Scottish things and people that I like

Yes, but instead of voodoo they have the Wee Frees.

(*Tims**)
(**Catholics)

Fitba:

If there's dominating factor in the Scottish persona, it's probably the love of football. (Apart from those who don't, but they're poofs and we don't talk about them) But let's get one thing out of the way - SCOTTISH FOOTBALL IS PISH.

The heyday of Scottish football was probably right at the very beginning. A Scottish club (Renton, who became Alexandria, who became Dumbarton) won the first ever world competition. Lord Roseberry's XI, in their pink and orange stripes, invented international football. Scotland used to regularly spank England, often by 5 goals.

Let's just look at the Lord Roseberry kit again.

ihttp://www.toffs.com/xtraThumb/3065.gif

You wouldn't see them wearing something like that these days.

Somewhere down the line, however, it all went wrong. In the 50s, Hibs were the first British club to play in a European competition, having introduced European football to Britain in the first place, and held the World Cup winning Hungary side to a goalless draw in their national stadium. They were invited to tour South America, and the 'Famous Five' became the inspiration for the great Brazil side of the 70s. This continued into the 60s, as they beat Manchester United, Barcelona and Real Madrid, and put 5 past Napoli. Celtic were no slouches in this period either, becoming the first British side to win the European Cup, and Rangers followed suit with the Cup Winner's Cup. Scotland humiliated the World Cup holders of England, a match that featured a fist fight at half time between Baxter and Law about which was a more humiliating sight - a load of goals or playing keepie-uppie in front of them. There was a brief renaissance in the 80s as Aberdeen and Dundee United proved they were the equal of... erm... Nottingham Forest... but that was pretty much it. No longer were the English leagues full of Scotsmen being overpaid, and Scotland could no longer look at England as a wee team who you normally beat.

So what went wrong? Personally, I think the loss of heavy industry is a major part. Where are all the players at lunchtimes with rags bound in dockyard tape? Working in call centres and playing five a side in a gym hall once a week. Kids don't go out as much any more and estates don't have big enough spaces to build a pitch on. Perhaps more crucially, it's very expensive to take kids to the match now.

Plus, of course, it's frequently excruciating to watch. I remember a Hearts/Motherwell game a couple of seasons ago, the highlights of which were one (count it) off-target shot. That was it. The lower divisions are worse, often living up entirely to "22 grown men chasing an inflated bladder around" except that not all of them can be arsed so only about 5 actually chase it. The rest might as well be sitting in front of the telly with 20 fags instead of playing. As Taggart once said, "You think this is murder? You've never been to Firhill." I remember being inducted at an early age by watching Dunfermline play at East Stirling. I don't remember much more than my pie and sitting on railway sleepers in the red ash, but that was enough. It was the start of 30 years of misery.

The highlights, however, have always been the players. Jim Baxter, whose legendary mazy runs may have been due to the amount of booze he had consumed. Jimmy Johnstone, getting lost in a rowing boat. Denis Law, a fox sucking a lemon. The 1978 World Cup squad not letting football get in the way of getting pished on holiday.

But there must be a favourite, and mine is Charles 'Chic' Charnley. Chic is a man's man. Sent off more than any other player in football history, Chic could have been one of the greats and even Franz Beckenbauer said as much. But... eh... Chic liked the drink a wee bit. And the pies. And the fighting in the park with samurai swords. And all the rest of it. Capable of genius on the park, but just as capable of throwing up on your shoes on a Saturday night, Chic was one of us and that's why I love him.

xp

That can isn't purple. FAKE JIMMY BUNNIT!

Q: What's Lionel Richie's African cousin called?
A: Mboza

Really? Aside from the fact that Hungary never won the WC (but, fair enough, they were supreme in the 50s), I can't find anything on the Web about this.

Scotland, World Champions 1967 indeed. At least until October when that title passed to Northern Ireland, of course.

For all my talk of national characteristics, there's one thing more than anything that makes the Scots Scottish.

The bevvy.
The peeve.
Getting pished.
THE BOOZE.

But not just the desire for drink, a trait which I'm sure you'll agree many nations share such as the Irish, the Scandinavians, the Eastern Europeans and England fans in Union Flag swimming trunks in Spain, it's the desire to consume in flagrant contradiction of legality or even just plain good taste that marks us out.

Witness, for example, the spectacle at Christmas. Small children, even the under-5s, are force-fed advocaat by well meaning grannies like French geese (with comparable effect on their livers) in the misguided belief it's "not really drinking" till they vomit spectacular rivers of eggy spew. "Poor wee love, it must be all the excitement." Aye, obviously.

Is it any wonder, then, that we continue the habit as soon as we get the chance? Alcopops were a bit of a godsend for a nation with a hugely sweet tooth, but we go for the hardcore ones rather than the bog-standard breezers. Mad Dog 20/20 drunk neat! Tonic wine! Thunderbird! These are the drinks or your glorious Scottish alkie, not johnny-come-latelys like WKD (even if it is Irn Bru flavoured). I mean come on, the Lanark triangle kept a certain community of monks in cassocks for years, and has given them enough money to buy sandals for ever more.

The inventiveness doesn't end there, however. Many big industrial sites used to have their own bars, where men would fight to pour as many drinks as possible down their throats during their lunch break before going back and trying to put a half shift in. (Seriously, I've seen people drink upwards of 6 pints in 30 minutes) But what if you worked on a site where there wasn't a bar? Well then you had to get creative. If you worked on a site where it was used, acetone wasn't half bad with the right amount of mixer. If you didn't, then it was a matter of resorting to the slightly more fragrant, and therefore harder to mix, photocopier fluid. THESE ARE NOT AS BAD DRINKS AS THEY SOUND. My knowing this may be A BAD THING.

But I suppose, at the end of the day, the best things about Scottish booze are the common things. Even the mass produced lagers are OK, but there are some great beers including the pick of the bunch, Caledonian 80/-. There's a craving for dark rum that probably beats that of anywhere else in the world. And then there's the water of life, the malt. If you don't like one, then you just haven't tried enough. There's one there for you somewhere.

If you're at the bar, I'll have a hauf and a hauf pint. Heavy, aye.

He didn't get a bonus. The first thing you do at work after receiving such news is NOTHING PRODUCTIVE. I got the same news today and I spent my afternoon ranting about Celtic's ineptitude - aldo's rants have been more interesting, though I'll never forgive him for calling me a posh hun because I buy the occasional Herald.

If "lucrative" meant even the possibility of a penny a year, given it's fun and 1) my job isn't and 2) the bonus is worth the square root of fuck all (in real terms, it's actually about two weeks wages, but you're supposed to work hard all year to get it and these are more or less real time - with work fitting in wherever) then doing this instead of actually working is several orders of magnitude "better".

Fuck me, I wish I could just write pish for a living. With an editor these screeds might be almost entertaining.

ally looks so young, in that photo!!!

I would actually like to go and visit again as an adult. I remember being taken by a child, and not being very impressed by much, except running around chasing my brother screaming and pretending to go at him with a claymore or something. My mum said there was a book where you could look people up to see if any of your ancestors had died there, and she claimed to have found quite a few.

I did like the descriptions in the book of the Highlanders being so terrifying that most of the early battles just involved the loyalists turning around running away. :-)

Or just say I can't type for the life of me, especially using this mysteriously bouncey keyboard.

I'm even more confused now!