Ian Bell

I don't know about anyone else, but I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. The manager's grasp of arithmetic is no doubt admirable - yes, George, two games remaining, therefore six points "available" - but it wasn't quite the consolation I was looking for. I'm done with clutching at straws.

What will Mr Burley do for his next trick? Calculate the number of games lost by Holland in qualifying? Work out the differential, as a co-efficient of quality, between Macedonia and Spain the other night? Points available indeed.

When the fourth Norwegian goal went in an old pop song came into my head; a minor hit by Sparks entitled "Amateur Hour". Some of you perhaps remember the chorus: "And amateur hour goes on and on".

That's the enervating part. It's like a deleted scene from Groundhog Day. This was the worst Scotland disaster since - well, since the last worst disaster. And the one before that. And the one It is a little known fact that Sisyphus, the bloke from Greek myth condemned for all eternity to roll a boulder up a hill only to see it crash back down inches from the summit, wore a Scotland replica shirt.

What now? Sack the manager, of course. That seems fair enough. My understanding is that qualification for the World Cup was a minimum requirement for employment. The contract is therefore as good as broken. So bring on the next contestant in that perennial favourite, Scotland's Not Got Talent.

It strikes me, though, that the ritual defenestration of the coach has been tried one or twice. It's like blowing out a match when the house is on fire, or demanding ice in your drink on the Titanic.

Perhaps we could bring in one of those fancy foreigners? Oh, right: tried that. Perhaps we could find a reput-able club coach who happens to be at a loose end? We always try that. So the cry goes up: send for Strachan. Not beloved at Parkhead, but good enough for Scotland?

I've no doubt that Gordon Strachan would, as they say, add a new dimension to an effort that struggles to be one-dimensional. Whether the SFA could afford him, whether he would want the hassle, and whether a war between manager and media could be postponed for - what, five minutes? - are questions of a different order. It is one mark of degradation: becoming the Scotland coach is no longer the pinnacle of anyone's career. Equally, playing for one's country, this country at least, is no longer a glittering prize. All those premature retirements, all those huffs and bar-room bust-ups, point to a devastating question: if a significant proportion of a relatively tiny number of professionals don't give a toss, why should anyone else?

The administrative structures of the Scottish game are a shambles. All the inquiries and reviews begin with that proposition and all manage to leave the mess much as they found it. Who runs the game? Take your pick. Who connects kids in the park with blue jerseys at Hampden, grassroots with SPL, domestic endeavours with international efforts? A forest of hands will be raised. That's the problem.

In one sense, the Oslo atrocity merely reflected a decline that is close to absolute. How fares the SPL? This "elite" is one step away from the poor house. So we don't have England's TV money. But that is true, and will always be true, of any number of European countries. It is certainly true of Norway, who trounced us in front of a delighted home crowd of perhaps 20,000 souls.

When Scotland's catastrophes arrive I tend to mention the French. You'll remember the tale. Long before conquering Europe and the world, French football, never a national sport, grew weary of underperformance. They went back to basics, discarded short-term ambition, hunted down and nurtured talent, and made sheer excellence a priority. The rest is history.

It becomes a matter of will. In a devolved country, that means political will. I'm the first to agree that no Scottish player should be allowed anywhere near the 2012 Olympic Games. London's self-serving notion spells doom. But we manage our doom unaided, do we not? Besides, just how many Scottish players would merit a place in Team GB?

First, we need a full-time sports minister. Secondly, we need politicians to sort out their priorities. It is a fine idea to treat sport as a public health issue in a country drinking, eating and smoking itself to death. I take nothing away, equally, from anyone's favoured pastime. But at issue here, God help us, is our national game.

This little country can no longer dilute its efforts. Grant help, if it's possible, to the badminton team or the water polo squad. Remember, if you must, that not everyone is besotted with football. But when MSPs return to Holyrood they should glance back at last week's coverage of the Oslo abomination.

It matters. Daft as it may sound amid mass unemployment, this is a national issue, not the usual case of private grief within the SFA. Public hearings would be a start.