Hay's Way: There's a chance I'll become a hermit after following the Tartan Army to Miami - by bus

Every Scotland fan I spoke to, a small army in itself, said they were flying between the two cities to make Wednesday’s Brazil game.

I am, however, on a Greyhound bus which takes 36 hours and sees four changes to get between the two cities.

When I told Boston resident Tim Chango about my plans over a pint in a city centre pub, he said: “The last person who did that became a hermit.”

It turns out he wasn’t entirely joking.

Christopher Thomas Knight, a Massachusetts man, drove from his home state to Florida and back again before becoming a hermit for 27 years.

While I’m not making the return journey, sitting in a bus seat surrounded by strangers for two days, after ten days on little sleep in a Boston hostel covering the Tartan Army, might put me in a similar frame of mind.

Perhaps that’s no bad thing. With Scotland’s track record of qualifying for the World Cup, it’ll probably be another 27 years before I’m needed again to follow the Tartan Army. (I jest. We have Super John McGinn.)

In another three decades’ time, I probably won’t be in a fit state to be hoisted onto the shoulders of Tartan Army soldiers belting out their famous repertoire of football chants—as happened this week. A couple of them got wind that it was my birthday and, despite my best intentions of “just going for one” while on the job for Scotland’s World Cup campaign, things did not quite go to plan.

Covering the 30,000 or so Scotland fans who made it across the pond has been a unique and unforgettable experience. While I’ve paused my ongoing two-year walk round Scotland, usually covering wildlife and livestock as rural affairs correspondent, I have needed equal stamina documenting the wild scenes of these fiercely loyal party animals.

But that stamina pales in comparison to one fan I met on my last night in Boston: Moira Brown.

Ninety-four this year, the veteran Tartan Army ma’am suggested I meet her in town at about 11pm after Friday evenings fixtures. We chatted into the night — a Brooklyn lager for me, two rum and cokes for her — before walking to the bus station for her 1am journey to New York to then catch a morning flight to Miami. The globetrotting superfan is said to be the oldest supporter in the Tartan Army. There will be more to come from our conversation about life and football.

Before hopping on the bus, I was stopped in a café by a young man who said he did not want Scotland fans to leave.

I’m sure some dotted around the city will be relieved for the World Cup madness to calm down, but it feels as though there’ll be a bit of a depression once the kilted fans are aff.

The streets may have lost the sound of pipes and football chants for now, but plenty of traffic cone-wearing statues still stand proud.

One of the most memorable moments this week was witnessing Edinburgh lad Jake Burnside, 20, scale a 38ft equestrian statue of George Washington with a traffic cone, high winds blowing his kilt up in a Marilyn Monroe moment and revealing whether he was a true Scotsman or not.

The longstanding prank, ingrained in Glasgow’s identity and even inspiring Banksy, has won over Bostonians — so much so that I found two local women enamoured with the Tartan Army invasion wandering the streets dressed as traffic cones.

But for now it’s goodbye Boston and hello Miami.