If the Hope Doesn't Kill You: Scotland-All Blacks at Murrayfield

In the 120 years since Scotland first squared off against New Zealand on a rugby field, Scottish hopes of a victory have rarely been so high. In the build-up to the match, pundits and columnists have spoken of the strength of the current side and the relatively lacklustre recent form of the All Blacks as signs that today, at long last, might just be the day that long-awaited victory is seized. And yet, amongst fans, that optimism is tempered with a resignation bordering on fatalism summed up in six words that I hear dozens of times over the course of the afternoon:

‘It’s the hope that kills you.’

This doomsaying is understandable, given Scotland’s 32 previous failures to secure their first win over today’s opposition (30 losses and two draws) and the fact that New Zealand arrive at Murrayfield riding a 19-game winning streak dating back to June 1987.

Despite feverish pre-game pageantry, with Scotland 17-0 down at half-time it seems like the glass half empty elements in the crowd are right and today will be just another thread in the tapestry of sadness Scotland have woven throughout this 120-year rivalry.

The ranks of pessimists seem to be growing. ‘Can’t believe Toonie’s still coaching. That cunt’s stealin’ a wage’, remarks one particularly disgruntled man in the line for the bathroom.

Rage against the referee

Detractors be damned, it seems whatever fiery pep talk Townsend has given his players during the interval has transformed them into 15 world-beating superstars. For 12 beautiful minutes they are indomitable. Suddenly the scores a level and the atmosphere charged. Flower of Scotland and Loch Lomond ring out from 62,000 throats. Vitriolic abuse is screamed at an officiating team apparently unwilling to give anything to the Scottish side. The crowd erupts as Scotland persistently attack the line, a try to take them into the lead seemingly inevitable. But then, from someone nearby:

‘It’s the hope that kills you.’

Like an invocation, it seems this phrase triggers a breakdown in Scotland’s performance. Suddenly, the door is left open and New Zealand do things that only the All Blacks can do. Damian McKenzie shrugs off a last-ditch tackle attempt from Blair Kinghorn and ties himself into the biology-defying knots of a contortionist to score a remarkable try. A short while later, he slots a penalty to take the game away from Scotland and seal a 25-17 New Zealand victory. Make that 33 unsuccessful attempts.

Downcast and dispirited, the masses disperse onto trams, trains, and the street of Edinburgh. I hear that same phrase a few final times as I walk to Haymarket.

‘It’s the hope that kills you.’

But signs suggest that both crowd and hope remain living. After all, isn’t it hope that drives the train seat pundits surrounding me on the journey home as they dissect every tactical error and problematic selection and opine on how, if only they were corrected, it might be different next time? I assume this is a group of long-time friends, but, as they depart one-by-one with a ‘nice to meet you’, it’s clear it’s the hope that it needn’t always be like this that has brought them together.

The hope doesn’t kill you; it keeps you coming back. The dream that this time it might be different. That 23 men will, over the course of 80 hard-fought minutes, shrug off the burden of history and make it so you don’t have to hope anymore. And what then?