On the touchline, Clarke had words with his assistant Steven Naismith.

“How are we level, Naisy?” asked Clarke.

“No idea, gaffer,” replied Naismith.

“It’s a miracle, Naisy,” said the manager,

“Give us six numbers for the lotto, boss,” said Naismith.

That exchange didn’t happen, of course, because when the two men came side-by-side, the pair of them seemed lost for words as Hampden convulsed all around them. A draw? “We’ll take it and do the arithmetic later.”

There was more to come, naturally. Karetsas and Konstantelios appeared and acres of space appeared down Scotland’s right.

Greece started to gather themselves and look dangerous again. And that’s when Scotland made it two. A free-kick, a scramble, a Lewis Ferguson poke, and the lead.

This was football as fiction. No, science fiction.

Into added time we went. Karetsas forced a brilliant save from Gunn in the 91st minute. Have you ever seen 45,000 people roar with happiness while simultaneously calling for oxygen masks?

And have you ever seen anything as ludicrous, as preposterous, as jaw-droppingly hilarious as a third Scottish goal going in at the end? A present. Big Lyndon Dykes ripped off the gift-wrapping and launched his shot into the roof of the Greek net.

Scotland drive on, somehow. They have Belarus on Sunday, a game they are hot favourites to win. Belarus got annihilated by Denmark on Thursday.

In pulling off this Houdiniesque act of escapology, Clarke’s team produced the strange feat of stunning a stadium into delirium. Three good results on the board. Three more and it’s Hollywood, baby.