Every World Cup produces heroes.
Some are footballers.
Others are fans.
This year, Scotland’s famous Tartan Army may already have secured its place among the legends.
Long before Scotland’s players stepped onto the pitch, their supporters had arrived in Boston.
And they arrived in numbers.
Thousands of them.
Wrapped in tartan kilts, waving Saltire flags, carrying bagpipes and armed with an almost limitless capacity for singing and drinking.
For several days, parts of Boston stopped looking like an American city and began resembling an extension of Glasgow and Edinburgh.
The pubs filled up.
Then overflowed.
Then filled up again.
Stories emerged of bars running low on beer stocks as Scottish supporters moved from one establishment to another, transforming every street corner into an impromptu football festival.
What makes the Tartan Army special is not merely the volume of alcohol consumed.
Football has many travelling supporters.
What Scotland possesses is something rarer.
Joy.
The Scottish supporters have developed a global reputation for good humour, friendliness and self-deprecating wit.
They sing whether they are winning.
They sing when they are losing.
Sometimes they sing because they are singing.
For Boston residents, the experience was unlike anything many had ever witnessed.
Bagpipes echoed through the streets.
Traditional Scottish songs mixed with football chants.
Tourists joined locals.
Locals joined Scots.
And for a few remarkable days, football became less about competition and more about celebration.
Scotland may not possess the star power of Brazil.
They may not have the glamour of France.
They may not carry the expectations of England.
But few nations travel with supporters quite like theirs.
Indeed, many neutral observers believe the Tartan Army deserves a trophy of its own.
Not for goals scored.
Not for matches won.
But for reminding the world that football remains the greatest excuse ever invented for strangers to become friends.
As the World Cup continues, Scotland’s fate on the pitch remains uncertain.
One thing, however, is beyond dispute.
Boston will not forget the Tartan Army anytime soon.
Nor will the city’s publicans.
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