With a lament for what might have been, a tale of near misses.

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And the long match back to base for the Tartan Army, bedraggled and frustrated, accompanied by the drone of the forlorn bagpipes.

This time they were within seconds of having to hang around, waiting for the guillotine to fall, a living Euro 2024 death, drawn-out limbo but with only one likely outcome.

Maybe, then, it was better to suffer the killer blow as Kevin Csoboth slid home with Steve Clarke’s men horribly exposed in the 100th minute.

Scotland lacked the quality, the belief, the conviction that they needed, the victory they required.

Indeed, if you don’t have a shot on goal until deep in stoppage tine, you are unlikely to win.

For Scotland it was the same familiar story against Eastern European opponents.

Those draws against Yugoslavia in 1974, the Soviet Union four years later, the Hampden humbling by Croatia in 2021.

Now 12 tournaments reached, 12 failures to go past the group stage, 28 years and counting since the last win at a finals.

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To be fair to Clarke, fate dealt him and his team a horror hand here in Germany.

The pre-tournament losses of Lyndon Dykes and Ben Doak were compounded by Ryan Porteous’ red card against Germany and then Kieran Tierney limping out of the draw with Switzerland.

Yet on a night when they needed to be more than the sum of their parts, Scotland once again came up short, the only conviction coming from the stands.

This was a team with as much menace as a plastic dirk. No threat. No penetration.

Yes, they did dominate possession in the opening phase, with Billy Gilmour and Callum McGregor pulling the strings.

But they never looked like causing issues for Peter Gulacsi, Che Adams’ limitations all too clear.

The first 45 minutes saw more bookings than shots on goal, with the only save coming from Angus Gunn, dealing with a bouncing long-range strike by Bendeguiz Bolla, created by Hungary’s Bury-born Callum Styles.

Sunderland midfielder Styles, who opted for Hungary through his grandparents, then picked up the first caution for an ugly lunge on John McGinn in the centre circle.

Andy Robertson’s starting position high on the left showed faith in Scott McKenna, who replaced Tierney in the only change from the side which drew with the Swiss.

Yet the longer it went on, the more confident the Magyars looked.

Dominik Szoboszlai wasted one free-kick chance and when Adams transgressed again on the edge of his own box, the Liverpool playmaker nearly conjured the opener.

Scotland expected a shot, switching off completely as Szoboszlai picked out the back post, relieved when defender Willi Orban’s header flicked off the bar.

Szoboszlai had squandered another shooting chance just before the break yet it was, in truth, an absolutely awful game, zero quality on display, Adams’ 53rd minute scoop over the top Scotland’s first attempt.

That came after McTominay had ruled himself out of a potential last 16 game with his second booking of the tournament, while soon after McGinn scampered away down the right but had no options.

Neither side had shown anything like enough, although Scotland had another escape when Martin Dardai, up from the back, headed against his own shoulder and over the bar.

With 22 minutes left, a collision in the Scotland box left Hungary striker Barnabas Varga down and clearly in serious condition.

Some of the Hungarian players were in tears, forming a protective shield before screens were put around the player – in scenes reminiscent of Christan Eriksen’s collapse three years ago – as he was carried off on a stretcher. Worrying indeed.

But there was still a match to be won and Scotland pleaded for a spot-kick when Stuart Armstrong, just on for McGinn, went down in the box after tangling with Orban.

Argentine ref Facundo Tello shook his head, the VAR did not intervene.

The injury meant 10 extra minutes. Time for hope but not salvation, Gunn denying Szoboszlai before substitute Csoboth smacked against the post as Scotland ran empty.

Scotland pushed for the winner but were caught on the counter by Scoboth.

Not to be. Once again. Maybe it never will be.