FIFTEEN years ago today almost 33% of the world's population paused for a wee while to watch Scotland playing football.

That hasn't happened since and may never again. The usual thing is to talk about how time flies, can it really be 15 years, all that sort of stuff. But actually our teams have crammed so many letdowns and failures into the last decade-and-a-half that, yes, it can seem like all that time and more has passed since June 10, 1998, and the start of the World Cup in France.

Around 80,000 people filed through industrial Saint-Denis in northern Paris to get to the Stade de France that day, drawn by the magnetism of the tournament's opening game: Brazil v Scotland. What a day it was: glorious weather for those of us lucky enough to be in Paris, sunshine, excitement and optimism at home. Half-days and booze around Scotland, too, given kick-off was 4.30pm on a Wednesday.

Everywhere you looked the World Cup, and this intoxicating opener, was the only show in town. Prime Minister Tony Blair visited Craig Brown and his squad to wish them luck the day before the game. The players spontaneously applauded when Blair appeared on the terrace of their hotel. The Scottish Football Association gave him Scotland shirts with his kids' names on the back, he told the players they looked "very nervous". Sean Connery, Billy Connolly and Rod Stewart were hanging around as usual. Ulrika Jonsson was in town in a Scotland shirt and in the headlines, too, because boyfriend Stan Collymore had beaten her up inside the Auld Alliance pub. Scotland fans stepped in to sort him out, meaning he was swiftly out of the pub and out of a relationship.

On game day, the Daily Record's front page was a picture of what looked like a Saltire in the sky above Paris – seemingly a freak creation of two aeroplane vapour trails – and the headline "The Omen". Utter froth, and all part of the enjoyable nonsense of being part of a World Cup. "In legend it was a sign of victory, yesterday in the skies above France the Saltire appeared again . . . "

Paris was under friendly occupation: kilts everywhere. Anywhere up to 20,000 Scots were said to be in town, a mere handful compared to the 1.7bn estimated to be sitting in front of televisions for at least some of the match, almost one in three people on the planet. It's the biggest audience a Scottish team is ever likely to get.

Brazil had excited and worried us all since the draw was made more than six months earlier. They had Ronaldo, Rivaldo, Bebeto, Roberto Carlos, Cafa and Dunga. They were the World Cup holders and been No.1 in the world rankings for the previous four years. We had the likes of Colin Calderwood, Gordon Durie and Darren Jackson. "The preparation has been terrific and the lads have been superb in everything they have done," said Brown on the eve of the game. "They deserve a wee turn."

Even Brazil's quotes were sexier, such as this from Roberto Carlos: "As soon as the Brazilian team starts to play, the myth takes over and the reality of what we do on the field is embellished by people's imagination."

For their final training session on Scottish soil, Brown had taken his team to Newlandsfield Park, home of Pollok juniors. Five days later: Brazil. Brown, a strippling of 57 back then, was in his element that heady summer. The press would shuttle back and fore from hotels in Avignon – it was a 23-day trip, all in – to attend his daily media conferences in nearby St-Remy-de-Provence. He held court and revelled in Scotland being the centre of attention.

Fifteen years later he remembers it all clearly. "The press kept warning us about what could happen against Brazil. The word that was used a lot was 'humiliation'. But that was our motivation, to avoid that. Scotland are at their best when they're up against it."

Ronaldo wasn't "Fat Ronaldo" back then. He was the original and the one and only, pre-fat and pre-knee injuries. A 21-year-old phenomenon, the most expensive player there had ever been and the reigning world footballer of the year. He'd already played for Barcelona and Internazionale and scored 24 times for Brazil.

Brown worried about him, and no wonder. He phoned Sir Bobby Robson – who had signed him for Barcelona after failing to get Alan Shearer – and asked if anyone had stopped him. "Not really," said Robson. Brown reckoned Scotland should try to do the next best thing and try to starve him of possession. Most of the passes to him came from Cafu, so Durie and Kevin Gallacher were ordered to close down the right-back at all times, with Christian Dailly told to do the same if he got further forward. It worked: Ronaldo didn't score. "I think it was tactically successful," said Brown.

It wasn't all about taking the field with trepidation. The opening ceremony took place before the game. Scotland's players came out to walk the pitch wearing kilts. Brazil snaked out together, all linked, as Brown knew they would. "You know the Brazilians have this thing about holding hands when they go out on to the pitch? They do it all the time. So they go out hand-in-hand against us and I came back into the dressing room and told our boys 'by the way, I've just seen the Brazilian team they're hand in hand: they're shitting themselves -"

Five minutes into the match it was our turn for that. Brazil went ahead almost immediately. All those months worrying about their unstoppable artistry and they scored with a bread-and-butter header from a set piece. Bebeto took it, Craig Burley let Cesar Sampaio get in front of him and the finish flew between John Collins and the near post. "What was heartbreaking for me was conceding from the corner," said Brown, still frustrated 15 years on. "We never conceded goals from corners. It wasn't even a header, it came off his shoulder. And of course the own goal was just horrendous."

Scotland didn't fold or collapse. They didn't become a global laughing stock. The final statistics showed they had nine attempts on goal to Brazil's 14 and, as if we need reminding, one of them was the equaliser. Seven minutes before half-time Gallacher was chasing a lost cause when Sampaio pulled him back, conceding a penalty. Over to Collins, the Galashiels boy with ice in his veins. "Penalties have been the bane of my existence," said Brown, who can reel off a handful of missed ones which he reckons affected his managerial career. "I watched him take it because sometimes I've turned away and they've missed. I wasn't optimistic -"

He needn't have worried. There's a great picture taken from behind the goal when the ball is flying towards Claudio Taffarel's bottom right-hand corner: Collins is already grinning like a Cheshire cat. He knew.

For 35 minutes it was 1-1. Scotland dug in and made chances. Brazil replaced Bebeto with Denilson, who was about to join Real Betis for £23m and take over as the world's most expensive signing. But he didn't score; neither did Ronaldo, Rivaldo nor anyone else in yellow. Their winner was Tom Boyd's, powerless to do anything when Cafu's cross was blocked by Jim Leighton but rebounded off his shoulder and over the line for the cruellest own goal of them all: 2-1 Brazil. "This is probably the worst I've ever felt," said Boyd afterwards. "Nobody said anything in the dressing room."

We all retreated to Avignon and remained there until the second game against Norway in Bordeaux six days later. Tickets for that one were changing hands for up to £200 a pop. We squinted through the low sunshine as Burley equalised Havard Flo's opener. 1-1, but Group A was slipping away. Seven days later, against Morocco in St Etienne, Scotland fell apart. The back four was caught out by balls over the top, Leighton's positioning uncharacteristically let him down, Burley was sent off and Morocco ran riot: 0-3. It was one of those ugly, chaotic nights Scotland have come to know.

"That was the worst result I had as Scotland manager," Brown recalls now. "If Nigeria or South Africa or Ghana had beaten us there wouldn't have been the same amount of condemnation." He still reckons Morocco were a far better team than people acknowledged. Maybe so, but Norway beat Brazil that same night and it was those two who qualified from the group.

In Scotland, the next day's papers had all the usual iconography: "end of the world" headlines and pictures of red-eyed guys in kilts with their heads in their hands. It's been the same story throughout the past 15 years, except the knock-outs come in qualifying now rather than at the finals themselves. Still, France '98 remains as alive as ever in Scottish memories. We rubbed shoulders with the greatest. Being in Stade de France that day meant being at the centre of the world.