CM0102 — What’s under the Kilt?
After reading the excellent blog on the Set Pieces by the legendary Mike Paul Vox and a fun thread on twitter about the Lower League legends from England that you could win an international tournament with, I had a think.
Life has been getting in the way a bit of late but I felt a wee tingle in the loins. A tingle that smelt of 3am ‘Just one more game’ and provided a jolt of caffeine greater than the 4th triple shot flat white of the day.
How hard could it be to win Euro 2004 with Scottish Lower League players?
However, I am also a dick. And I like to think that I am moderately good at Championship Manager 2001–02. So I set two further rules.
1: Players become ineligible as soon as they move out of Scotland or into the Premier League
2: This also applies for Promotion and Relegation.
With a great degree of hubris and a bottle of Irn Bru 1901 set into the side of a novelty Scotland cap emblazened with ‘World Cup Winners 1998’ with a large straw — I clicked start game and disappeared back into the comfortable text and inevitable heartache.
July 2001 — I got the squad together for the first time (You can see my twitter for a trail of how this went down). The long and the short of the first 4 games of my tenure and the squad is thus.
Gary McGlynn: Gone. Robbie Raeside: Gone. Billy McDonald: Gone. And of course, the Darth Vader to my extremely feral portrayal of Luke Skywalker — Mark Kerr — moves to Tottenham. Fuck every single one of them.
Our last friendly on the 24th of April produced a stunning 2–0 win against the Irish, with a 26–3 shot difference and some football so stunning I was weeping at the text in front of me (mostly because I had just stood on a bit of fucking Lego — memo to self, destroy Denmark excl. bacon).
At this point we still have the bones of a squad and whilst 4 St Mirren players were selected we wouldn’t miss them too much after their promotion at the end of the 2001–02 season. Alas relegated Dunfermline would provide nothing new as their squad was a vapid void of emptiness and darkness that put me in mind of a Scottish West Brom.
So to the Euro qualifiers and a nervous 3 month wait across the summer. How many of my players would I lose to transfers? Would anyone useful move into the lower leagues? What would be our inspiring Scottish track to spook the Germans on their visit to Hampden on the 31st August?
Well in reverse order:
1: The Rattler by Goodbye Mr McKenzie
2: A pretty fucking resounding no
3: FUCK.
McLean moves to Celtic. John Duffy to pissing Darlington of all places. Jim Thomson decides the Wirral is better than Dumfries. Jamie Dolan moves to Hibs. Scott Walker gets a big move from St Mirren to Rangers. Might as well have stood in front of a Kirk Broadfoot operated microwave. 3 of my squad have been released and have no club!
Fair to say, my patched up squad to face Germany and Wales is…interesting. I totally overdo it on attackers and leave myself 3 CBs for a 3 CB formation. Which is about par for the course as my attention to detail goes.
As the 31st of August 2002 dawns on my screen I stand and stretch. The tinkling into of the Rattler creaks onto my laptop speakers. It is time. And boy…do we have a plan. Its an adaptation of my old Helsinki Nights formation. We’ve got a solid back 3 with Neil Scally and Frank Conway performing a Glasgow bouncer service on the halfway line at Hampden. Gary Teale will be our main attacking outlet with ‘El Fuckin’ Mago’ Marc Anthony in behind the striker. HWFG.
A back and forth start sees the sides exchange chances before 16th minute, Paul Sheerin strides forwards and plays a ball finer than a Shetland Pony’s hair to debutant Barry Lavety, who finishes with aplomb. Buckfast rains down on the stands at Hampden as the fans do a bizarre mashup of The Poznan and The Slosh, which is rudely interrupted by ‘El Fuckin Mago’ Anthony sending a sumptuous strike past Oliver Kahn in the 38th minute to make it 2–0 at half time.
The Germans look about as threatening as the Krankies after a glass of warm milk and Gary Teale adds a classy 3rd in the 62nd minute. Eddie Annand comes off the bench and gets a 4th in the 85th minute before we give up a single strike to Bobic, mostly becuase at this stage the air in Hampden is about 25% proof and Jim Sherry tried to start a mass Dashing White Sargeant to celebrate.
Winning the Euros?
In the fucking bag son.
