‘That was your fault,’ I hissed at my mate Ossie. ‘You and your Kansas City. Who do you think you are, Dorothy Gale?’

As Scotland conceded a late equaliser to Denmark that looked like it had ended our hopes of qualifying for the 2026 World Cup, that was who I had decided to blame.

Yes, the man responsible for our misfortune was my friend, who I’d reasoned had ‘jinxed us’ by absent-mindedly commenting earlier that if we did travel to the USA, he’d prefer Kansas to Los Angeles or New York.

Not the defenders who didn’t clear their lines properly, not the midfielders who didn’t close down Patrick Dorgu, nor even the manager Steve Clarke, criticised so often for an abundance of caution.

Such is the twisted logic, the lack of reason, the sheer cosmic stupidity of supporting Scotland. After n

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