I watched Brazil v Norway tonight.

Buey.

It’s not as if big Erling did it by himself.

Although, boy, you can see what this means to him and his country with a population similar to Scotland to swat aside a talented team representing a country that has won five world cups. You back yourself. You play the side, not the shirt. You play with whatever the Norse equivalent of gallus is.
You believe. You win, you bang the drum. You back yourself.

Who knew?

Every Haaland goal. Every drum roll. The Cape Verde equaliser against the world champions. Their desire to win the game. The bus remains unparked.

All of this shames a Scotland that once again played not to lose, rather than to win.

But nothing exists in a vacuum. We are the outliers here. Look at how well the newly independent nations have done. And don’t underestimate the subliminal lack of confidence that not being in control of your destiny confers. A lesson from this tournament is that it’s always better to be yourself.

My take home from this World Cup is that that we didn’t really believe. 300 years of being told your culture, your language – even the game that you bequeathed to the world – is somehow second rate – will do that to you. Our pitiful campaign is the Scottish Cringe writ large.

This goes way beyond who manages the team.

Until the incredible soft power and diplomacy of the Tartan Army that was seen in Boston and Miami transitions into a genuine movement towards an independent Scottish republic then we will always be a country who will boast, then cower, begging for a piece of what is already ours.

Our dreadful campaign in America speaks, I believe, to a broader truth. And it is this.

If our football is to come home, then a genuine and long overdue reflection on our democracy and sovereignty must precede it.