He Would Walk 3,000 Miles

Craig Ferguson from Paisley, Scotland, WALKED from Los Angeles to arrive here in Boston in time for the Haiti game.

He walked 500 miles from Glasgow to Munich for the Euros in 2024. But he would walk 500 more; and more and more and more and more, to be the man who walked 3,000 miles to fall down at our door. (Na na na na, na na na na, na na na na na na na na na na!)

In the process, he raised $1.3 million for men’s mental health charities.

A few of us got together to welcome his arrival into Boston. I say a few, but the idea spread by word of mouth and so probably 5,000 Scots—maybe more—congregated on Boston Common to give him a proper Scottish welcome.

As the hour approached, the pipes struck up and the crowd sang its Scottish repertoire in unison. Maybe it was Craig’s accomplishment, maybe it was the heat, or the couple of beers over lunch or the skirl of the pipes. More likely it was the overwhelming Scottishness of it all, but when the chorus of Flower of Scotland arrived, it was diminished by emotion. I cried with my countrymen.

It was hard to imagine we had only arrived in Boston a few hours earlier. So quickly had we immersed ourselves in the energy of the Cup. After all, it is what we came for, so we jumped in feet first.

Before Craig’s arrival, we headed towards the FIFA Fan Fest at City Hall Plaza. We had registered for tickets but, with a capacity of only 5,000, the Fest was completely oversubscribed and our application was rejected.

I wasn’t too disappointed. Dave and I have had mixed experiences with Fan Fests at previous World Cups and, to be honest, they are sometimes just not worth the effort.

I particularly remember asking the hotel concierge for directions to the Fan Fest in Manaus, Brazil.

“Why do you want to go there?” he asked. “The locals are gathering at the Teatro Amazonas.”

To this day, that is probably the best advice I have ever received from a concierge. What a day that turned out to be.

Still, we figured that City Hall Plaza, as the centre of things, would be the place to be.

We were right.

The Dubliner immediately caught our attention, as did the very long queue of people waiting to get in. Undeterred, I walked to the front of the line to ask how long the wait was.

“Are you wanting food as well as drink?” asked the hostess.

To be honest, we didn’t necessarily want to eat, but sensing that an affirmative answer might bring some reward, I said, “Yes.”

“Oh, it’ll just be a couple of minutes while we clean the table.”

I never did figure out what the long queue was for but, quickly overcoming my embarrassment at apparently skipping it, we followed the hostess to our table and enjoyed a VERY lively hour with the Tartan Army before heading off to see Craig.

Later, a friend back in Indy sent me a clip from the local news channel showing the Army’s festivities at The Dubliner. I was delighted to share my own video and say, “We were there!”

I’m not much of a napper, but something about the World Cup makes me want to sleep.

Take, for example, my notorious 14-hour coma in Sochi after the Russia–Croatia quarter-final in 2018. Dave simply could not wake me. I think he was about to call the medics when I finally stirred at 4 p.m. I was exhausted.

So perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised when I got back to the hotel and crashed for two hours this afternoon.

Naps are not to be underestimated. This quick kip set me up perfectly for round two of the day’s activities.

Before hitting the sack, I had gone on a scouting mission to check out a restaurant about ten minutes’ walk from the hotel. It had been recommended as the place to watch USA v Paraguay that evening, but it seemed to be in a fairly remote part of the city and perhaps lacking in atmosphere. I watched the end of Canada v Bosnia over a quick pint and, deciding it would do, made a reservation for later that night.

As it turned out, it did much more than do.

By kick-off at 9 p.m., the place was packed and hopping with enthusiastic USA fans.

“U…S…A! U…S…A! U…S…A!”

A simple, but a heartfelt, chant.

Watching the gathering crowd, I was pretty sure that the on-screen interviews with Pochettino, the manager, and Pulisic, the captain, were the first time many of them had heard of the American team. But what they lacked in knowledge, they more than made up for in support of their nation—as things in the World Cup should be.

Can I make one observation about watching a USA soccer game with Americans? The cheers and shouts are several octaves higher than those of most other countries. There are so many more female fans, probably because of the success of the US women’s team over the years and the number of girls who play the sport.

It was a great performance by the USA.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from them. As hosts, they had not needed to qualify and therefore had few competitive matches under their belts over the past couple of years. Nor, I think, had they fielded their full-strength side in many of the friendlies.

To me, they were an unknown quantity. On paper, the quality of the individual players suggested they were capable of going deep into the tournament. Equally, I felt they were capable of cocking it up by failing to play as a unit.

Play as a unit they did.

I think that is a testament to Pochettino’s coaching. Argentinian by nationality and a former manager of Spurs and PSG, he truly is world class, and I think that shows in the way he motivated and organised the American team.

The fans in the pub—enthusiasm winning out over knowledge—were, I think, getting a little carried away by the result. It was, after all, only Paraguay, something of a minnow in the world game.

But they are right to be optimistic.

It is often those minnows that trip you up.

I am wary of Scotland’s game with Haiti tomorrow for exactly that reason, but hopeful in the expectation that our coach, Steve Clarke, is every bit as wily as Poch.

So, the first game is in the bag and World Cup fever is beginning to take hold. Well, at least among the enthusiastic throng in Boston. I suspect I may have to temper my expectations when I return to Indy, which is not a host city.

But for now, I’m happy.

A great game, a great night, and great fans.

It can only get better with Scotland’s opener tomorrow.

C’mon Scotland!!!