By Chick Young BBC Scotland football correspondent

Chic Murray, the greatest of all Scottish comedians, once described a wedding he attended. He said the bride was in tears... and so was the cake.

We are specialists in glorious failure, probably the world's best

And there could yet be greetin' at the proposed marriage of Scotland and Euro 2008.

Trust me, this party could be pooped yet. Amid the thundering of hooves for the finishing line, someone is going to come a cropper.

Three into two doesn't compute and I still think Scotland could be unsaddled, especially after Wednesday's defeat by Georgia.

There is a euphoria about the nation that I haven't sensed since Ally MacLeod infused the media and supporters with a swagger and arrogance that made us feel we could have walked across the South Atlantic to Argentina.

Ally, bless. Lovely man who insisted to his dying day that it wisnae him.

But I remember 1978 and this nation went potty and someone definitely gave us happy pills.

Now it is happening all over again and I just wonder who is going to apply the therapy if the handbrake is suddenly applied to this run.

This can't go on. We're Scottish and there just has to be a kick in a sore place coming our way.

We don't live in a football Disneyworld of eternal happiness. Disnaework more like.

But let me say this; the hype and spin doctoring, the through-the-roof confidence and the stratospheric optimism does not come from the players or the manager.

In fact, it is when I am around them that I take the reality check.

Scotland has a dressing-room that is modest, realistic and dedicated.

In more than 30 years of being close to players who have represented this country, I have seldom seen the match of the current lot for common sense.

MY SPORT: DEBATE Is Chick right to be so worried?

In that department they are a disgrace to the Scotland squads who, over the decades, have partied their way on to the front pages.

They are endearingly naive, actually.

It all comes down to what we do against Italy at Hampden on 17 November.

The French nation will look on, sipping a pastis and hoovering the crumbs of a flaky croissant, sniggering in the knowledge that one of us is going to crack.

The truth is that Scotland have already won their race, overachieving to a phenomenal level. We have climbed Everest in flip-flops.

Call me a cynical old hack. I could hardly sue you for the description. The court verdict would be one of veritas.

McLeish is doing his best to keep our feet on the ground

But I have been over this course. We are specialists in glorious failure, probably the world's best.

In 1974, we went to Germany as no-hopers in the World Cup and returned unbeaten, a Billy Bremner chance from just a couple of feet away from breaking out of the group. But it was still failure.

Four years later, we went to the aforementioned Argentina, stumbled to embarrassment, scored one of the greatest goals the World Cup has ever seen, almost mounted the greatest rescue mission of all time - but, in the end, inevitably, failed.

England, 1999, play-off for Euro 2000... blew it at Hampden and won at Wembley. But not by enough for salvation.

Even Herr Vogts raised the nation's expectation level against Holland in a play-off for Euro 2004 before Dick Advocaat's side blew us to kingdom come in the second leg.

The truth is that, when it comes to this stage, our knees tremble and our world goes flat.

So prove me wrong, Scotland. Go out at Hampden, in a thundering atmosphere in the Old Lady of Mount Florida and rip the soul out of the Italians.

Re-write history and fail your honours degree in the Art of Glorious Failure.

Make it, as the Tartan Army insist it is, a piece of cake. Only not in tiers.