THE United States of America isn’t to everyone’s taste. Capitalism served raw, unapologetic consumerism, and many other isms that would put your back into a spasm, set the tone for a seemingly brutal society, one where dog eats hotdog (and every burger eats hamburgers).
Yes, there is something quite freeing about giving in to a life where McDonald’s can be breakfast followed by Burger King for lunch. And never more so than when driving a humble car across several states, guzzling more gallons of gasoline than there is Coca-Cola in your paper cup.
Ah, the American Dream. “That dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement,” announced James Truslow Adams back in the 1930s when the USA was really starting to click back into gear after that minor Wall Street breakdown.
He might as well have been gibbering about the reverie at the heart of cup football here in Scotland: Regardless of a club’s stature or standing, with a lot of graft and at least a little bit of luck, anyone can become a success. OK, so Celtic have had their name on the Scottish Cup a record 40 times while city rivals Rangers aren’t far behind on 34. But, since 2010, seven separate teams have lifted the famous old trophy. It’s a very similar story in the League Cup: Rangers have a record 27 wins, Celtic are on 20, but seven different sides have lifted the silverware since 2010. Celtic, it should be noted, have dominated the competition in that period with six wins in their eight finals. One of those defeats was to Rangers, who they could potentially meet in this year’s instalment of the Viaplay Cup final, and the other was against Kilmarnock in 2012, their semi-final opponents this weekend.
So, can Derek McInnes’s Ayrshire charges dare to dream on Saturday? Think of their journey to the last four as something like my own US road trip a decade or so ago, which involved driving a Chrysler PT Cruiser, a sort of squashed hearse, across five states from a small city in Connecticut to Washington DC, the cradle of American democracy.
There was the tricky business at the start of the journey in New Haven where I had to work out the whole automatic transmission thing and driving on the right and all that business – it was a bit like the group stage that Killie had to negotiate during their preseason (they progressed despite finishing second behind Partick Thistle).
There was then that sudden gasp when I wasn’t quite sure if I’d make it to the next gas station after passing into New York State. Feeling as though the little wagon was shivering and shaking, the relief when I pulled into the Exxon Mobil was palpable. That was like Killie’s last-16 win away to Hearts, where they managed to hold on to a sole Innes Cameron strike after 21 minutes to reach the quarter-finals.
After that pit stop, I quickly crossed into New Jersey and, thinking I was getting the hang of this Interstate business, tried the cruise control setting. Realising I was instead decelerating on the highway, I ditched any notion that this was going to be plain sailing, took back control of the turgid vehicle and put my foot back on the gas. That was like Killie’s last-eight encounter against Dundee United where, after taking an early lead when Kyle Lafferty converted an eighth-minute penalty, Glenn Middleton replied two minutes later for United. It took until the 73rd minute for Daniel Armstrong to restore the advantage and Killie were finally home and dry.
Shaken but stirred, I now felt like James Bond in his Aston Martin on the Riviera as I approached Pennsylvania, the penultimate stop before Baltimore and the nation’s capital. I was able to lean back a little like Sean Connery and fiddle with the knob on the radio. Pop zapped to R&B which turned to talkshow. Finally, that most Americana of American sounds came over the airwaves and, rather than follow my instincts, I embraced the country music that played out. It was a familiar song, a familiar voice…
So take away the flowers that you gave me – I was humming along by now, but what was it? – And send the kind that you remind me of… Suddenly my hand involuntarily flicked the volume knob to full as the chorus kicked in: PAPER ROSES! PAPER ROSES! OH, HOW REAL THOSE ROSES SEEM TO ME…
And here I was, in full voice, singing along with a song I didn’t know I knew 10 seconds ago. Suddenly my memory was zapped back to Hampden, where I’d been a few months earlier to witness Kenny Shiels’ Kilmarnock side defeat Neil Lennon’s Celtic 1-0 to lift the League Cup.
The song was, if you haven’t gathered by now, Marie Osmond’s Paper Roses. Somehow, the 1970s single became an anthem of the Kilmarnock support and has been a mainstay on the Rugby Park tannoy for decades.
In that twilight period between the full-time whistle and the trophy presentation, with the famous old ground now half empty, blue and white scarves were held aloft as Osmond’s lament rang around Mount Florida. Yes, it can happen.
And yes, somehow, my chronic Chrysler made it all the way to Pennsylvania Avenue. But this is not about motor cars and daydreaming: Can McInnes compete with Ange Postecoglou’s embarrassment of riches tomorrow afternoon? Can Killie dare to dream again? Do they merit a place in the showpiece final?
Well, why don’t we allow old Adams to conclude. On his definitive assessment of the American Dream, he added: “It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable.”
Dream on, Killie fans.
