It was a humid Sunday evening at Fenway Park in Boston, and the Red Sox were trailing by three heading into the seventh inning.
“A few weeks ago, fans came to watch with bags over their heads, they were that disillusioned,” one supporter explained from the seat behind.
Then, cutting through the east coast accents and the chatter of the old main stand, a familiar song suddenly cranked through the speakers above.
“Mister, your eyes are full of hesitation…” — and with that, Fenway Park became something it had never been before.
The ground opened the week the Titanic sank, but more than 10,000 Scots singing Yes Sir, I Can Boogie while dancing on a jumbotron screen was surely a first for the iconic old lady just off Jersey Street.
The last few days have been like no other in Boston, with a Scotland invasion sweeping across the city for the World Cup, a pilgrimage so many Scots never thought they would get to make.
The Tartan Army arrived in good spirits following Scotland’s World Cup win against Haiti, descending on Fenway for a special Scottish Celebration night as the Red Sox took on the Texas Rangers.
The evening was the brainchild of Travis Pollio, director of ticket strategy and promotions at the Sox, who predicted around 4,000 Scots would attend, standing at the corner of Jersey Street and Van Ness Street.
That turned out to be a very modest estimate, with the Tartan Army contingent among the 32,000 crowd feeling closer to treble that figure throughout the night.
Scotland fans were gifted special edition blue tartan Red Sox jerseys, and there were probably more of those filtering into the ground than red and white ones.
Tessie and Wally, the franchise’s green monster mascots, appeared in Highland dress near first base as the formalities began, with a respectful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner followed by an acapella blast of Flower of Scotland from the Tartan Army.
As the Sox toiled in the early innings, one Scotland fan patiently educated a local about John McGinn’s Meatball moniker and exactly why thousands of people were singing about him.
On the occasions where the home side hit a home run, the Scots celebrated with a fervour normally reserved for a Scott McTominay bicycle kick, bringing the house down each time.
The organist propped up a “No Scotland, No Party” sign at his window before his fingers danced merrily to the tune of Loch Lomond, and Scotland fans went berserk when a young couple got engaged live on the big screen.
One especially sweet swing of the bat sent the ball soaring through the Boston sky, only to be plucked from the air by a young child wearing a Scotland kit, producing a moment to cherish and a ball to place on the mantelpiece forever.
Despite a spirited rally, the Red Sox lost 6-4, though that felt secondary to much of the crowd inside the ground.
“Class night, but what was the score? We thought it was 1-0,” read a message from one Scotland fan after the final out.
The Bostonians who drifted into the darkness were naturally disappointed, but their defeat was surely cushioned by the extraordinary presence of thousands of singing and dancing Scots who made Fenway their own.
Sport can bring people together in ways that transcend results, and on one summer’s night in Massachusetts, it did exactly that in the most magical fashion imaginable.
