Vive la difference! Why France 2016 needs the Tartan Army

Chief Sports Writer

Saturday 9 June 2012

ANOTHER tournament, another spot on the sidelines.

An exploratory force already has been dispatched to Paris for reconnaissance ahead of possible qualification. Picture: Mark Gibson

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Hugh MacDonald

The Euros have kicked off and Scottish football supporters feel as if they are standing in the street, their noses pressed up against the window of the sweetie shop with no chance of getting in. Except for me. The size of my nose means I am standing in a different postcode with my proboscis pressed against the window.

So when will we be allowed to get into the sweet shop and knock the Mars bars placed invitingly at the front of the counter? Or, more prosaically, when are we ever going to qualify for a major tournament? Help is needed, as my probation officer once presciently scrawled on my court report. It may be on its way. The next European Championships in France in 2016 will have 24 teams, instead of 16. At that rate of progress, there will be 56 teams in 2032 and we may just sneak in, possibly after a tense play-off with the Faroe Islands. I believe, though, that there should be the possibility of a wild card entry into the French tournament. A strong case could be made that the tournament would suffer from the continued absence of the Tartan Army who marched so triumphantly on Paris to watch Faddy score in 2007. Here are the 10 top things that the Tartan Army can bring to France in 2016 and why the team must, therefore, be allowed to compete . . . 10 The thousands of gallons of sun block. The red-haired kilties put factor 25 on their cheeks . . . and factor 10 on their faces. 9 The cast of oenophiles. Oenophiles are not something that are placed in cakes and can be used to cut the bars of jails. Though these will be useful for large sections of the Tartan Army. An oenophile is a wine lover and the absence of the Scots will condemn France to live in continued ignorance of the whole gamut of fortified wines. 8 There will be a mass wailing at the lack of cinq-contre-cinq matches in the Tuileries Gardens. Curators at the nearby Louvre are, however, gratified. The last Tartan Army kickabout caused collateral damage when the specially imported Mouldmaster burst a couple of windaes and seemed to knock the arms off a statue. 7 The cry at every bistro. "Haw monsewer, can ye deep fry that snail?'' The home of fine dining will also be introduced to le bap coronaire – a roll, preferably Mortons in origin, with a slice of black pudding topped with bacon, square sausage and a fried egg. For dessert: a fag. And a belch. 6 French women will surely protest at the absence of the pride of Scottish manhood. The French birth-rate will crash and burn like a Spanish bank without the sweet murmurings of the Scots. Essential phrases include: "Fancy le bunk up?" and "La vasectomie c'est moi." 5 A generation of French waiters, oblivious to offering service, would be offered an incentive to be more receptive to the demands of customers. A ''haw you'' would be followed swiftly by the gentle knocking of screwtap on napper. 4 The modern Scottish Enlightenment – so brilliantly articulated by the Tartan Army –would be missed in the musings over la philosophie in Left Bank cafes. The thought of Sartre and Camus are incomplete without the wonderful: "Qu'est ce que c'est pour vous non aller par vous.'' And: ''Nous sommes tous les enfants de Jacques Thomson.'' 3 The French, too, deserve to see the smile that challenges the Mona Lisa. There is nothing so poignant, so enigmatic as the grin on a coupon of a member of the Tartan Army as he stares, quietly satisfied, over the top of le pissoir. 2 Le discussion of the finer points of football strategy may also be lost in translation. ''Nous jouez quatre-six-zero'' may be met with incomprehensible stares. It was when we played the formation in Prague. 1 And the French would be inspired by our couture. If the Scots don't make it, Chanel's Spring 2017 collection will be deprived of the mould-breaking and mould-inducing 100% nylon mini dress (''C'est n'est pas une skirt, c'est un kilt, ya bass'') with complete I Love Barlanark T-shirt with oh-so-fashionable underarm sweat stains. The outfit is completed with desert boots and socks that smell of Camembert.

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Vive la difference! Why France 2016 needs the Tartan Army

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