SO, as it turns out, Seville oranges aren’t the only exceptionally bitter thing to come out of Spain. For a jubilant Tartan Army, though, Spanish captain Rodri’s salty protestations after Scotland’s famous win over his side were every bit as delicious.

As tens of thousands of Scottish fans boogied into the dreich Mount Florida night following their team’s incredible triumph, they probably didn’t think the feeling they had at that moment could be topped. But then came the post-match interviews.

Oh my. Watching the Manchester City man-child’s meltdown felt almost as good as watching Scott McTominay thwack his second goal into the Spanish net. The Spaniards, it appeared, had sampled a hefty dose of their own medicine at Hampden Park, and boy, did they not like it.

READ MORE: Fuming Spain captain Rodri brands Scotland's tactics as 'rubbish'

Fair play to consummate broadcaster Connie McLaughlin, firstly for challenging Rodri on his assertions and secondly, for resisting the urge to clock him. It was admirable in fact that she was able to constrain her laughter. Perhaps one of the dummies he was tossing around came in handy to stifle it.

"It's the way they play,” Rodri whined.

“You have to respect it but for me, it's a bit rubbish. Because it's always wasting time. They provoke you. They always fall. For me, this is not football.”

It might not be football, but it could very well be the mission statement of the Royal Spanish Football Federation. For this delectable slice of schadenfreude was made all the more exquisite by Rodri’s complete lack of self-awareness. Every single point he makes could just as easily apply to the antics of any of the men in red on Tuesday night. Arguably, more so. And the Spanish national team for time immemorial.

As admired as some of the fabulous Spanish sides have been over the years for the peerless football they have produced, none more so than the last one to come to Glasgow as World Champions back in 2010, they are hardly renowned as paragons of virtue and fair play.

Unlike Rodri, though, I can admit my biases. And, granted, I may well be looking at this match through tartan-tinted spectacles.

Surely though I didn’t imagine Pedro Porro rolling around on the ground clutching his face, writhing and wailing in agony in an attempt to get Scotland captain Andy Robertson sent off? Or the big, bulky striker Joselu flinging himself to the ground inside the penalty area at the faintest tug of his jersey in a vain attempt at winning a penalty?

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The temper tantrum that Joselu threw after being told by referee Sandro Scharer to get to his feet - beating the turf repeatedly in frustration, much to the delight of the Hampden crowd – was surprising on a couple of accounts.

Firstly, it surprisingly wasn’t the biggest wobbly that a Spanish player would throw on the night, with his captain’s post-match strop still to come. And secondly, it was a surprise to see just how much the Scots had managed to rattle their supposedly world-class opponents.

For too long, Scottish teams have been pegged as naïve. And too often, teams have come to Hampden and left with results by being what they might deem as ‘cute’, or what is commonly referred to as dabbling in the dark arts of the game.

Steve Clarke though has moulded a team with a canny blend of youth and experience, and one that was not only wise to the tricks that the Spaniards might employ, but not adverse to using one or two of them themselves.

That doesn’t mean diving, or ‘falling over’ as Rodri put it. But there were numerous times when a Scottish player relieved the pressure on their defence by getting their body between their opponent and the ball and inviting them to bundle them over. Which invariably, they did.

The Scots were in their heads, and under their skin. That the Spanish failed to keep their composure is on them. And that Scotland were simply too good for them on the night, creating the best chances, shutting them out and scoring two goals, is to the credit of Clarke’s team. Due credit, sadly, that was not forthcoming from their vanquished foe.

Perhaps, might I politely suggest, that some introspection from a group of players that were run close by Japan at the World Cup, run out of the tournament by Morocco and run out of Glasgow by a team ranked 42nd in the world might be a more constructive reaction than taking your ball and going home?

Maybe the eight changes made by manager Luis de la Fuente in just his second game in charge hinted that he had underestimated the challenge posed by this Scottish side? The behaviour and body language of his players, topped off by Rodri’s hissy fit, told us that they certainly did.

It is just a shame that for all the class Rodri showed on the field, he was ultimately classless off of it.

So, move aside The Proclaimers. Step down, Baccara. The Tartan Army have a new anthem, and it comes from none other than legendary crooner Engelbert Humperdinck.

Altogether now, ‘Teardrops are falling, from your Spanish eyes…’