Before Doak started to motor, this was shaping up to be a paean to Luka Modric and his delicious array of passes, his uncanny ability to make everything look so effortless and his other-worldly ability to find space in crowded places.
Scotland sent one man after another to get close to him and he counted them in and counted them back out again.
Not one Scot ruffled his feathers. That job fell instead to an Israeli. And what a job referee Orel Grinfeeld made of it. World-class whistling, from a Scottish perspective at least.
Grinfeeld sounds like a character from the Fantastic Beasts movies and, in sending off Petar Sucic just before the break, he became a beautiful creature to a previously angst-ridden home crowd.
The Tartan Army were living off their nerves to that point. Scotland were blessed to be level. Frankly, they were all over the place.
Hustled and harried and looking to all the world like they were preparing to plunge ever deeper into the bottomless pit of poor results.
Croatia should have been a goal or two to the good, but weren’t. If they were frustrated, it was nothing compared to the state they were about to get themselves.
Sucic, on a booking, was adjudged to have barrelled into John Souttar and out came the red. It was unjust and, suddenly, Modric lost his shape.
He shouted, he laughed sarcastically, he waved his arms in disbelief. And then he was booked. He’ll miss Portugal on Monday.
At the break, one of his coaches stared out Grinfeeld in a slightly comedic scene. When the Croatian advanced, out came a yellow card. Pantomime stuff. Wonderful.
