Even if Scotland head coach Steve Clarke had resigned himself to failing to escape their World Cup group, this particular band of Scots plainly had not.
Hobbled by a brutal mix of wastefulness and self-inflicted errors, they needed snookers—blindfolded and without a cue ball, at that.
Not even John Higgins, the Wizard of Wishaw, would fancy rescuing them from this bind.
To go through, Clarke’s men required four other third-placed teams to finish on three points with a goal difference below -3, or with fewer points overall.
Until Spain’s win earlier in the Miami night, every completed group had gone the other way. Now, with Egypt in front, it seemed two of Saturday’s three unfinished groups would have to break Scotland’s way.
A towering ask, but not unthinkable—judging by the air punches from the Scots in this bar when Mahmoud Saber swept in Egypt’s opener.
Nine minutes later, as a man in a Premier League shirt struck out trying to charm a woman a few feet away, Iran equalised, pricking the mood at one table.
As the match wore on, the music seemed to crank up, and so did the tension among the Scottish contingent.
The room swayed—almost samba-like—to the beat while the play burned on. In the corner, Lionel Messi moved in near slow motion, arms rhythmically slicing through an invisible tide.
They say rhythm is a dancer; Leo kept time to his own beat.
The apocalypse brothers stayed unmoved as the game surged into the second half, Egypt dropping deeper after Mohamed Salah departed.