This was the playground of the rich and famous, and one fan had his day made when he bumped into Stephanie Powers (of Hart to Hart fame) outside a casino. One squad passed by with a fitba, displaying some deft touches with their ‘Cat’ boots on. Quite amazing really; you could leave two footsoldiers on a desert Island and they’d find a fitba somehow.

The bulk of the afternoon was spent at the sloped three tier entrance to a braw looking shopping centre. We arrived at the top section, looking down at around a 70 strong bunch. The guy next to me starts to belt out "O Flow’r o Scotland" at an altogether too high a pitch, but the sound starts to bellow as everyone joins in anyway. Bollock clamps were required for the ‘...that fought and died for...’ bit, but nobody really cared.

More and more of the lads and lassies were converging on this area, and the two poor guys at the wee outside bar/cafe were run off their feet trying to keep up with the demand for "trois biere sil vous plait". The locals were passing through the lads with carrier bags full of posh nosh, dressed in their designer kit. They were in no way intimidated by the swelling numbers but amused by the pidgin French of the lads on the pull; "Bon jour mamwizel".

There was non-stop singing and dancing, bevvying and merriment, and a piper made a cracking entrance playing "O flow’r o Scotland" coming doon the escalator. The facepaint came out next, with me doing my ‘Rolf Harris’ bit. After painting one Saltire and one Braveheart Flash, I retired from the art business in favour of the drinking business. This place was now a sight to behold. Rampant lions and Saltires were all over the shop and the numbers must have been 400+ by now. Even McDonalds played their part as hosts; they were handing out FREE BEER in their restaurant!!!!!!!

A camera crew appeared in the wee square and there was celebrity(!) reporter Chick "ho ho ho" Young, and there were quite a few "ho ho ho" impressions flying about, but none from the man himself. Off camera he was sour pussed and far from composed.
Then came the time to head off to the stadium; it was like the big ref in the sky had blown the "45 mins till kickoff" whistle because en masse, everyone departed in a sea of Tartan and bue and white. And what a stadium it was; with style and arches and colours. It was a designer stadium alright. The pitch was 3 floors up, built on top of the car park and basketball arena.

The Tartan Army brought more colour and plenty of vocal support. WE PLAYED OUR PART. We sang loud and proud, and when it came to the Estonian National anthem we stood in silence (apart from the cheer at the end of the first verse when we thought it was finished....ooooops!). We applauded at the end of the Estonian national anthem as a gesture of friendship and sang our hearts out to "O Flow'r o Scotland". For 90 minutes we sang, encouraged, did everything we could, short of getting on the park ourselves. It was dire. Especially the second half. You’d have thought it was a team of Scottish butchers out there ‘cos they were MINCE.

There was no fight from the Scotland players, that was the most disappointing aspect of the performance. McStay was substituted far too late (if he should have played at all), Boyd was AWOL for the entire second half, and the captain did not play a captain’s role. He should have been RAGING at all those around him, even if he wasn’t having a good game himself.

No wonder the players hung their heads in shame as they left the pitch, we salvaged a point but with cooler finishing from the Estonians it could have been ‘Null Poin’ from the Monaco judges. The fans deserve more effort than that from players who should be embarrassed to collect appearance money. There were boos from the crowd and scarves thrown onto the pitch. I managed to refrain from booing the team, though I don’t quite understand why I stopped myself. I did however applaud the effort of the Estonian team as they left the playing field. They at least tried and played for each other, and might have won but for a Calderwood interception and some bad finishing.

The Tartan army descended the 3 flights of stairs to the sound of "We’re shite, and we know we are, we’re shite, and we know we are..." The after match analysis took place in a boozer in Nice, where the words ‘Shit’ and ‘effort’ were frequently used. There were differing opinions, reasons and excuses but we all agreed the beer was good, Monaco was Magic and Nice was nice.

Cheers to the people at Passport Travel who did a great job, and made sure most of the people got on the plane back home. My lasting memories will be of the wee square at the shopping centre, the Tartan Army singing "In yer Monaco slums" and after the match "...when will we see...that shite again..?"

Most forgettable memories..........................what match?

Tam T. Bam

(Photos to follow....)