This is the last blog about the trip to the Euros, I promise.
Just such a big thing in my life that I waited for so many years and anticipated and then experienced with such joy that it would be right that I wrote about it here in these letters that I write to myself for later.
And so, after the carnage in Stuttgart on Sunday night, when Hungary scored with almost the last kick of the ball to wipe out any chance for Scotland to make it to the next stage (yet again after 12 attempts), it was time to wait for the dust to settle and to try and process everything that had happened over the previous ten days.
I watched as Scottish fans congratulated Hungary fans at the final whistle, and hungry fans commiserated us backwards.
It was beautiful, although terrible and disappointing, particularly for Callum.
We came straight back into our little area that we had in hospitality and had a bottle of water each and then I went out just for five minutes to applaud my team as they came round as much as I didn't want to and as much as they didn't want to, not because I didn't have huge gratitude and respect for what they've done to get here but the sense of disappointment was so palpable.
Callum and I left straight after that.
We had another 90 minutes in the hospitality area, but it wasn't a night for hospitality, and as I left and descended down onto the concourse around Mercedes Benz Stadium in Stuttgart, trying to console my son, who was really upset, I thought, "That's it, I've done it, I'm done with this now I can't take that sort of voluntary pain inflicted upon myself".
By the time we'd walked 30 to 40 minutes back to our apartment, I was already trying to figure out how I could start some sort of slush fund to go to the USA to follow Scotland again should they make it to the World Cup (Unlikely, I know, but it's best to be prepared).
In the song that the Scots fans adopted in the lead-up to the Euros, "No Scotland, no party", there is the lyric, which says, "Nobody's saying we're gonna win it, we know we ain't no Argentina".
That sums it up; it sums up what it's like to be a Scottish fan.
I didn't really expect too much from the football when I went to the Euros, I hoped, but I didn't expect it; I just loved everything else about it (I loved the football too).
I loved everything around it and what it was like to be a Scotland fan in Germany.
If the chance comes again, resisting will be difficult, and I'm only 48 hours home.
Blog Post Number - 3851
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