The sounds of Scottish burbling

Scotland, famously, have never qualified from the group stages of any of their innumerable football World Cup campaigns, and if their first day of action in cricket's big fandango is anything to go by, a similar pattern is set to be repeated in the coming fortnight. Massive yet heroic failure is the nation's stock-in-trade in any given sporting event - and their fans are contentedly resigned to their fate.

"Scotland don't go to many World Cups in any sport these days, but a trip to the Caribbean for two weeks … it's a tough choice." Martin Brown, an investment manager from Edinburgh, puts the dilemma in a nutshell as he stands beneath the scoreboard at midwicket, watching the inevitable unfold before his eyes.

A muffed caught-behind from Colin Smith prompts a chorus of "are you English in disguise?" as the wheels begin to come off a spirited bowling display. Martin, however, is already adamant he has the reason for the impending demise. "They did drop their best player last night, so it's probably what you'd expect."

The cause celebre in this man's eyes is the otherwise unassuming figure of Neil McCallum. "He's one of the best middle-order batsmen, he's the best fielder in the team, and having played 21 or 24 consecutive games, he was sensationally dropped last night," adds Martin, warming to his rant. "It's a big blow for him. He's a top guy and the fans are disappointed."

Are the fans also personal friends of his? "No, we just met him when we got out here," comes the response, to loud guffaws. Such is the close-knit nature of this peculiar sporting odyssey. Sat up high in the Southern Stand, for instance, are Sean Stewart and his girlfriend, Diane Anderson, who have got to know Scotland's No. 3, Ryan Watson, on account of his family staying in the same hotel in Frigate Bay.

"I'm just sitting here drinking punch and not really paying attention!" admits Diane, who had "no say whatsoever" when her other half announced their holiday plans for this year. "Neither of us had been to the Caribbean before so we figured we'd kill two birds with one stone," adds Sean, whose previous Scottish sports-watching habits had been confined to television. Such is the unique lure of cricket. Islands as idyllic as St Kitts have special powers to convert the uninitiated.

Not that everyone in Navy Blue is entirely new to the sport, however. "We're here to promote the Fat Bearded Bastards Cricket Club," announces Chris Sayer, an ample hirsute solicitor from Edinburgh, whose offices are but a five-minute stroll from Scotland's HQ at the Grange. "Our aim is to roll back the tides of fashion, and encourage everyone to grow beards and put on weight." Judging by the damage he and his cronies inflicted on an unsuspecting member of the press corps on Monday night, his mission is well underway. "The Scots order whisky chasers with everything," he lamented while wilting during final practice on Tuesday afternoon.

Even so, there is a serious undertone to Chris's efforts to spread the word. "It's a crucial time for Scottish cricket," he adds. "They've got to continue to develop to justify their fragile financing. If they don't get the financing, that'll be the end of the resurgence. And they've had some great success in recent years, beating many of the Associates, and some of the better counties as well."

All the same, such complex issues are far from the thoughts of the majority of the Scottish fans in the ground. Never before has any Caribbean island been over-run by many kilts and ginger wigs, half of whose wearers are sure, come midnight, to be found upside-down in the fountains of Independence Square, burbling gently to themselves and passers-by. "We're so red it's unbelievable," chant the inebriated clans on the hill, slow-roasting in the heat of the midday sun. Inevitable defeat matters not a jot. It's the manner of the meltdown that counts.