I hope to goodness that the press go easily on George Burley after tonight. God knows how many times he has smashed mirrors and walked under ladders; even before tonight he'd had to deal with THAT Iwelumo miss, the ref against Holland who disallowed our goal for nothing after giving the Dutch one after a blatant foul, and now the muppet in Norway who sent off Gary Caldwell when John Carew was clearly tugging his shirt at the same time (when Carew was on the brink of a second yellow of his own). Considering that his predecessors Walter Smith and Alex McLeish appeared, at times, to be hiding leprechauns down their trousers, given their penchants for remarkable luck, it must be hard to stomach.
I'm not Burley's biggest fan, but up until the sending off in Norway, I had been pretty damn impressed by Scotland's ability to keep the ball on the deck, to knock it around. God forbid, they were actually enjoyable to watch. And then another referee ruins it.
And yet, I have a sneaky feeling that when I wake up tomorrow the newspapers will be calling for Burley's head (and Gordon Smith's as well), led by the usual Daily Ranger hacks who believe Barry Ferguson is the reincarnation of Christ. That's just a feeling; what I know for certain is that Scotland's World Cup campaign is effectively over.
L.
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