I CAN still recall the surge of excitement which surrounded the inaugural Rugby World Cup, back in 1987. Then, travelling to New Zealand for the event was a real adventure, while back home, we waited and wondered - not least how ITV would fare, entering the previous BBC fiefdom of rugby coverage. In truth, thanks in no small measure to John Taylor's microphone presence, they did rather well.
So too did Scotland and had we not been caught cold by a typical Gallic piece of not-quite-legal sleight of hand, and been hampered by John Rutherford's career-ending injury: who knows how it might have ended.
Probably in the same way - beaten by the All Blacks.
That New Zealand v Scotland quarter-final gave me one of my fondest rugby memories. My club has a proud reputation for being "different", maybe it's because we keep the rugby flame alight in an area where: "real men play junior football - everyone else is a poof". Perhaps it's because we play by a rugby version of the specific ordnances of junior football in our neck of the woods - "If there's nae bluid and the bone isnae stickin oot o the leg, it wisnae a foul" - but, we don't exactly do: "play-up and play the game chaps".
Our credo is somewhat New Zealandish, except we have never quite - with a scant few exceptions, had the all-embracing winning concept of the lads from the Land of the Long White Cloud.
But hey, we know how to party and we did as we looked forward to that 1987 quarter-final, played in the middle of the night back here. Which is why, at around 4am Scottish time, on the day of the match, a couple of us, clad in pyjamas, Paisley pattern dressing gowns and sporting cravats, feet in slippers, were standing outside the clubhouse, engaged in conversation with two of Strathclyde's finest - who were quite properly wondering what three or four cars were doing turning into the rugby club at such an ungodly hour.
"We're having a pyjama party to watch the World Cup quarter-final, followed by breakfast", the polis were told - a response which seemed to go down well with them, as they got back into their car with the parting line: "You rugby club guys, you're all fucking mad".
We took this as a compliment, enjoyed the game, but not the result and the breakfast.
Twenty-four years on, as I write this, there are no plans for any pyjama/breakfast parties during this World Cup - but, the thing hasn't even got going yet, so there is time. Probably, if the timing is right, it will happen for the final group game against the Common Enemy, I hope so.
But, the excitement is about the same, as are our aspirations. With a wee bit of luck, we could go far in this World Cup. Andy Robinson has brought Scotland in under the radar, we've got almost the perfect itinerary, each game building and I honestly believe, on neutral ground, where we will have the support of the locals, we CAN beat England, avoid the All Blacks and maybe make the semi-finals, where anything can happen.
This squad is maybe a bit light at half back, we must all pray for Chunk's continued good health, but, I am hopeful.
And just maybe, we will be convening for another pyjama party sometime soon.
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