Scene: The Clansman Bar, Craiglang
A wet Tuesday afternoon.
The rain lashes against the windows.
The Clansman is half-full, which by Clansman standards means standing room only.
Winston is already halfway through a pint at the bar.
Boabby is behind the bar looking annoyed at customers for the crime of existing.
Enter Jack and Victor…
Jack: Two pints, prick.
Boabby: Good afternoon tae you anaw.
Victor: Make mine a lager.
Boabby: Ah’ve served murderers wi’ better manners.
Jack: Aye, but they got better service.
Boabby glares.
Jack smiles.
The score is settled.
For now.
Tam enters.
The room collectively sighs.
Tam: Right.
Victor: Here we go.
Jack: Aye.
Victor: He’s started wi’ “right.”
Jack: Means nonsense is coming.
Tam: Scotland can win this World Cup.
Silence.
A man asleep at the bar wakes up.
Then immediately falls asleep again.
Winston: Ah’ve missed this.
Jack: Every tournament.
Victor: Like the swallows returning tae Capistrano.
Winston: Or a rash.
Tam: Ah’m serious.
Jack: So are folk that claim they’ve been abducted by aliens.
Victor: The difference is they’ve usually got evidence.
Tam: We’ve got a great team.
Jack: True.
Tam: Good manager.
Victor: True.
Tam: Great supporters.
Winston: Undeniably.
Tam: World Cup winners.
Jack: Ah there it is.
The door opens.
Navid enters carrying a cardboard box.
Nobody asks.
Victor: What’s in the box?
Navid: Opportunity.
Jack: Ah was hoping for sandwiches.
Navid places the box on the table.
Inside are Scotland scarves, hats and flags.
Navid: Limited edition.
Winston: They look identical tae every Scotland scarf ah’ve ever seen.
Navid: Tradition never goes out of style.
Victor: Neither does daylight robbery apparently.
Tam: How much?
Navid: Fifteen pounds.
Tam: Fifteen?!
Navid: Patriotism is expensive.
Tam: Ah’ll stick tae being patriotic for free.
The door opens again.
Isa arrives.
Like fog.
Uninvited and impossible to stop.
Isa: Ah’ve got news.
Jack: No you don’t.
Isa: Ah do.
Victor: This’ll be good.
Isa: My cousin’s daughter’s ex-boyfriend—
Winston: That’s enough.
Jack: Story’s finished.
Isa: Works in a hotel.
Victor: Naturally.
Isa: Scotland are staying there before one of the games.
Tam: Right.
Isa: He says the players are confident.
Silence.
Jack: That’s your scoop?
Isa: Aye.
Victor: Football players think they can win football matches.
Winston: Pulitzer Prize stuff.
The table erupts.
Later…
The pints have multiplied.
As pints tend to do.
Victor: The Tartan Army’ll be all over America.
Jack: Aye. Tens of thousands ae Scots.
Winston: Hotels booked solid.
Isa: Flights sold oot.
Tam: Ah’m going anaw.
The table turns.
Jack: You’re going tae America?
Tam: Aye.
Victor: Whit, on your budget?
Tam: Ah’ve got a plan.
Winston: Ah love these.
Tam: First, ah’m getting a lift tae the airport.
Jack: Naturally.
Tam: Then ah’m using ma cousin’s staff discount.
Victor: Of course ye are.
Tam: Then ah’m sharing a room.
Winston: With who?
Tam: Ah’ve no decided yet.
Jack: You’ve no decided who you’re sharing a room with?
Tam: Whoever pays for it.
The table explodes.
Isa: Have ye even got a ticket?
Tam: Naw.
Victor: Naw?
Tam: Ah’m waiting.
Jack: Waiting for whit?
Tam: Somebody tae offer me wan.
Winston: That’s your strategy?
Tam: Worked for the Scottish Cup Final in ’96.
Jack: You snuck in through a catering entrance.
Tam: Aye.
