World Cup memories.

Watching the opening games of the World Cup with my eight-year-old has triggered a lot of memories from my own childhood.

It’s the first World Cup he’ll properly remember and as a football daft kid he deserves to enjoy it.

In the last couple of years, despite the COVID-19 pandemic striking an existential threat to grassroots and community football here in Italy, he’s caught the bug. Playing it, watching it, wearing his big brother’s replica kits, collecting the stickers, poring over the Gazzetta. In fact, he reminds me very much of me at that age (apart from the Gazzetta)!
 
With both Italy and Scotland boycotting the event, and some serious doubts lingering over the ethicality of Qatar even hosting the event, I was approaching the whole thing with something close to indifference.
 
But my son’s enthusiasm for the game is contagious. And who am I to deny him the dubious pleasure of Qatar struggling against Ecuador or an English goal fest against Iran?
 
The First World Cup I well remember was Mexico ’86.
 
In fact, my memory goes back slightly further, to the pre-tournament qualifiers as 121 nations battled it out for one of 24 places on offer.
 
It was the winter of 1985, and I was that wide-eyed football daft eight-year-old.
 
Scotland had finished second in their qualifying group, behind Spain, and that entitled them to a play-off spot against Australia, winners of the Oceania qualifying tournament.
 
In the home leg, Scotland beat Australia two-nil at Hampden. It was just before Christmas and sixty odd thousand had packed into the national stadium that evening. Davie Cooper and Frank McAvenie scored with Kenny Daglish contributing an assist.

Aberdeen had won the European Cup Winners' Cup Final against Real Madrid just a couple of years earlier, and the Legends of Gotherburg were well represented in the Scotland lineup that evening.

Even now, I could just about go through that entire Scotland team from memory - every single one of them were childhood heroes.
 
GK       1          Jim Leighton (Aberdeen)
DF        2          Steve Nicol (Liverpool)
DF        5          Alex McLeish (Aberdeen)
DF        6          Willie Miller (Aberdeen)
DF        3          Maurice Malpas (Dundee United)
MF       8          Gordon Strachan (Manchester United)
MF       4          Graeme Souness (c) (Sampdoria)
MF       10        Roy Aitken (Celtic)
MF       11        Davie Cooper (Rangers)
FW       7          Kenny Dalglish (Liverpool)
FW       9          Frank McAvennie (West Ham United)
 
But Scotland’s qualification was also tinged with sadness.
 
Just months earlier Davie Cooper had scored a late equaliser to give Scotland the point they needed to reach the play off. But, in the dugout tragedy struck, as manager Jock Stein collapsed and died of a heart attack. It was left to his assistant, an up-and-coming young coach named Alex Ferguson, to take charge of the Scotland team for the looming play-off campaign.
 
I distinctly remember watching the away-leg, played on the other side of the world in Melbourne, from our school television room!

As a naïve eight-year-old I didn’t fully appreciate why we were celebrating a 0-0 draw, and it must have been a pretty boring game to watch, but the players from that era remain etched on my memory. Guys like Paul McStay and Richard Gough (both future Scotland captains) made appearances in the second leg.
 
The World Cup in Mexico was intoxicating. High altitude training in exotic sounding places, weird kick-off times, teams from places I’d never even heard of before. And who can forget that delicious Scotland strip with the horizontal stripe across the shorts? I had the golden Leighton top as well.
 
Notwithstanding the abundance of schoolboy heroes in the team, Scotland lost to West Germany (who went on to lose to Argentina in the final) and to debutants Denmark, whose lineup boasted an in form Preben Elkjær and Michael Laudrup up front. To have any chance of staying in the tournament we had to beat World Cup winners Uruguay in the last game of the group.
 
The game ended 0-0 and fostered a life-long antipathy towards the Uruguayans and the cynical way they played football, which I think I’m only just beginning to come to terms with now!

Of course, Diego Maradona went on to lift the trophy, cementing his status as the world’s greatest player.
 
For Scotland, more glorious failure followed, first at Italia 90 and then at France 98, but at least we were there! Growing up in a household with three football daft boys, we were really spoiled with these unforgettable tournaments.
 
Italia 90 in particular was iconic (Beauty, Drama, Passion And Tragedy - Why Italia '90 Was The Best World Cup Ever). The drama, the passion, the beauty – it was operatic in its intensity. The Germans and Argentinians, England and Cameroon. And Maradona, of course.

Back then I wasn’t really aware of the antagonism simmering away behind the scenes between Maradona and the Italian fans. On the pitch, he remained such a compelling figure. Meanwhile, on the BBC, the effortless charm of Desmond Lynam, brought the World Cup into our living room each and every evening to the rousing soundtrack of Puccini’s spine-tingling aria.
 
But once again it all ended in glorious failure for the Scots.
 
I simply couldn’t understand how we’d been beaten by Costa Rica in the opening round. I didn’t even know where Costa Rica was!
 
Victory against Sweden (a late Mo Johnson penalty) provided the hope, leaving us the small matter of three points against Brazil to guarantee qualification to the knock-out phase. In the end it was only a late Mûller goal at the Stadio delle Alpi that ended Scottish dreams, once again.
 
Fast-forward a few years to France 1998. By now I’m 21 and have returned to Glasgow for the summer break. It’s the first year of the New Labour Government, so there’s a tangible sense of optimism in the air (for some anyway). But somehow Scotland have once again found themselves drawn against Brazil, this time in the opening match of the tournament!
 
And what a Brazil team it was! They had Ronaldo (at his absolute peak). They had Cafu, Roberto Carlos, Dunga, Rivaldo and Bebeto. We had Gordon Dury and Christian Dailly. And in goals, that fading legend from Gothenburg, Jim Leighton, the oldest player in the tournament (at 39 years and 11 months). In short, we had no chance!
 
That afternoon in Glasgow was pure mental (as the locals like to say). Nobody was at work, the pubs were overflowing. We’d arrived super early to secure a decent seat. By kick-off the place was absolutely rammed. Stade de France for the opening game against the World Champions, we couldn’t believe our luck! We knew we were going to lose against the defending champions, but we were determined to have a good time anyway.
 
Sure enough, five minutes in and Brazil score. You’re thinking – on no, here we go again!
 
But then, on 38 minutes, something incredible happens. Scotland get a penalty - and John Collins scores!

Now we just need to hold on. Against the best team in the world.
 
And we did!
 
Brazil couldn’t score.

They didn’t score.
 
In fact, it was Tom Boyd who broke the deadlock. A 74th-minute own-goal that finally broke Scottish hearts.
 
Glorious failure. 


Again! 


But what a night in Glasgow that was!
 
As we sobered up, a draw against Denmark and a three-nil humiliation against Morocco brought another World Cup grinding to an abrupt halt.
 
It was to be the last time Scotland played in a World Cup.

So, neither of my kids have ever seen Scotland play in a major tournament. My eight-year-old has never seen Italy play in a World Cup! They've been robbed!
 
Despite that they love the World Cup. Like most kids, they're really into the big names. They’re desperate for Messi to win. For Ronaldo to lose. They’ve got the album, they know all the flags, all the teams, all the players.
 
Of course, they’re largely oblivious to the corruption and the intolerance and controversy that surrounds the game – in the same way I was unaware of a lot of what was going on behind the scenes in Mexico, Italy and France.

​They’re just focussed on what’s happening on the pitch, and in a way it’s fantastic to see the game through their eyes.