The world's oldest international fixture has just been dramatically devalued after Gordon Strachan's carousal with the belligerent Irish which took full toll of our emotions.

Scotland facing England looks like 'cauld kail' by comparison despite what efforts will be made to whip up some of the ancient feelings, particularly in the post-Referendum climate.

The Auld Enemy is a phrase we use almost lovingly, like we are referring to a revered antique which reminds us of a past that mixes the sweet with the sour and seems to convince us that we are in an eternal battle for self-esteem, using the English as our baseline.

And like the last occasion at Wembley - Strachan's side were defeated 3-2 in August last year - we are left pondering the usefulness of such an airing. Yes, we want to bring the English down a peg. We always have. We want to be considered worthy challengers and be afforded proper respect for the status of our football. But did we really believe we had achieved that in the last encounter where, despite our audacious start to the game, we narrowly avoided a proper thrashing by the end? What good would that have done our self-esteem?

Because of what happened against the Republic of Ireland, I think it might put a more rational perspective on tomorrow's game. We did it when it mattered on Friday evening. By comparison, the result of the England game will not presage either a new era for our football or an imminent national disaster, since in any case it is likely Roy Hodgson will make significant changes to his England side anyway. So, as a result, whilst at this stage I regard it as a phoney war, perhaps by kick-off I will have metamorphosed into boyhood with the old nervousness keeping me company again.

Confronting this mediocre England side in a friendly can hardly be anything other than a demonstration of the minuet so soon after we have all been up shaking the bones with a Dashing White Sergeant. For Friday's match induced more spectator involvement than we have witnessed in years.

You could sense every sinew in the stands being exerted trying to pull the side through. It reminded me of that famous commentating moment by my dear old friend Arthur Mountford when the tension got to him at Hampden once as Scotland were on the verge of qualification against Czechoslavakia in 1973 and he shouted through the mic, "Watch yer legs, Billy!" as a hired assassin skulked behind the Scottish captain, Billy Bremner. A supporter with a mic is what each one of us was on Friday.

This reaction is because we genuinely believe that Strachan's alchemy has produced the right stuff. Personally, it seems like I have waited aeons to see a Scotland side so well-equipped to put away substantial opponents with a mix of artistry and sheer guts and I don't want that precious moment dashed by the artificiality of any result from what is simply a friendly international, no matter what complexion is put on the fixture.

Of course, there is a well-grounded belief that Strachan's men would acquit themselves well against anybody. A principle part of the reason is that most of his players are plying their trade in England for which the clear evidence is of a battle-hardened crew working under him. Most of them have flourished. I don't doubt that Andy Robertson, for example, would have risen to stardom anywhere, but regrettably had to leave Scotland.

But even though Robertson perplexes his manager at Hull City from time to time you could hardly claim his game has gone backwards. His stardom, eminently visible at Celtic Park, is a kind of summary of the confidence generated by the Scotland manager throughout his squad in giving such a young adventurous player his head.

Shaun Maloney, scorer against Ireland of a goal of such sublimity that I would rank it alongside Archie Gemmill's in Mendoza in 1978, has a toughened maturity to him now. Nothing with struggling Wigan Athletic has blunted his skill.

Sky television did not need to dip too deeply into their archives to show him scoring a goal for his club of uncanny likeness to the one he conjured at Celtic Park. Steven Naismith is simply a stronger player than he was with Rangers. Steven Fletcher's appetite for the game is undiminished. Ikechi Anya is a bold figure for such a wee man.

Our central defence might not be classy-looking, but Russell Martin and Grant Hanley are obdurate, stuffy professionals who play for unfashionable clubs in England accustomed to constant pressure. They have stood firm in the last phases of all of Scotland's Euro 2016 qualifiers when, even when for the most part we have looked the superior side, we have had to hang on in there to get a result.

It all adds up. They have all picked up good habits in domicile.

That doesn't mean such exile lessens the depth of conviction to beat England. After all, perhaps the most famous of all the complete exiles was Dennis Law who played all his club football in England but proudly proclaimed he went out to play golf on an afternoon in 1966 rather than watch England win the World Cup. Strachan himself became hardened down there even though his managerial record did not put him in touch with glittering prizes.

The English factor has been enormous in Scotland's progress recently. The Auld Enemy's greatest threat is not in a one-off friendly game but in constantly raiding our riches. Tomorrow we are justified in seeking retribution for that.