I covered Euro 2024 and was met with trains, planes and autobahns and frankly it was hilarious

Record Sport’s Scott McDermott covered the big tournament in Germany and can’t wait for the World Cup bonanza

06:00, 10 Feb 2026

Murnau Station in Bavaria. It was 10.21pm and the last train had gone.

There were no more buses to Garmisch-Partenkirchen and the taxi rank was empty.

In fact, the only vehicles on the town’s one main road that night were tractors.

A growl of thunder rumbled in the air as the sky turned black.

And all of a sudden, your Record Sport reporters were starting to wonder if they’d spend the night sleeping against a vending machine.

This was after a journey from Glasgow that had already taken in two flights and four trains.

What a start to Euro 2024. But it was a sign of things to come

And being Scottish, we really ought to have expected it.

But it’s the hope that kills us, isn’t it?

Before heading into that tournament, Steve Clarke told us to stop being Negative Normans.. So we did. We turned into Positive Petes.

But where did that get us? By the end of the group phase in Germany, we were all back to being Devastated Daves.

For once, going into that Euro Finals we were fuelled by optimism.

But for us Record Sport boys, we’d barely set foot inside the country and it was all going pear-shaped.

Thankfully, in deepest, darkest Murnau – a rescue act appeared.

A lovely lady called Jennifer, who worked for the US Military, was also trying to get to Garmisch – the Scottish team’s base camp.

She somehow managed to phone us a local taxi and pulled off a save Craig Gordon would be proud of.

We got to Garmisch late on a Friday night and through the street lights, there were posters with Saltires everywhere.

The arrival of Clarke’s squad was a major event.

And on Saturday morning, the sheer beauty of our surroundings became evident.

The Zugspitze, Germany’s highest mountain, was glistening in the sun.

Later in the trip, we took a cable car to the top. Gripping the handrail inside, I brought a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘pasty-faced Scot’.

But what an experience.

Up 9,718 feet high, it quite literally took your breath away.

Incredibly, you’d regularly see hand-gliders flying around the skies of Garmisch.

My colleague, Keith Jackson, kept claiming that he fancied trying it out himself.

But that was about as likely as Scotland lifting the trophy.

The picturesque toy town was the perfect base – not just for Clarke’s team before they faced Germany, Switzerland and Hungary – but also for the media.

For a start, even the weather was right up our street.

One minute, it was bright and sunny. Next, it was grey skies and torrential rain.

Garmisch-Partenkirchen is officially one of the stormiest places in Europe, according to research done in Karlsruhe.

So for ourselves and no doubt the players – it probably felt more like Blantyre than Bavaria.

We quickly became familiar with our new surroundings.

Pub 33, a quaint old boozer, was our nightly haunt for a pint and a game of darts.

Then we might hit Peaches bar for a late-night refreshment.

Everything was within walking distance.

Keith and I couldn’t get enough of the goulash soup at Gasthaus our Schranne.

While the owners of the Italian restaurant, Colosseo, must have been fed up looking at us.

They would put the live Euro games on TV for us to watch as we tucked into our dinner.

We were such regulars there that one night we suggested a different starter – and when we came back 24 hours later it was on the menu!

But the beauty of this Alpine retreat has to be seen to be believed.

It’s just over an hour from Munich, which is where we had to go to collect our Euro 2024 accreditation – and for the opening game.

Unfortunately for yours truly, there was a problem.

UEFA didn’t take note of the middle name on my passport so I had to go through all the security checks again.

I had to go back to Garmisch without my media pass – before a return trek there a few days later.

Another sure-fire sign warning that this tournament might not end well for the Scots.

The local Mayor of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Elisabeth Koch, was as excited as anyone about Clarke’s boys being there.

The rain threatened to ruin her big welcome.

It was planned for the outdoor stage at the Kurpark but had to be switched inside to Bayerhalle.

That’s where John McGinn showed everyone his dance moves alongside the Oompah band in their lederhosen.

You desperately wanted that moment to become iconic, as the starting point of a memorable Euros for the team.

We were fantasising about Super John scoring against the Germans on opening night and pulling off the dance as his celebration.

There’s that hope, again.

We turned up at the Allianz Arena on June 14, genuinely believing we could get something.

Why couldn’t Scotland – just for once – be the shock troops in a major tournament?

Instead, we got our a***s handed to us on a plate by our ruthless hosts.

Wrong team, wrong tactics. By half-time, we were three goals – and a man – down. It was damage limitation.

And by the end, it was just sheer deflation after a 5-1 drubbing.

But there was no time for negativity. In five days’ time, we had to face the Swiss in Cologne.

The atmosphere created by the Tartan Army – and the locals who joined in – in the build-up to that game was incredible.

Some people say if you trod on s**t, good luck follows.

Well, the night before the game I somehow managed to step on a RAT by the side of a road.

Could that bring us the good fortune we needed?

Wee Roland didn’t make the game but it’s one me and Keith will never forget.

Not necessarily for the result, but for the noise before kick-off at the RheinEnergie Stadion.

It was the best, loudest rendition of Flower of Scotland I’ve ever heard.

The ground beneath our feet in the press box was shaking. Surely THIS was our time to win?

To show Europe why we were so rampant in qualification?

Scott McTominay’s goal made us dream again.

Only for Xherdan Shaqiri’s wonder strike to wake us up with another dose of reality.

At least we’d got a point on the board. The pints in Pub 33 back in Garmisch were half-full again.

All we had to do was beat Hungary in Stuttgart to go through. Surely we could do that?

Hope, optimism. It’s in-built within us.

The amount of times we’ve been kicked in the haw-maws, you’d think we’d learn our lesson.

But when it comes to football, we can’t help ourselves.

Keith and I ensured our hotel rooms in Garmisch were kept on for us coming back to prepare for a knock-out tie.

What could possibly go wrong?

It was on to the MHP Arena where Clarke and his players would go down in history.

They’d cement their legendary status as the first Scotland side ever to get out of their group at a major finals.

That was the plan. Unfortunately, Hungary had other ideas.

It all went wrong. We were too defensive, too passive – we didn’t grasp our opportunity.

We should have had a penalty late on. Why was an Argentine ref even at the Euros?

But it didn’t matter. Kevin Csoboth’s 90th minute winner sent us home with a dagger in our hearts.

There was no return trip to Garmisch.

The hotel room was cancelled. Colosseo’s menu was back to normal. Pub 33’s takings had taken a nose-dive.

As we trudged back through airports, it was all a distant memory.

You’re thinking, maybe these big tournaments aren’t for us after all.

They just leave you shattered, full of regrets and what might have beens.

Until the hope kicks in again and you realise World Cup 2026 is just two years away. In America, Canada and Mexico. Wow.

What a trip that would be.

Surely we couldn’t qualify for that, could we? Could we..?