In a bar on East Flagler Street in downtown Miami, five Scotsmen of the apocalypse drank studiously while looking the other way. Around them, the World Cup pulsed: Kylian Mbappe hovered in the shadows, Lamine Yamal scanned the scene, Erling Haaland carried a plate of chips through plumes from a smoke machine. A giant projector showed Belgium against New Zealand, the big tie of the penultimate night of group games. On smaller televisions dotted around the bar, Egypt took on Iran, carrying the dreams of two nations. The group's gaze barely shifted as the game kicked off thousands of miles away.
Scotland's World Cup hopes stood at 0.07%. To progress, Steve Clarke's side needed four fellow third-placed teams to finish on three points with a goal difference worse than -3, or with fewer points. The Scots, crippled by a deadly combo of profligacy and self destruction, needed snookers — even John Higgins, the Wizard of Wishaw, would struggle to get them out of this jam.
“In a Miami bar, five Scottish fans watch helplessly as their World Cup hopes dwindle to 0.07%.”
Until Spain's victory earlier in the Miami night, every settled group had done the opposite. Now, with Egypt winning, it looked as though the Scots would require two from Saturday's three unsettled groups to come through. A monumentally tall order, but not an impossible one, given the punch of the air from the Scots in this bar as Mahmoud Saber turned in Egypt's opener.
Nine minutes later, as a man in a Premier League top unsuccessfully attempted to charm a young lady a few feet away at the bar, Iran levelled, puncturing the mood at one particular table. The music cranked up. Buckets of beer rattled with shards of ice. The five Scotsmen of the apocalypse continued to drink, their hopes hanging by the thinnest of threads.