Scotland deliver some of the old ooh-la-la

THIS is what to do. Tell all the French you know: We're top of the league and you're no'. We gubbed you 1-0, you think you're Brazil, now it's off to the Euros we go-oh-oh-oh....

Needless to say the feel-good factor has carried over from the weekend. I still can't sleep for the adrenalin, so imagine how Gary Caldwell must feel. Hope he sought out David Trezeguet on Saturday night for a bit of retributive taunting. A "1-0" hand gesture was the least Caldwell owed the Frenchman after suffering those pictures in the papers throughout last week from Scotland's last meeting with France.

The World Cup finalists didn't exactly live up to their billing as the greatest team on the planet. Or maybe Scotland didn't allow them to. Perhaps, by default, we've now become the World's top side. Yes, even with Graham Alexander playing.

Overwhelmed, pummelled, leathered - at times we were all of these on Saturday. Yet we still won. Isn't that the sign of a top team? Qualifying for Euro 2008 could now be a distinct possibility, although knowing Scotland judgement should be reserved until we're on the pitch in Austria or Switzerland - the only point when nothing can go wrong.

We should really dampen some of the enthusiasm, at least until we return from Ukraine, but personally I'm finding that extremely difficult, as you may have noticed. Most will agree Saturday was a backs-to-the-wall Scottish performance but who gives a monkey's?

Like many of the Tartan Army, it's hard not to encounter some feelings of injustice. That was never Thierry Henry we saw. Plain old Terry Hendry, the sort of run-of-the-mill joker who wouldn't get a game at Musselburgh Juniors, has turned up at Hampden and managed to dupe Raymond Domenech into giving him the No.12 shirt. Hendry's averageness soon showed as he was forced on to the fringes of the game.

It became apparent as afternoon became evening in Glasgow that Scotland were stifling their illustrious opponents. Les Bleus had no answer, and Les Blootered in the stands were loving it. With every Scottish tackle, the Tartan Army increased the decibel level by another notch. Then, the unthinkable happened.

Zico swung in his corner and Calders threw a toe out at it. Coupet was slower to react than David James on tranquillisers: One-nil Scotland.

Around me, grown men screamed with joy. Some shed a tear. Most fell about drunk. "We're beating France," shrieked the old man (just to clarify, that reference is to my dad, not Davie Weir).

Some foot-soldiers would tell you that's what can happen when Barry Ferguson is added to an already consistent Scotland team. And yes, credit where it's due, our national captain did deliver a good performance in denying the French an equaliser.

Now I'm not the fussy type. I don't mind whether it's France or Italy who don't qualify for Euro 2008. Hopefully Engerlund stay home, though. I mean, drawing with Macedonia. Tsk, tsk (I could get used to this uppity attitude).

On the way out of Hampden on Saturday night, one Tartan Army member was typically insatiable. "We need tae play England noo," he growled. Turning round, I came face to face with Scotland's very own Honey Monster. "See England at Hampden next Setturday, that'd be brulliant. Lampard an' them couldnae live wae us right noo." It's amazing what effect a good result has.

Granted, beating France was almost as surprising as Craig Bellamy being named captain of Wales. In a week when King Walter of Scotland got involved in the Choose Life campaign aimed at cutting suicide rates across the country, he's certainly given us a fine reason to tuck the razors away for the moment.

It was an afternoon I'll never forget. Ticket to see Scotland play France: £25. Return train journey to Hampden: £10.70. Afternoon-long consumption of probably the best lager in the world: Er, can't quite remember. Witnessing a result that will go down in Scottish footballing folklore: Priceless.

Taken from the Scotsman