World Cup In Boston An Invigorating, Unifying Time

FOXBOROUGH – The Cape Cod Chronicle’s intrepid sports reporter (me, somehow) got a chance to see one of the World Cup games being held in our fair commonwealth last week.

The opportunity came about via my friend Ben Smith, a captain in the Air National Guard at Joint Base Cape Cod and huge soccer fan. Smith had an extra ticket for Norway-Iraq in Foxborough on June 16. More on our experience a little later.

The 2026 FIFA World Cup in Massachusetts warrants some context — a historiography, a reconstruction of the immediate past, one which largely framed this venture as one big bad idea. Speaking strictly on a very general basis, it didn’t seem like the region was fully aligned nor prepared to once again be a part of soccer’s beloved premier global tournament (Foxborough also hosted World Cup games in 1994).

There was a feud between the town of Foxborough, Gillette Stadium owner Robert Kraft and FIFA over millions and millions of dollars in security costs. There were issues with watch party licenses and reports of poor experiences for the tournament’s local volunteers. 

Perhaps the nadir was four days after the Sixers bounced the Celtics from the playoffs this past May, when the Boston Globe ran a story confirming that, yep, Philadelphia was also doing way better than us at this whole hosting a World Cup thing too.

It took a horde of drunken Scotland fans arriving en masse on the shores of Massachusetts Bay to finally snap New England out of the malaise. The Tartan Army’s kilt-clad rambunctiousness, their revelry — on the streets of Boston, at their nation’s two local matches, even at Fenway Park (amazingly, subjecting the Scottish to the dreadful Red Sox didn’t spark a diplomatic incident) — seemed to make many here realize that the World Cup is actually supposed to be a good time.

The Tartan Army is sadly gone now, off to play Brazil in Miami, but the Scotland-Massachusetts relationship quickly reached bromance-level proportions. Glasgow and Boston have since become sister cities. Gov. Maura Healey jokingly legalized Scotland’s national dish of haggis. The Globe, seemingly down on the inbound international soccer experience just three weeks ago, took out a full-page ad to thank the Scottish fans.

The 48-team tournament of course hasn’t been rosy 100 percent of the time. There have been visa and travel entry-related flare-ups. Various controversies surrounding Iran’s team have arisen. Plenty more problems will probably show as the competition becomes tenser.

On the aggregate though, the experience has been invigorating. The unifying nature of a strong U.S. team playing at home, the passion and support from local populations of Cape Verdeans, Haitians, Brazilians and Portuguese (and more), the cross-cultural exchanges with visiting fans — the result has been the start of an era of good feelings.

This all became so obvious upon arriving at the arena newly christened as “Boston Stadium” (FIFA, in a corporate fit of damnatio memoriae, scrubs non-tournament sponsors at host venues) last week for the Norway-Iraq match. Smith and I had only just hit the sidewalk on the way to the stadium after parking in Foxborough when a fellow pedestrian approached from the rear. His name was Sam, he had just driven up from Hartford and he had no ticket for the game.

He pulled out a beer from a reusable grocery bag as we continued to walk, gradually joining more and more people and cars and flags in the approach to the arena. This was something he had done before, arriving ticketless to a big soccer match with the goal of finding a way inside. As we split near the gates, Smith took his phone number, curious to hear if the quest would end successfully.

Later on closer to the start of the game, Smith received an update by text from Sam. A Norwegian fan had offered his extra ticket for $50. Sam paid him $100. He was in.

Past the first set of gates but before officially entering the stadium, many attendees congregated at an outdoor setup with concessions, music and some other attractions. Here was something of a little world’s fair. Multiple circles of dancing Iraq fans formed. Elsewhere, a huddle of Norwegian fans raised their beverages, released a cheer and drank. We jumped in a line for beers and struck up a quick conversation in passing with a trio of Israelis, one of whom was of partial Iraqi descent. In front of us in the queue stood a group of Australians.

It was at this international plaza of fans that Smith, whose career has previously brought him to the Middle East, began talking with a man who, as he told us, had immigrated from Iraq to the United States more than 30 years ago. He lived in Michigan and, after returning from the Foxborough game, planned to drive to Toronto with his son for another of Iraq’s World Cup matches.

The Iraqi national team, he explained, was made of Sunnis, Shias, Kurds, Arabs and Christians. Aymen Hussein was the name of their star player. Hussein’s father was killed by al-Qaida in 2008. His brother was abducted without a trace by ISIS in 2014. He was interrogated for hours by U.S. Customs upon arriving for the tournament. Despite it all, Hussein played for them, Iraq.

Smith had attended Scotland against Haiti, Boston’s first match, that previous weekend, so he had a point of comparison for the second game. Norway against Iraq, on an early Tuesday evening, indeed appeared to have far more families and kids in attendance than the late Saturday night tilt between the Tartan Army and Les Grenadiers.

Still, a touch of Scotland came through. As we overlooked the pitch from the stadium’s concourse, a portly, mildly smashed Scottish man told Smith and I that were Scotland to defeat Morocco here later that week, Boston would burn (in a good way). Neither happened, but his sentiment resonated regardless.

The key player to the match was Norway’s superstar striker Erling Haaland, who is one of the best footballers in the world. He scored twice. Hussein also scored for Iraq, who played hard and otherwise had a couple exciting goal chances. The Norwegian contingent, a rippling sea of red in the stadium seats, merrily performed their viking row celebration, and Norway won 4-1.

But to be honest, what happened on the pitch felt extraneous in a way. Before the match even started, it was already clear — the match could have never started, and the feeling would’ve remained — that this, the World Cup in our city, our state, our home, was a good idea after all.