Victor: Dressed as a tea lady.
Tam: Details.
Navid: Have ye bought a Scotland shirt?
Tam: Whit for?
Victor: Because you’re supporting Scotland.
Tam: Ah supported Scotland before football tops cost eighty quid.
Jack: So you’ve no got a ticket.
Victor: No hotel.
Winston: No shirt.
Isa: No flight.
Tam: Ah’ve got belief.
Pause.
Boabby: Good.
Because that’s the only thing ye can afford.
The pub roars.
Even Tam laughs.
Another Round Later…
The World Cup predictions begin.
Never a wise idea.
Jack: Last sixteen.
Victor: Last sixteen.
Winston: Quarter-finals.
Navid: Quarter-finals.
Isa: Group stages.
Everyone looks at Isa.
Victor: Really?
Isa: Aye.
Jack: That’s surprisingly sensible.
Isa: Ah know Scottish men.
She points round the table.
Isa: The more confident you lot get, the worse things become.
Silence.
Winston: She’s got a point.
Jack: A frighteningly good point.
Tam: Final.
Groans.
Victor: Of course.
Jack: Why do we even ask?
Tam: Scotland versus Brazil.
Winston: Why Brazil?
Tam: Sounds expensive.
Closing Time
The rain has eased.
The pints are nearly finished.
For once, nobody is arguing.
Jack: Y’know something?
Victor: Whit?
Jack: Ah’m looking forward tae this.
Victor: Me anaw.
Winston: That’s the beauty of the World Cup.
Tam: The football?
Winston: Naw.
Tam: Whit then?
Winston: The hope.
The table quietens.
Winston: Every four years everybody becomes a wee boy again.
Jack: That’s no bad actually.
Victor: Aye.
Winston: Ye start dreaming.
Isa: Everybody’s in a good mood.
Navid: Everybody spends money.
Boabby: Everybody annoys me.
Laughter.
Navid: A man bought six Scotland flags today.
Jack: Six?
Navid: Aye.
Victor: Whit for?
Navid: Ah didn’t ask.
Jack: Because if somebody’s willing tae pay, questions become optional.
Navid: Exactly.
Boabby arrives carrying one final round.
Boabby: On the house.
The table freezes.
Victor: Whit’s wrong wi’ ye?
Jack: Are ye dying?
Winston: Blink twice if you’re under duress.
Boabby: Ah’m no dying.
Jack: That’s exactly whit a dying man says.
Boabby shakes his head.
Boabby: Ah’m just saying… ah’m looking forward tae it too.
Genuine shock.
Victor: Boabby admitting happiness?
Jack: The tournament’s no even started and we’ve witnessed a miracle.
Everyone lifts their glass.
Jack: Here’s tae Scotland.
Victor: Here’s tae the World Cup.
Winston: Here’s tae good pals.
Isa: Here’s tae good gossip.
Navid: Here’s tae excellent sales.
Boabby: Here’s tae somebody paying their tab.
All eyes turn slowly toward Tam.
Tam: Whit?
The pub erupts.
Victor: The only man in Scotland planning a World Cup trip entirely funded by other people.
Jack: If Scotland lifted the trophy he’d try and borrow that anaw.
More laughter.
Tam: Laugh all ye want.
He raises his glass.
Tam: Come July, ah’ll be watching Scotland in the final.
Jack: On somebody else’s ticket.
Victor: Wearing somebody else’s shirt.
Winston: Drinking somebody else’s beer.
Navid: Staying in somebody else’s hotel.
Tam: That’s no freeloading.
Pause.
Boabby: Aye it is.
The Clansman erupts one last time.
The laughter rolls through the pub.
Outside, Craiglang carries on as normal.
Inside, surrounded by pals, pints and impossible optimism, everybody secretly believes the same thing.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
This could be Scotland’s year.
Boabby: It won’t be.
Everyone: SHUT UP, BOABBY!
*Please note this article was AI generated 🙂