IT’s hard to be what you can’t see.

Just as Barack Obama allowed black children in the US to at least dream one day of becoming president, and female business leaders often hope their presence can inspire a broadening of the franchise when it comes to executive roles and boardroom positions, so Andy Robertson carries the hopes of a generation of aspiring Scottish footballers squarely upon his shoulders. 

Mountains of newsprint have already been written about the Liverpool left-back, who is set to become the first Scot to represent in a Champions League final since Paul Lambert for Borussia Dortmund in 1997 when the Anfield side take on Real Madrid later this month. M

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ountains more will surely follow before the game gets under way. And before I go any further, of course, a sub clause must be inserted here for poor Darren Fletcher, who would have started in the 2009 showpiece for Manchester United had he not been dismissed with 15 minutes left of a semi-final against Arsenal which was 4-0 at the time, for a tackle on Cesc Fabregas where he actually played the ball. 

But Robertson is a special case because Scots gracing the latter stages of continental competition was once run of the mill. 

A decade or so after a Glasgow and District XI clad in Celtic strips were crowned kings of Europe, Graeme Souness, Kenny Dalglish and Steve Nicol were all winning multiple European Cups during the 1980s, and Aberdeen’s Gothenburg greats were showing Robertson just how it should be done by seeing off Madrid in Sweden. 

A child of the noughties, however, would be forgiven for thinking there is something in his or her gene pool which specifically prevents him or her making it to this stage in the world game.

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Let’s face it, this is a section of Scottish society who have never even seen the men’s team qualify for a major finals, even in these days when a whopping 24 European teams are given invites to the Euros.

They probably think there is more chance of following Andy Murray to tennis greatness, Laura Muir to the pinnacle of world athletics, or better odds if they stick to their swimming like Duncan Scott. 

Gordon Strachan, one of this lofty band of footballing giants, albeit a rather diminutive one, certainly did nothing to dispel that notion when he said recently that ‘genetically we are behind’. And you know what, in some ways he is right.

Robertson, all of 5ft 8in, would certainly struggle to win too many far post headers if isolated against hulking African centre forwards like Didier Drogba. 

But what he is – skilful, athletic, sharp-witted, a willing support runner and flinty enough defender, armed with the experience of 230-odd first-team games by the age of 24 – has been enough to take him to the very top of the continental club game. 

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Oh, and perhaps that analysis missed out his best attribute of all: his attitude. There have been various setbacks in this lad’s journey, various forks in the road where his career could easily have veered off to another ultimate destination, but his own steadiness of temperament has kept him on the straight and narrow. Whether it is Murray, Muir or Scott, you could pretty much say the same about every one of Scottish sporting success stories.

So what does his emergence tell us, where so many others have failed? Should Scottish football be sitting back, patting itself on the back and reassuring itself that everything is going in the right direction? Hardly.

Instead of looking at Robertson as generational talent who was always destined to succeed, the truth is that at one stage Celtic – probably the finest conveyor belt of youth talent in this land – decided he wasn’t even exceptional enough to persevere with.

The youngster’s path took him to Queen’s Park, where he crucially received first-team exposure. From there – Dundee United, Hull City and now Liverpool – the rest is history.

Robertson has worked hard for all the good fortune that occasionally has smiled upon him, defying systemic issues such as the cash-rich English game’s addiction to foreign signings.

He is an incredible role model who deserves every credit going. But you can’t tell me there aren’t at least a dozen similarly-gifted Scottish kids which come through every single year. Where do they go?