WE ALL KNOW – when it comes to supporting Scotland, it's the hope that kills. Over around one thousand years we have become unsurpassed masters of finding ways to turn potential triumph into bitter disaster; in whatever field of life you look, if there's a wrong way to fuck things up, nobody does it like us Scots.
Because, since 1707 we've left all the really big decisions affecting Scotland to our noisy neighbours south of the Solway, just about the only area where Scots control Scotland's destiny is on the sports fields, we have had to be particularly inventive in finding ways to ensure regular Scottish pratt falls. It has to be admitted, we've got really good at fucking things up here.
Indeed, partially because he's got little else to do at the moment, I am here nominating the Grand Old Duke of York – or the Earl of Inverness as he is apparently known up here – as perhaps the best-qualified man to succeed Gregor Townsend, should the new broom at Scottish Gas Murrayfield decide to sweep him out of the door after Sunday.
After all, the Tartan Army, particularly the Rugby Union Division, and more-so against the Irish of late, have been marched up to the top of the hill and back down again so often, they must be dizzy.
OK, maybe it's the desperation of an old war horse, in his eighth decade, but, once again this season, I had high hopes, crushed again. However, let's face it, Scotland losing to a very good Irish side wasn't the worst result of the weekend.
At least I am not a dyed-in-the-wool supporter of:
Rangers FC
Liverpool FC
France
Kansas City Chiefs
Wales
They all lost to opposition perceived pre-match as inferior, we only got turned over by the Number Two side in the world in our sport. If I am being honest, while admitting we had perhaps bought into believing our own publicity, in the cold light of dawn and accepting home losses perhaps count double, Sunday's result comes nowhere close to a place in any list of Scotland's worst defeats.
So, where do we go from here? That is the rub.
I am not going to jump on the GREGOR MUST GO bandwagon – yet. BUT, this Summer is the mid-point in the four-yearly World Cup cycle. Received wisdom has it that, if an unsuccessful or perceived as under-performing National Head Coach survives one World Cup campaign, then the optimum time to replace him is at the mid-point of the next World Cup cycle. In which case, Toony has three matches left in which to save his job.
Most commentators this morning appear to be seeing this trio of games as two losses – in London and Paris – book-ending a win over the hapless Welsh. I, ever the optimist, reckon we will win the two away games and perhaps slip-up badly at home to the Welsh, that's far-more like the Scottish way.
Look, England didn't beat France on Saturday, France beat themselves – you could replay that game, with the same players, 100 times, and I reckon France would win 99 of them; shite happens occasionally, and Saturday was one such day. England will probably say “Same again” against us and, if we can sort the failures which cost us on Sunday, we will win – because this is not a good England side.
By the time we get to Paris, Ireland will probably have beaten France and guaranteed themselves the title, so France will be a bit down, in which case we can, as England did, catch them out.
But Wales, travelling up here on a wing and a prayer – that worries me – immensely.
So, where did we go wrong on Sunday? It might be easier to list where we went well: we defended really well, but, the reality was, we lost to a far-superior team.
It's an old Rugby Union truism:
Forwards win games – backs decide by how much
On Saturday our forwards were over-powered and our backs, particularly after we lost Finn and Darcy in one moment, never got going. What can we do to rectify matters?
I would start by pulling Grant Gilchrist and Jonny Gray aside, saying: “Well done thou good and faithful servants” and putting them out to pasture. Big Gilcho has given his all, but, he gets nowhere near my list of the top Scottish locks I have seen. Gray Minor, even when he was being lauded as the next big lump – well, for all the impressive tackling stats of his early years, I never thought him as good as his big brother. He has flattered to deceive and now, in his thirties, he will sady go down as someone who never trained-on the realise his full potential.
As things stand, Scott Cummings and Max Williamson appear to be the immediate future, with Cam Henderson, Alex Samuel and Jare Oguntibeju the next taxis off the rank. For this season, get Sam Skinner and Cam Henderson into the boiler-house for Twickenham and take it from there. That might cure the current lack of grunt; elsewhere, we have to accept, Jack Dempsey is still a bit off the pace after injuries, while Matt Fagerson was maybe due the off-day he had on Sunday.
In ice hockey terms, Peter O'Mahony is Ireland's “enforcer” and I have long felt, on the evidence of Glasgow v Munster games, that the younger Fagerson was growing into the guy who could neutralise POM, sadly, that didn't happen on Sunday.
However, if England, at Twickenham, doesn't bring out the best in him – we have a real problem. Of course, for us to win there, we need the real Finn Russell to turn-up, ready to rock 'n' roll.
Reading that I had a thought: here I am - classic Scottish behaviour – it'll be all right, provided we beat THEM. 'Twas ever thus.
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