IKNOW it is uncool to say so, but the Tartan Army really is amazing. The lasting memory of Italy with Scotland last weekend will not be the brave Scotland performance, or Italian thugs fighting with police, but a Scotland support which remains remarkable in its devotion.

On Sunday night Walter Smith's face, which is sometimes upholstered with granite, broke into mirth when he was asked about the choristers and good-natured inebriates who make up Scotland's support.

"They are fantastic, " said Smith. "It was quite something to walk out of the tunnel in the San Siro and see them in such numbers. Vocally and visually, the Scotland supporters were amazing."

In truth, the quality of the Tartan Army is in inverse proportion to the team they actually support. Pro rata, Scotland must have the best support in European football, and no amount of anthropological baloney about what they actually get up to in places like Paris, Chisinau and Milan can diminish that fact.

There is a media tradition in this country for hyperbole - Brilliant! Incredible!

Amazing! Unbelievable! - but in Milan the Tartan Army genuinely took the breath away. Some of their Rodgers and Hammerstein repertoire might seem like vocal candyfloss, but there was a specific five-minute episode in the San Siro which clarified all of this for us.

Happy with bevvy, the 10,000-strong Tartan Army chanted their self-deprecating Doe A Deer while, in the tier beneath, neo-fascist Italian fans were gratifyingly having the daylights boxed out of them by riot police.

You were suddenly confronted with the thought, which would you rather have, these daft, devoted boozers, or right-wing imbeciles?

In recent years it has come into vogue to be cynical about the Tartan Army. This is a confused theory which no-one can get to the bottom of. Personally, I think it is to dowith our nation's reversesnobbery, which says that real Scotland supporters must be kosher working-class blokes (whatever these mythical creatures are) who drink cans of Kestrel, smoke Woodbines, and would never in a 100 years sing Doe A Deer.

Well, it's a quaint thought.

But if you are an accountant, a teacher or a lawyer, you're still allowed to be a passionate supporter of Scotland. And if you choose to follow Scotland and be harmlessly absurd with drink at the same time, where is the crime in that?

Milan on Saturday night reminded me of one of my alltime favourite trips abroad with Scotland, to Prague in June 1999. With a gentle tear, you may remember it.

Scotland went 2-0 up on a brilliant Czech team after just 55 minutes. "We're really for it now, " I said to a colleague with inescapable anxiety.

Craig Brown's team duly succumbed to a 3-2 humping, but the point here was the Scotland support that night.

There were 22,000 gathered in Prague and 9000 of them were Scots, drunkenly (and peacefully) bawling their hearts out.

That night, near a front row seat, a Tartan Army member I know from Arbroath was busy wrestling a huge blow-up doll in between following the action on the field. Milan the other night was just like Prague. We're not talking Renaissance architecture field trips here, just good-natured, bantering loyalty, with fun thrown in.

Things might change.

But right now, these are the only inebriates I know who fall into the category of good ambassadors.