I want you to let your mind wander and your imagination run wild, for just a glorious moment, and picture that Scotland don’t just beat England on Friday, they go on to win the whole tournament.

Just imagine the country, imagine the world, if such a thing happened. Imagine how good we’d all feel. That’s a feeling that I don’t imagine would ever leave us.

To find out what would happen, I found a psychic on Facebook and arranged for a private reading. A shed in a back garden in Garthamlock was the location. I tapped on the wooden door three times, as per the instructions. A woman in the garden next door stood at her back door smoking and watching me suspiciously. A gruff voice from inside the shed told me to come in. I did as I was told.

‘Mr McQueer,’ the man inside said. His hair was styled into a large quiff and he had a twirly Salvador Dali style moustache. Beady little eyes looked at me through a pair of cloudy glasses. Like an art school version of Charles Bronson. He was sitting at a small table, an arrangement of tarot cards in front of him. The thick smell of incense almost choked me. ‘You already know my name,’ I said. ‘Very impressive.’

‘Well, you did tell me when you made the booking on my Facebook page.’

‘Aw,’ I said, feeling a little bit deflated. ‘You have a special request for me, I believe?’ he asked. ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘I want to know what the world would be like if we win the Euros.’

‘Hmmm,’ he said, playing with the ends of his tache. ‘Take a seat and let me see.’ Again, I did as I was told. He closed his eyes and let his hands wave around the cards spread out in front of us. ‘Am I not meant to pick the cards?’ I asked. He put a finger to his lips. I felt like I was a wee guy getting into trouble at school again. Silence hung almost as heavy in the air as the incense.

He slapped a hand down on one card so hard I flinched. He slid it across the table to me. I flipped it over. It showed a five pointed star with flowers surrounding it.

‘Ah,’ the man said. ‘The Ace of Pentacles. Interesting.’

‘What does it mean?’ I asked.

‘This particular card shows great prosperity is coming.’

‘That’s amazing,’ I said, but the man’s eyes showed a flicker of fear. ‘However,’ he said. ‘It’s in the reverse position. So it means quite the opposite.’

‘Like, it’ll be bad if we win the euros?’ I asked. He nodded.

‘Your turn to draw the next one,’ he said. I copied what he had done, waving my hands around the cards, trying to feel their energy, letting myself be drawn to the right one for me.

‘This one,’ I said, pointing one of the cards near the edge of the table. The man flipped it over for me. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘It’s death.’

‘I thought death was meant to be a good card? New beginnings and all that?’

‘Oh no, pal,’ he said. ‘This could be the end of Scotland as we know it. I think we should turn to the crystal ball for more answers.’

He got up and pulled a purple cloth from black orb sitting behind him. He sat it gently on top of the cards. ‘Place your hand upon the orb,’ he said. I did and was surprised that it felt hot, like it was full of tea. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you see.’

‘Jeezo, man!’ I exclaimed. As if it was being projected onto the inside of my eyelids like a film, I saw the future. A capacity crowd at Wembley stadium. Scotland were playing France, it was the final of Euro 2020.

The scoreline was 1-1 and the clock showed ‘90+4’ as David Turnbull, just off the bench, stood over a free kick. He sent it into the top corner out of reach of the flailing goalie.

I saw Andy Robertson lifting the trophy. I saw street parties across Scotland. A national holiday was given. Yes Sir, I can Boogie played in the background, quiet at first but growing louder with each passing second, I saw us laugh at the English, maniacally. I saw children at school, hands over their hearts, portraits of Steve Clarke behind them, screaming that they could ‘boogie woogie’ all night long. The street parties raged on for years. Nothing mattered any more. The country fell into disrepair. Not a single game of football was played since that night in London. Fires raged. Yes Sir, I can Boogie continued to play at a deafening level.

‘This is how it will be,’ the man said to me, prising my hand from the orb. I handed him a fiver as his price list dictated. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It won’t happen.’

‘Out of curiosity, I said. ‘What’s it like if we just beat England?’

He placed his hand on the orb and smiled. ‘Aw, pal. It’s amazing. I’ll let you just see for yourself on Friday.’