 96—just do not mention his name.

I remember 1978, when—to be fair to the late, great Ally MacLeod—we had a fantastic team. However, we were beaten 3-1 by Peru. My dad started the game in the house in full Highland regalia; by half-time, he was in jeans and a T-shirt. Next, we drew 1-1 with Iran. Then there was that famous night against the Netherlands, which almost became the miracle of Mendoza when Archie Gemmill—from Glenburn in Paisley, incidentally; he started his career at St Mirren, too—became an absolute legend as he single-handedly took on a team that would go on to be beaten by Argentina in the final.

We went home too soon that time, but quite a few of the tartan army stayed behind and—if memory serves us all correctly—a few found love along the way. In 1982, there was more heartbreak. We were drawn against Brazil, again, and Dave Narey scored the famous “toe-poke”—as Jimmy Hill called it—to put Scotland ahead, out-Zicoing the great Zico, but then Zico equalised with a free kick of pure genius in the 33rd minute.

In 1986, in Mexico, Uruguay kicked us off the park. The emotional scars still remain, although I remember, in that world cup, Diego Maradona being rather handy.

By 1998, I was newly married to Stacey, and the opening game was—again—against Brazil. There seems to be a pattern there. John Collins equalised in the 38th minute, and Brazil replied with an own goal in the 74th. The pubs in Scotland erupted and Stacey and I celebrated as if we had actually won the world cup ourselves. That is what being a Scotland fan is all about. It is about the hope, the heartbreak, the fun—and above all, it is about our pride.

On 18 November this year, Stacey and I went to Hampden park, more in hope than expectation. By the 80th minute, Stacey whispered, “Do you want to leave early? We can get the car out of the car park at this point.” She clearly wanted to stay away from a meltdown with me stuck in the car park knowing that we had to go through the play-offs.

However, as a Scotland fan, I knew that we never do it the easy way—we never take the easy route—and in the 93rd and 98th minutes, the impossible became a reality. The tartan army celebrated as one, and—yes—Stacey’s north-stand celebrations went a wee bit viral when I put them on the socials.

We are heading to the Americas, and the world will see what Scots can do. Bill Shankly famously said, “Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you it is much more serious than that.” I can tell members that, at 56, I am just as excited about the world cup finals as I was in 1978—the only difference is that I am no longer obsessed with collecting Panini stickers for my album.

Football is important to Scots. It is more than a pastime—it is part of who we are. It brings communities together, defines our identity and inspires hope through the heartache. For many, it is what makes us Scottish. It is in the cheers, the tears and the shared memory of Archie Gemmill’s goal, Dave Narey’s toe-poke and the joy of Hampden on that cold November night.

Football is Scotland—football is our soul. It is what unites us, excites us and—yes—sometimes breaks our hearts, but it always reminds us of who we are. When the tartan army takes to the Americas, the world will see that, too. We Scots do not just play football—we live it. It is in our laughter, our pride, our stories—