NO SCOTLAND, NO PARTY

Hamish Husband

‘Let’s start at the very beginning’… The Sound of Music may be set in Austria, not Germany, but the film’s song has become a favourite of Scotland’s Tartan Army. Whether we’re in Hampden Park, Amsterdam, even Peru or Mexico, Doe a Deer is a fan favourite.

So, at the very beginning, the qualifying draw for the European Championships saw us in an unexciting group. An uninspiring home first victory over Cyprus was only a precursor to an emotional home win over Spain, and in 33-degrees of heat in Oslo, a dramatic 2 – 1 win. We had qualified for the second Euros in a row. The high point of the last Championships was a 0 – 0 draw with England at Wembley. We celebrated after the match, not even having scored a goal. An English fan, showing unusual restraint and perception, shouted at us kilted warriors:

“You haven’t won the World Cup, mate.”
Indeed we hadn’t, however, we hadn’t lost and that in itself was enough for us.

The draw for the group matches in Germany saw us drawn to play Switzerland and Hungary. We were to play the opening match against the hosts, the mighty Germany, in Munich. Hundreds of millions would watch. More importantly, I was guaranteed a ticket for all three matches with the chance of more matches to come if or (keep this quiet) when we qualified for the next round.

As the tournament approached it was estimated that 200,000 Scots would be ‘comin’ doon the road’ via planes, trains and the autobahns. One group of lads cycled all the way for charity. And forget walking 500 miles, a guy walked 500 more to Munich to watch Scotland.

Our hearts were broken, Germany beat us to the tune of 5 -1. Those doubting the figure of 200,000 Scots (myself included) were left staggered at the sheer enormity of the invading tartan hordes. We simply took over the city, we were everywhere. Scots of all ages, families, kids and grandparents. Me, my brother and his two boys making the number up to 200,004.

We had 10,000 match tickets plus a good few. We had a fan park that couldn’t hold all Scots. There were more than one group of Germans wearing kilts. This was a massive ‘love-in’ and the hosts certainly loved us. As is the custom, we made all the noise in the stadium. The song that seemingly every German associated with the Tartan Army was No Scotland, No Party. This daft song and preposterous notion followed us everywhere… railway platforms, shops, on trams. Walk down the street and the locals greeted me with that silly ditty. The Germans especially loved the T-shirts: Kein Schottland, Keine Party.

The people of Munich proposed a Schottland Festival celebrating Scotland, the Tartan Army, and no doubt the profits of the Bier Kellers.

Come our second match in Cologne, we had become the hit of the tournament. More than one pipe band played on the steps outside the famous cathedral. It was here that an incident of typical Scottish kindness went viral. An old Herr using a walking aid in a heavy downpour was escorted over the square by two Tartan Army lads protecting him with an umbrella. To complete the picture, one TA foot soldier held safe his beer. Social media showed this around the world. If you think Taylor Swift is popular then she had nothing on a Scot in Germany wearing a kilt. 30,000 marched to the stadium led by the pipes with locals waving Scotland flags and giving out bottles of beer.

The Scots lived up to their super-hero image with one newspaper running a fictitious story that 40 children were rescued from a burning orphanage by the Tartan Army. On trains, an announcement came over the loudspeaker: “Ladies and gentlemen please stand for the Scottish National Anthem” and Flower of Scotland was played.

The fans did us proud in a rousing and emotional rendition of the anthem for the three matches. It certainly inspired the fans, shame the players weren’t taking notice. The Burgermeister of Cologne sent us a personal message thanking us in Freundschaft.

The second match saw us draw 1 – 1 with Switzerland. My other brother and nephew joined us. We were staying in an Airbnb outside Bonn. The host was alive to the needs of six Scots, bringing us extra beer. His English was excellent, however, he occasionally said ‘kangaroo’. I speak good German but was unacquainted with the word. It was only when leaving we found two pet wallabies in his garden.

In these worrying times, the Euros is a meeting of nations, a friendly gathering of Europeans without borders, conversation and banter with fans from other nations. I engaged in one-upmanship, though. An Austrian claimed to have 30,000 fans in Germany, the Swiss 20,000, a Frenchman 10,000. Blimey, they got 10,000 tickets and not one extra fan came. A Swiss fan told me that 4% of all Scots were in Germany. All their songs were wordless, just a lot of ‘la la la’. Game set and match to us. Sadly not in a football sense, of course.

I decided to have a day off the beer before the last match. My heart wanted us to progress to the last 16, my liver was not in agreement. In a small town somewhere near Stuttgart I entered a bar. One beer turned into a few as I, the Scotsman who had saved hundreds of children from a burning building, received free beer all night. A Rumanian and a Turk announced themselves as Ayr United fans. They actually bet on Ayr United every week. Walking back to the hotel, students sang No Scotland, No Party and made me drink another beer.

The Tartan Army’s ten days were quite exhilarating and for us 200,000 Scots, it was quite astounding how we captured the hearts of Germany. We were voted the competition’s favourite fans with 52% of the vote. Germany were second with 22%. The Tartan Army was definitely The Europameister, I just wish the team was a wee bit better.

Next came Sunday’s make or break match with Hungary. Three points would see us through to the second round and again saw a Tartan Army of 30,000 marching to the stadium, like Bonnie Prince Charlie’s soldiers to glory or defeat – now’s the day, and now’s the hour. The Scots had the vast majority of the stadium and our anthem was louder than ever. This wouldn’t be glorious failure… it couldn’t be. Surely, to use Taylor Swift’s words, when it came to that tag of unlucky loser, we could ‘shake it off’.

Scotland, of course, were beaten by a goal scored in the 100th minute. Taylor Swift got her revenge, us being for these ten brief days, more popular than her. The day after there were no Scots, we were in proud retreat just like poor Charlie. There was to be a party without the Tartan Army, just not as good. We were ‘sent hamewart, tae think again’… yet again.