It’s not that I hate the nation of Scotland or even the idea of the nation of Scotland, but I do despise their football team. Our footballing rivalry has persisted for over a century, but our hatred has existed for far longer than that it, they really are the auld enemy. With Wembley filled to capacity and a large contingent of the tartan army in the stands, it was always going to be an incredibly feisty encounter, no matter the score or the final result.
We sat in the stand next to the tartan army, so close you could smell the Buckfast and Iron Bru, they belted out their national anthem with ferocity and pride, even if most of the crowd were completely unaware that Scotland had a national anthem. The back and forth soon came, the Icelandic clap from the tartan contingent and a cheeky number about Gordon Strachan from the rest of the ground, the atmosphere was electric, vociferous even. This was only heightened when Daniel Sturridge squeezed in England’s opener, to leave the game fully in the balance for half time.
At halftime was when the real game began, being in close proximity to the tartan army the segregation barrier would do little to quieten any hostility and soon everything from Pints, to milk-pots, and spare change were hurled back and forth. As well as the continual banter and abuse that had been continuous since the first whistle. The melee was so fierce that I missed Scotland’s opening chances’ in the opening minutes of the secod half.
Following my return to the seat England scored almost immediately, from then on the battle on the pitch was won, with England adding another before the final whistle and truly killing the game off, with the third the tartan portion of the crowd quieted down and the other gloated victoriously for the remainder of the ninety minutes. I do love a local derby, even an international one