Aidan Smith: Scotland's low block? Sounds like constipation, and it was

Exactly an hour before Scotland kicked off against Northern Ireland on Tuesday night, Michael Portillo was travelogueing on TV, his train depositing him at Mount Florida.

Northern Ireland's Conor Bradley and Kieran Tierney clash during an International Friendly match between Scotland and Northern Ireland at Hampden Park, on March 26, 2024, in Glasgow, Scotland. (Photo by Craig Williamson / SNS Group)

“My first time here,” he said, “and even growing up as I did in the shadow of Wembley Stadium, I was in awe of Hampden.” He moved from outside to in and let out a gasp. “My goodness! What a stadium, what an arena, what a place! And now I have to imagine it full with excited fans, all baying for … SCOTLAND!”

Well, not during that game, Michael. Instead of baying there was booing. And even John McGinn, the Tartan Army’s darling, after all he’s done for the cause and all the vital goals he’s scored, was jeered when a delivery out wide overshot the box. Running off, he turned round for a look at his critics. It was probably just as well the cameras didn’t capture his expression.

Many issues need addressing from this dreary affair, and let’s start with the booing. Steve Clarke and the team were like, fair enough, supporters pay good money and while happy to accept the applause in good times, they must take the grumbles in bad. This is what managers and players always say but I’m not sure I wholly believe it here. If they were slightly miffed with the reaction from the stands I’d understand.

What's happened to old-fashioned wingers such as George Best?

Were fans too relaxed about the prospect of Scotland winning? Probably. Were they too quickly unrelaxed when the game didn’t unfold the way they anticipated? Definitely. Should you boo your team in a match which doesn’t matter, soon after them performing so well in those that did? No, although a really rubbish display is hardly going to pass without comment, especially these days. Were they really rubbish on Tuesday? Check social media - plenty thought so. Is everyone now an expert who takes everything so personally and always needs to be upset about something and lacks patience and perspective and has temporarily forgotten that this is eccentric, maddening, defeat-snatching, run-up-Ben-Nevis, trip-over-a-haggis-supper Scotland we’re talking about? Oh yes.

Tuesday was a friendly and this seems an opportune moment to ask: what is the point of them, particularly at this time of the season? It’s not like the players need extra games when so many are about to be involved in squeaky-bum scenarios with their clubs. Would a training camp not have sufficed in this international break?

Then there’s the calibre of team we invite to participate in these non-events - which, by the way, are only deemed such when there isn’t the desired outcome. When there, and we defeat Germany in a 1999 friendly in Bremen, the game is remembered, if not revered. But lose to A-listers like Holland, France and England, as in the current losing run, and we’ll quickly try and forget the matches ever happened.

Play with the big boys and there’s a very good chance of a skelping.

Ah, but there are big boys waiting for us at the Euros so surely we needed proper tests? Hang on, though: we beat some big boys – Spain – to qualify. Can’t we remember what we did to win that one?

Alternatively, play Gibraltar and Finland as we’re doing in June and we should – should – come away with good victories. These friendlies are happening after club football is done. And they’re much closer to the finals.

Between the two categories of opponent on Tuesday sat Northern Ireland. Actually, they didn’t sit but stood, feet shoulder-width apart, and said: “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.” They were feisty gnarly and sharp-boned. They breenged in from Bucharest following a highly impressive draw against Romania and had nothing to lose. They were, in hindsight, exactly who Scotland didn’t want to be playing.

With no one in their team thinking any further ahead than the winnable ball bouncing between them and the nearest Scot – Northern Ireland haven’t qualified for the Euros – they thundered into every tackle. The Scots in contrast didn’t thunder. I can understand this, too. Who’d want to risk missing the tournament in Germany through getting injured in a nothing game? During it McGinn and Scott McTominay exchanged words with their opponents, perhaps to quibble about the, er, liveliness of the challenges. It seemed they didn’t expect this kind of match and I’m sure they won’t have requested it. Real or perceived, any reticence regarding the physical was always going to bring the team into conflict with a Hampden crowd. No matter how sophisticated the sport becomes elsewhere, the base level get-stuck-in ethos remains; it’s part of us.

One last point: whither the wingers? Their absence was noted in Tuesday’s aftermath, not just from that game but Scottish football generally. Northern Ireland deployed a low block against us. That’s a term pundits love to chuck around but it sounds to me like a particularly nasty form of constipation, which kind of summed up the night. Wingers, it was reckoned, could have solved the problem.

But who are the twinkle-toed touchline-huggers being ignored by Scotland? Wingers are close to extinction. There should be a World Wingerlife Fund to try and preserve fast-dwindling numbers because this is an issue everywhere, although they were once a Scottish specialism, back when we also built ships.

As it happens an earlier Scotland-Northern Ireland contest was the occasion for a career-best display by one of the planet’s greatest wingers: Windsor Park, Belfast, 1967, The George Best Show. But even Bestie could have been rendered impotent by the low block. “Stuff this, boys,” he might have said, “let’s hit the discotheque.”