Well, here we go again. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.

I remember when watching Scotland used to be fun. Err I think.

Our head of sport every now and then looks across at our desk when one of us young bucks gets over excited by the prospect of covering such an occasion like a Scotland friendly at Easter Road. Inevitably, the same question is often asked. 'Aye, but how many of you have worked at a World Cup, eh?'

Despite the average age of our fledgling desk, I kindly point out this is an issue he should take up with Berti Vogts, Chris Iwelumo and Craig Levein. That and the fact I was 11 the last time we graced a finals, of course.

I normally then get thumped over the back of the head with a rolled up newspaper before he triumphantly strides out the office.

While rubbing the back of my balding bruised head, I can still recall the day that Scotland faced Brazil in the opener of World Cup 1998. It was June 10. A Wednesday. I remember this because Wednesday was chicken nugget day, a tradition which has thankfully transcended the decades.

The significance of the event was lost on this primary school kid in Carluke at the time as he foolishly assumed such events were a regular occasion given how I'd watched Scotland play England just two years earlier at Wembley on fish finger Saturday.

If only I knew then what I know now, I'd have paid more attention.

Instead, all it did was serve to offer false hope that still flickers through the frustration, pain and Do Re Mi's.

My first experience of this hereditary disease came at Rugby Park in 1997 during a World Cup qualifier against Estonia. A Tom Boyd strike and a Janek Meet own goal won the game for the home heroes, but all I remember was a sea of flags and flashes of blue white and yellow all around. It was a magnificent scene of pageantry. This education would soon take me to Parkhead and Ibrox, before my first taste of Hampden arrived in 2000 as World Cup champions France brought the Jules Rimet trophy to Hampden on the back of a convertible Renault Laguna.

It was a truly underwhelming experience.

In what was a time that symbolised the national side's return to their spiritual home, it is hard to comprehend the notion that since that homecoming Scotland have never qualified for another tournament.

Coincidence? I'm not sure.

Of course, there have been several near things since. The play-off against England in 1999 of course, that near miss with Italy which is now 10 years ago. TEN!

Apart from that it has been pretty hard going, and you never know, the thought of playing in front of a stadium where some fans are practically in a different postcode perhaps doesn't inspire anymore.

The reaction to just over 9000 supporters turning up on Wednesday at Easter Road was understandable. To be honest it didn't even look like that many, and they were lucky to get it up that high.

For such a crucial game tomorrow, the SFA are still trying their hardest to flog tickets in a bid to fill Hampden, a stadium that, in international terms, has been more of a torture chamber than an arena of sporting prowess.

Their lease at the Mount Florida ground is up in three years. Unlike previous murmurs surrounding a supposed openness to leave that were put down to just lip service, there does seem a genuine appetite to see our national team hit the road.

In order to connect with a disillusioned support, it may be crucial in rekindling dwindling interest in a Scotland side that to many has brought nothing but failure.

Kieran Tierney, who will most likely line up at left-back against Slovenia tomorrow night, had his first birthday five days before that chicken nugget Wednesday 19 years ago.

I'll always have Paris but it's about time Scotland reached out to give a lost generation across the land a flavour of their national team.