For Auld Lang Syne

Apathy is an allowable, if negative, state of mind. Hostility is less so.

Those who believe the SFA decision to name Alex McLeish as Scotland manager was an outrageous example of nepotism, favoritism and any other ism you can think of are perfectly entitled to hold that point of view.

But now, as Alex approaches the game against Israel which will determine the length of time he stays in office, it is surely only right to offer him and his team unequivocal backing.

When players withdrew in their droves from the squad to face Albania, some through legitimate injury problems, others for reasons that were less clear, the manager remained calm and made the right choices when it came to replacements and team selection.

He got the job done, and in a thoroughly convincing fashion.

An orderly queue can be formed of those who would like to point out that Albania had players who were so bad they couldn't have kicked doors at Halloween, but scoring four goals while conceding none away from home can't be dismissed as irrelevance.

You can only beat what's in front of you, is that not the case?

McLeish soldiered on in the face of adversity and the players who remained vertical without the aid of medication proved one, important point.

The dressing room hasn't been lost in spite of the manager having been at the centre of a whispering campaign which hinted otherwise.

The performance given against Albania and the reaction on the pitch to the goals when they came appeared indicative of a united group.

McLeish might be months away from being delivered his Mygovscot card, enabling him to travel for free on the buses, but he needn't necessarily be thought a manager out of his time.

Alex will know he operates in a game that is much more ruthless and cut-throat than it was when he was a freckled faced, ginger topped player.

He will therefore understand that if Scotland should lose to Israel tomorrow night social media will have lit the fiery cross and launched the campaign for his sacking before the players have negotiated the journey from the pitch to the dressing room at Hampden.

It is the life he chose and he, like all managers, must deal with its unforgiving terrain.

Massive disappointment carries major consequences, but surely those who were seriously opposed to his appointment in the first place are not going to hope that he fails?

Surely you give the man the benefit of the doubt?

Surely the guilty verdict can not be delivered before the trial has been completed and all evidence has been presented?

Surely, even if it's just for old times sake, the country gets behind the national team.

If it all goes pear shaped then by all means do your worst, but don't hope for bad luck.

Whatever happens, we have players who are good enough to beat Israel.

The same players, more or less, were transparently awful the last time the two countries met and got off lightly in the end by only losing by the margin they did.

But this is what we do. A noble part of our tradition at international level is that we can go from being wondrous one minute to being malodorous the next.

The goalkeeper and his back four look efficient.

Callum McGregor has taken on a new lease of life in front of them.

Ryan Christie is rejuvenated and James Forrest and Ryan Fraser look full of themselves in a productive way.

Steven Fletcher has emerged from the international wilderness during a state of emergency and shown extreme willing.

Nobody is for one moment suggesting we have stumbled upon a magic formula and established the beginning of a new, golden age. It could all go wrong in the space of ninety minutes, and in an unfathomable kind of way.

That's what we do as well.

But until, or if, that happens we can at least hope for the best, can't we?

It isn't compulsory to hope for bad things to happen so that revenge can be taken on those who disappoint us.

Not yet, anyway.

Good luck, Alex. Call it For Auld Lang Syne. It's seasonal

• Hugh Keevins