My priceless Scottish experience at the most expensive World Cup ever

You think your dreams have already come true following Scotland to the USA for their first World Cup in 28 years. Then, on arrival in Boston, you find out you’re sharing your hotel with the entire squad. Then you come downstairs on match day for an early morning walk and bump into your all-time football hero, John McGinn. 

“Take it easy, lads. There’s a long day ahead,” he warned us, mid-selfie. 

“Go and f***ing pump them, John,” I replied. 

Thankfully, John followed our advice, scoring the winner against Haiti hours later. We didn’t follow his.

By now you’ll have no doubt seen the footage of the Tartan Army invading America over the past week, singing our hearts out and drinking the bars dry of the thousands of kegs of Tennent’s specially imported from Glasgow for the occasion. The scenes I witnessed on the streets of Boston week will stay with me for a very long time: an impromptu circle of strangers holding hands and dancing to Runrig’s Loch Lomond after commandeering a street performer’s boom box; fans blaring bagpipes from a convoy of yellow school buses they’d hired to transport them to the match; young kids with a football attempting a “rondo” training drill with their rival Haitian fans. By day three, even the local cops were leading chants of “No Scotland, no party”. If you’re wondering what pure joy looks like, it’s the image of 5,000 Scots singing “(I’m Gonna Be) 500 Miles” by The Proclaimers at a Red Sox baseball match, rocking the foundations of Fenway Park. 

But this was extortionate, overpriced joy. For fans, this is the most expensive World Cup in history. The cheapest tickets to the Scotland versus Haiti game still available on the day of the match were a minimum of $1,000. The train journey to Boston Stadium (an hour from the actual city of Boston, of course) was $80, despite the same journey normally costing about $20. A round of two beers and two waters at half-time set me back $60. But someone has to pay for Gianni Infantino’s private jet. 

The good news is us Scots know how to be economical. This is the nation of Adam Smith and Gordon Brown. I met countless fans who were sleeping on hotel and Airbnb floors to split the cost of a bedroom. I spied plenty of men in kilts flouting Boston’s strict street drinking rules by sipping store-bought beers concealed by brown paper bags (in the words of Kevin Bridges, “football is nothing without cans”). I even met a guy on the flight home who said he had a McDonald’s breakfast upon arrival and then didn’t eat a single meal for the next six days. 

Ultimately, watching Scotland achieve only their fifth World Cup victory in their entire history was priceless. The “decibel counter” on the Boston Stadium jumbotron will never be the same again after that pre-match rendition of Flower of Scotland. And for all its faults, few countries do live sport better than the Americans. The atmosphere inside the ground on Saturday was among the best I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps we could do without the hydration breaks (sponsored by Powerade), though.   

The people of Boston have taken Scotland to their hearts this week. One local told me they’ve lived in the city for 20 years and had never seen the city look so happy. There’s talk of “Adopt-A-Scot” programmes and closing the borders to keep us here. If they can put me up in the same digs as John McGinn again, I’d be happy to oblige.

Photograph by John McGinn via Ally Farrell