THE post-match singing by the Scots at Wembley of ''Doe a Deer,'' the Julie Andrews number from The Sound of Music, which lasted around 15 minutes caused an astonished reaction among the stewards. ''What is all this about?'' one continually asked, as he watched the fans, arms round each other's shoulders, approximately 7000 of us jumping up and down imitating the Von Trapp's governess in unison. All we had done was beaten 11 right-footed millionaires, so why the celebration?

Another yellow-coated usher kept saying: ''Go on, the gates are open now. Sod off, you lot. I'm not getting paid overtimes for this.'' His killer line was: ''If you don't leave soon, the pubs will be closed.'' That worked, but the stewards were all shaking their heads in puzzlement.

Another puzzled man was England supporter Steve from Bristol on the train back from Wembley, who said: ''We couldn't hear it properly as we were leaving. What are the words?'' He flatly refused to believe that the lyrics are indeed the innocent ones of the original, which provided an almost overwhelming opportunity for a wind-up, as he would have believed almost anything provided it was nasty enough about England's manager. The temptation was overcome, however, as he was a decent bloke, even breaking his own journey to set this Scot on the right road to the Lunnain Albannaicht's party in Mayfair. They are the London Tartan Army and very welcome they made us.

For social historians, the song had its inception in Vienna, when Scotland were playing Austria. At that time the custom was to sing a song about the country the fans were visiting and Austria didn't offer a wide choice. Can anyone think off and of an Austrian song that isn't Edelweiss? Neil Ross, of the West of Scotland TA, was the one who came up with ''Doh-ray-me'' - which is the song's official title, though everyone calls it ''Doe a Deer.'' It has since been taken up by all of the support, simply because of its daftness and complete inappropriateness for singing at a football match. It is also a round, to use a technical musical word, and theoretically you could sing it forever.

Perish the thought. There is currently a move afoot to retire it as an anthem, with two replacements hovering in the wings and being heavily plugged by their performers. The first is ''Two Little Boys,'' my own tip for The Worst Song Ever Written By Anyone, Anywhere, Anytime. A strong rival to this is ''Skippy, The Bush Kangaroo'' as performed by Greg Kane and supporting members of WesTA. This involves holding the hands up in front of the chest, making your mouth look as much as you can like Skippy's, and bounding to and fro like a pogo stick on speed. You have been warned. Other suggestions welcome, c/o the Sports Desk.

Musical interludes aside, there now remains the question of what Scotland supporters are going to do between now and the World Cup qualifiers. Craig Brown will, of course, arrange a few friendlies but fans need the steaming red meat (or, for vegetarians, the gritty lentil bake) of real competition - and the smell of genuine fear. To this end I suggest that a visit to Dublin in April to support the Scottish women's team might be in order.

There is, of course, a difference between the women's and the men's teams, which is that more often than not the women's team wins. They are currently two points clear of Eire and at the top of their qualifying section for the European Championships. They beat the Czechs 2-1 at Broadwood last weekend and have only three games to play. What is more, they are attractive to watch.

I had occasion to ring Vera Pauw, the Scottish team coach, who has won 89 caps for Holland, more than anyone else ever, male or female. Without being overly sexist, I find her a lot more attractive than I do Craig Brown, and when a slightly flustered Dutch-accented voice answered the phone by saying: ''I will call you back. I am on the sunbed,'' the resultant images as I waited for her call were a lot more pleasant than if it had been said by Craig.

I will be following the team to Dublin and maybe even to the Czech Republic with the sage remarks on my mind of a long-time fan that I met on the train coming back from Wembley. He said: ''When I was a wee boy I wasn't sure if I wanted to get involved in football or run away and join the circus. In the Tartan Army I get both.''

And, finally, why is no-one touting Gordon Strachan as Craig Brown's successor? He was a great player, he is working wonders at Coventry using buttons as currency, he stood up to Alex Ferguson, and he has red hair.

I rest my case.