I never thought the sight of an orange and white traffic cone perched atop a statue of one of America’s founding fathers could fill me with tearful pride, but that’s the World Cup for you.
I was one of an estimated 50,000 Scottish fans who invaded America and started a party that will be talked about for generations. Even after the defeat against Brazil on Wednesday night, Scotland supporters still danced an energetic samba well into the hot and steamy Miami night.
Of course it has been squeaky bum time for the past few days as we sweated it out and waited for the results of other third placed teams, in the forlorn hope of getting through to the next round for the first time ever. Not the way I wanted it to happen when I arrived in the US full of expectation and optimism.
Before a ball was kicked, the Tartan Army first descended en masse on Boston, home of American independence, and were quickly embraced as long lost cousins. Even the overpriced tickets and those ludicrous hydration/advert breaks to sell us more expensive stuff we don’t need could not dampen the sheer delight of Scotland supporters.
I felt something very special in the air and it wasn’t just the fumes from all the booze
As I walked through Boston wearing a blue tartan mini-dress and waving the obligatory “No Scotland No Party” flag, I was stopped by numerous enraptured locals begging us all not to leave. One man told me that he had loved the exuberant singing, dancing and bagpipes, describing it as a kind of “innocent joy” he hadn’t experienced since childhood.
The Boston Herald declaimed on its front page: “The Tartan Army is more than a gathering of football fans. It is living expression of community, connection and goodwill.” This made my chin wobble, because these are qualities that feel all but lost in this increasingly divided world, where people look at their phones more than one another and loneliness has become an epidemic.
For me, the Tartan Army brought that sense of belonging back, not just for people in Scotland but from all over the world. And we got a “Letter From America”; a declaration of love from the people of Boston in a local paper which said, “thank you for the laughter, the bagpipes and the memories. The World Cup will move on. So will the songs, but we will never forget the joy you brought to our city”.
Well that had me blubbing like a baby. I felt something very special in the air and it wasn’t just the fumes from all the booze. Yes we drank the bars dry, and yes the pubs ran out of beer despite ordering three times the amount usually gargled during St Patrick’s Day, up until then the biggest celebration in this Irish stronghold on America’s eastern seaboard.
But there were no drunken brawls or riots. In fact there was no trouble at all, just a lot of good natured banter and blarney. The worst that happened was the bagpipes gradually became more and more squeaky and out of tune as we partied into the wee small hours.
What joy to feel a sense of unity regardless of class, politics or religion, as we swathed ourselves in tartan and wore our Scotland tops with pride (Photo: Teri Pengilley/The i Paper)
I will never forget standing outside a pub belting out a rousing rendition of “Flower of Scotland” feeling a deep sense of belonging to this band of brothers and sisters, united by our love of fun and football. What a palate cleansing antidote to the toxic divisions that have plagued Scotland for so many years. The independence vote effectively spilt us right down the middle and sectarian hatred still runs deep between far too many Rangers and Celtic fans. So what joy to feel a sense of unity regardless of class, politics or religion, as we swathed ourselves in tartan and wore our Scotland tops with pride.
I reluctantly had to leave the Scottish fans in Boston after the defeat by Morocco and head back to work. Meanwhile they travelled south to Miami, risking second degree sunburn on the beachfronts by taking their “taps aff”, proudly wearing nothing but their kilts. Once again these bold, funny, cheeky supporters charmed the pants off the locals. There was more than one hopeful woman of a certain age holding up a sign saying “Scotsman Wanted”.
We will definitely not get our hands on the World Cup, but we have won the affection and respect of the whole wide world. And you can’t put a price on that.
This week I… attended PMQs at the invitation of the BBC’s splendid Matt Chorley of 5Live and Newsnight fame.
It was Keir Starmer’s first appearance at the despatch box since his resignation and he looked and sounded so much lighter and brighter than usual. The honking voice was smoother and less bunged up, and he got in some decent one-liners that sounded almost off the cuff. If we had seen a bit more of this version of the PM he might have lasted a bit longer.
Tory leader Kemi Badenoch went in for the kill and earned a hard Paddington stare from Lib Dem leader Ed Davey for her bad manners, and a firm rebuke from the Speaker, who really is just like my exasperated primary school headmaster, trying to keep unruly a bunch of feral six-year-olds in line.