You won’t find me staying up until the wee hours of the morning to watch a match on the telly; nor will you find me storming the streets with fellow fans in celebration or commiseration. Football has never really appealed to me.
But I am a fan of Scottish football fans.
Over the past few weeks, an estimated 50,000 fans travelled to Massachusetts for the opening two group matches, using Boston and Providence as their base while Scotland played two matches — against Haiti and Morocco — in nearby Foxborough. The Americans have been charmed, and thoroughly so.
At the time of writing, the Tartan Army were in Miami, Florida, for Wednesday’s ill-fated match against Brazil. The circus has followed them; media crews, curious locals and football fans alike have all been drawn into the wake of this tartan-clad travelling party.
The Floridians have embraced the Scots with gusto; the Bostonians are lamenting their loss like a salty ex. Somehow I doubt the newly arrived English fans will provide the same entertainment value.
The Tartan Army weren’t always so adored, however. The name ‘‘Tartan Army’’ became widely used in the 1970s in reference to the passionate and frequently heavily intoxicated crowds who followed Scotland at Hampden Park and Wembley Stadium.
Said crowds gained something of a reputation for hooliganism, most notably after Scotland’s 2–1 victory over England in 1977 when fans invaded the Wembley pitch and destroyed the goalposts. In 1979 further disorder led to hundreds of arrests. Enough was enough.
In 1980, the Scotland Travel Club was created to encourage responsible behaviour among supporters. And so, over the following decades, the Tartan Army was born anew, becoming renowned for its friendly atmosphere, colourful displays and good conduct.
The Tartan Army’s good behaviour, in fact, earned international recognition, including awards at UEFA Euro 1992 and the 1998 Fifa World Cup, where they were praised as some of the tournament’s best supporters.
At Euro 2024 an estimated 200,000 Scottish supporters travelled to Germany, where they made quite the impact with their kilts, bagpipes and an apparently limitless ability to bellow ‘‘Yes Sir, I Can Boogie’’.
Over the past week, I’ve been thinking about what it is that makes the Tartan Army so endearing, especially when compared with the fans of other nations (looking at you, England).
For starters, there’s the undeniable joie de vivre that Scottish fans bring wherever they go. Boston Mayor Michelle Wu said of the Tartan Army: ‘‘What has been most beautiful about this whole experience is not just seeing fans who are as passionate about your teams, your heritage, your culture as Boston fans are, but then seeing those connections built across different cultures, too.’’
I think part of this good cheer stems from Scotland’s status as football’s perennial underdog. Unlike, say, the Dutch or the Argentinians, Scottish fans rarely arrive expecting trophies or glory. They are just happy to be involved, and probably expect setbacks, if not an early exit from the tournament.
These noisy kilted fans are less focused on results and more on enjoying the experience itself. This palpable lack of entitlement, coupled with a self-deprecating sense of humour makes them particularly attractive to hosts and fellow supporters.
I’ve also noticed that the Tartan Army are highly conscious that they are representing Scotland abroad. These Scots take pride in ensuring others have a positive experience of them.
Of course, this image should not be romanticised entirely — no large travelling support is free from occasional incidents — but from what I’ve seen, the Tartan Army’s reputation is broadly earned.
Then there’s the fact that the Scottish supporters are impossible to ignore, what with all the hollering, hooting, singing and the unmistakable whine of bagpipes. Be it at a city centre or stadium concourse, the presence of the Tartan Army is announced long before they come into view.
Consider for instance Scotland’s opening match against Haiti, which attracted 64,146 spectators (the vast majority of whom were Scottish fans). The atmosphere peaked before kickoff when supporters bellowed out Flower of Scotland, deafening other supporters and generating 125 decibels of sound at Gillette Stadium — a World Cup record.
Perhaps the strangest pilgrimage of all has been to Jobi Liquors, an otherwise unremarkable off-licence whose name has greatly tickled the visiting Scots, for whom the word ‘‘jobby’’ means poo.
The goodwill generated by the Tartan Army has even led to political consequences: Boston announced a sister-city partnership with Glasgow, while Massachusetts declared a World Cup Fan Appreciation Day in honour of the influx of international supporters.
Perhaps the most enduring stereotype attached to the Scottish football fans is their supposed ability to out-drink anyone they encounter. The Tartan Army’s antics in Boston has done little to dispel this belief. Hennessy’s Bar, for example, reported trade after Scotland’s win over Haiti at three times the level of St Patrick’s Day before they ran out of beer entirely.
And yet the Tartan Army, intoxicated as they often are, are typically seen as boisterous rather than threatening, creating a carnival-like presence that leaves bars drained and locals amused.
But for all the attention paid to their ability to consume copious amounts of liquor, the Tartan Army’s reputation rests just as heavily on its willingness to give back to their host cities.
In Providence, for example, Scottish fans helped raise more than $US23,000 for charitable causes as a gesture of thanks to the communities hosting them.
Funds generated through merchandise sales, transport initiatives and direct donations were earmarked for local and Scottish causes, including Hasbro Children’s Hospital, sports programmes for underprivileged children, a mental health charity, and my personal favourite, bagpipe tuition in Rhode Island schools.
I can’t help but wonder whether the popularity of the Tartan Army might suggest that many Americans long for a different model of national identity. These Scottish football fans are undeniably proud of where they come from, yet they are also curious about the wider world.
They have travelled thousands of miles draped in the Saltire, bellowing songs and celebrating Scotland, yet they have done so while embracing strangers, respecting their hosts and leaving behind goodwill rather than resentment. Their reception in Boston, Providence and Miami has shown how warmly such behaviour is rewarded.
Time will tell as to whether Americans chose to learn from this example.
• Jean Balchin is an ODT columnist who has started a new life in Edinburgh.
