STEVE CLARKE has ridden his luck through this World Cup campaign — like a triple rollover lottery winner on a golden unicorn.
So many chaotic performances, so many defensive debacles, so many sitters missed.
So many key men falling miles below their own high standards.
So many moments when a nation with nerves like piano wire has watched through splayed fingers.
So many million jaws hitting the carpet on a Saturday night when our dreams of winning this World Cup group were rescued in the most ridiculous way imaginable.
All of it bringing us to where we are this morning, excited as hell about what we pretty much all agreed from the off would be the best-case scenario when the chips were down — a cup final at home to the group favourites Denmark.
So if tomorrow night the fates decide that Scotland’s golden-bawed gaffer deserves one more dollop of gooey jamminess . . . well, that would be super-sweet.
Will we take another mistake-ridden performance where all is forgiven thanks to a winner that goes in off John McGinn’s backside?
You bet his ass we will.
Would we happily settle right now for a 99th minute own goal chipped from 65 yards and blown over Kasper Schmeichel’s napper by the freakiest of freak gales?
In a heartbeat, in a thumping heartbeat.
Whatever it takes, yeah? Well . . . maybe.
Because at the risk of being the lone grump flying in the face of the popular narrative — the one that says we have suffered so much heartache for so bloody long that we were due a turn — may I whisper that good fortune won’t be enough when we run out to face Denmark at Hampden.
One look at our record these past couple of years tells us that.
Sheer weight of statistics screams that if we want to seal our place at the party next summer, we’ll need to do something we haven’t done for far too long — for 884 days, to be exact.
Which is do the business in a must-win game against a team above us in the rankings.
Norway in Oslo, that was the last time. The steaming hot Saturday when we mourned the passing of legend Gordon McQueen, then partied into the £11-a-pint night after an astonishing, last-gasp smash-and-grab job that basically got us to Euro 2024.
Never since then have we taken one against the head when it really mattered.
Never since then have Steve Clarke’s Scotland truly taken our breath away.
Tomorrow night, we need to change that.
Tomorrow night, we need to dredge up the spirit of the Ullevaal Stadium, of that thunderous 2-0 home win over Spain, of the lockdown penalty shootout in Belgrade that took us to the first of our back-to-back Euros.
Tomorrow night, we need to revisit the spirit, the togetherness and the collective responsibility we showed last time Denmark came to town, the night four years ago give or take a few days when John Souttar and Che Adams propelled us into a play-off for Qatar 2022.
Half an hour after the final whistle, down on the trackside in front of the main stand in those early post-Covid days when we weren’t allowed into the press room, I told Clarke it was my favourite Hampden win since we saw off the Czechs in 1973 to reach the first of FIVE World Cups in a row.
That run, we thought, would never end.
Scott McTominay’s career
Born in Lancaster on December 8, 1996
Joined the Manchester United youth system aged five and signed his first professional contract in 2013
Made his Premier League debut against Arsenal in May 2017
McTominay went on to win Carabao Cup and FA Cup with Man Utd
Made 255 appearances and scored 29 goals for the Red Devils
McTominay joined Napoli in August for £25.7million
Won Serie A title and was named best player in the league in his first season in Italy
Born in England, he qualified for Scotland through his dad who’s from Helensburgh
McTominay was called-up by Scotland in March 2018 and has gone on to become a huge Hampden favourite
He was part of the squad at Euro 2020 and Euro 2024
He won his 50th cap while playing against Germany at Euro 2024
McTominay has scored some huge goals for Scotland, including an injury-time winner against Israel and his famous double in the 2-0 win over Spain in Glasgow
If we want to win this group, a wonderful achievement no matter how it comes about, then we need to re-create that feeling, that spirit, the realisation that every single player was utterly committed to the moment, to his mates, to the country.
That’s what Clarke’s achievement in the job has been built on, that’s what got him to two finals.
The courage of penalty shootouts at home to Israel and away to Serbia.
Our gallusness in sweeping away the Spaniards at Hampden, the never-say-die attitude we found in Oslo.
The truth is, though, that those memorable occasions now look more and more isolated when scattered in among the ones we can’t forget, hard as we try.
Ukraine pumping us on our own turf in those play-offs for Qatar.
Greece doing the same to dump us out of the Nations League elite.
Powder-puff performances against the Czechs and the Croats in our first Euros, being handed our backsides by Germany, then rope-a-doped by Hungary in our second.
This is the truth of Scotland under Clarke — that we have come so far from the grim place he inherited, yet that we have far too often fallen short when it really, really matters.
It happened again in Greece, when what we needed was a grown-up, solid performance against already-eliminated opposition.
But when instead we were so open that even Ange Postecoglou would have tutted, and when we were left congratulating ourselves for what was no more than a forlorn fightback from oblivion.
That the Danes were making one almighty cock-up of getting the routine win over Belarus that would have all but put them through?
That was beyond good news for us, but it doesn’t change the fact that if we want to leapfrog them to glory, we need to be so much better than we have been at any point so far in this campaign.
Sure, trust it all to luck if that’s what floats your boat.
Tell yourself the boss has been blessed by the angels, see the whole chaotic journey as something written in destiny itself.
But if we don’t get to North America after coming closer than we have since 1998, then Renton will never have been more right. It truly WILL be s**** being Scottish.
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