I feared the World Cup in Boston would let me down. It wasn’t at all what I expected.
Coming into the World Cup games in Foxborough, I didn’t really know what to expect.
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The weeks leading up to the tournament were strange in Boston. You could be forgiven for forgetting the world’s biggest sporting event was coming.
When the games began, I thought we’d see the obvious: A little World Cup fever, some transportation problems, a little scandal. Maybe we’d get a few decent matches and locals would latch onto soccer for a few weeks before leaving it behind for another four years.
There were so many things I didn’t anticipate.
I didn’t expect the Scots to be the most popular arrivals since the Beatles played here in the 1960s. I certainly didn’t expect to learn every word of the Scottish national anthem by the end of June. (O Flower of Scotland, when will we see your like again …)
I expected to see a few Scottish fans downtown, but I didn’t think I’d see them everywhere from Medford to Mission Hill.
I didn’t expect all the stars to deliver, both in Foxborough and elsewhere. In a one-off soccer game, it’s not uncommon for the big names to have a quiet day, but not this year.
French superstar Kylian Mbappé scored a stunner in Thursday’s quarterfinal, Norway’s Erling Haaland scored two in his World Cup debut, and reigning Ballon d’Or winner Ousmane Dembélé treated the Foxborough crowd to a hat trick. When the stars stepped on the pitch at Gillette Stadium, they shined.
I also didn’t expect Haaland and the rest of the Norwegian starters to sit in the marquee group-stage game against France on June 26, but at least he scored a couple against Iraq first.
I didn’t expect the games to be quite so well-attended, with every game but the last being announced as a full house.
I didn’t expect the trains to and from Foxborough to run as smoothly as they did — after the first game, at least.
Above all else, I didn’t expect just how fantastic the fans would be, and how remarkably they would show up for their nations.
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It started with the Scottish takeover, before the Norwegians started rowing their way through Boston on their journey to the quarterfinals.
The Haitians, local and otherwise, were swelling with pride in their opener, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget how they managed to match the Scots for noise.
The biggest roar of the entire tournament in Foxborough may have come from the Iraqis, who might’ve registered on the Richter scale when Aymen Hussein’s equalizer against Norway hit the back of the net.
I didn’t expect England and Ghana to produce one of the worst games of the entire tournament, but I had to laugh when the English managed to bring a quintessentially English day of miserable, drizzly weather to five weeks otherwise bathed in sunshine.
The Moroccans and French both returned after their group games to stage a quarterfinal, and both fanbases were remarkable in respective waves of red and blue. Even in the late stages of a 2-0 loss, the Moroccan fans were still partying, and even as their expectations remain sky-high, the French fans were having a blast along the way.
Then there were the Paraguayans, who pulled off the most unexpected victory of this World Cup. I’ll never forget what it meant to sobbing fans in the crowd, or to star Julio Enciso as he fought back tears. (I’ll also probably never get this one tuneout of my head, which the Paraguayan section sung ceaselessly accompanied by bass drums with cymbals mounted atop.)
In truth, I expected this World Cup to let me down a little bit.
Between all the pre-tournament political mess, worries about Boston’s transportation infrastructure, and FIFA’s usual corrupt nonsense and greed — I hated the hydration breaks every bit as much as I thought I would — I had some degree of apathy coming in.
I didn’t expect the fans to wipe that away in a hurry.
People came from all over the world to remind us what this whole thing is about. Fans from opposing nations partied together in the concourses, swapped shirts and traded headwear, and sang their nation’s anthems in full voice.
For 27 days, Boston and Foxborough were joyful places to be. That was thanks to the people, from as nearby as Cambridge or as far away as the Middle East.
I expected to be inspired and awed by Mbappé and Haaland. Instead, those stars played second fiddle to those who paid to be there.
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