For those of us who grew up with sport being for fans, I found this map, provided by Simon, a proper explanation of the World Cup ticketing situation

Thanks Simon Kuestenmacher

I’m happy for my Scottish friends. Here’s Simon’s tweet that brought me the map of a stadium these days.

As someone who grew up with the European ethos of sport being for the fans (and sport fulfilling a crucial role in providing social cohesion) turning live sports into expensive money making machines is a thorn in my eye.

I am amazed at Scottish and English fans. We have come a long way since the 1970s when English and Scottish fans were at war with each other. That Scotland are at the World Cup is a wonder in itself!

I listened and watched the second half on my phone with my plugs in so as not to wake my partner. When John McGinn nearly got sent off in stoppage time, when Haiti missed a header….. I gasped.

When the final whistle blew, so did I – with relief – what it was like north of the border , let alone on the road to Foxborough , in the ground and in the fan’s park bears some imagining. I was sent to the kitchen at ten minutes past four of morning –  to celebrate.

Others had got there before me, This from Tom English on the BBC – saying it for me!

After 28 years of watching World Cups from football’s wilderness, there was never much danger of the Tartan Army getting antsy about the gridlock on the road to Foxborough.

On the contrary, in the hours leading up to what turned into a surreally stressful evening as Scotland ground their way to a 1-0 win over Haiti, fans revelled in the traffic delays, inch by inch, yard by yard.

Oblivious to the anxiety they were going to experience later on, a convoy of yellow school buses stuttered their way down the I-95 four hours before kick-off and Scots hung out the windows of every one of them, singing their songs, waving their flags, partying at a pace of a mile an hour.

The sense of anticipation and joy was so palpable you could have reached out and touched it. These Scotland supporters are remarkable. Vast waves of them. Clusters on every street corner in Boston. An occupying army.

Seven minutes before 9pm local time, Scotland entered the most extraordinary arena, the Boston Stadium. A riot of colour and noise, a football stadium, yes, but a theatre, too. A place for gladiators.

If you have to miss out on World Cups for nearly 30 years then this was the way to mark your return.

Giant screens behind both goals picking out every human emotion among the fans. Shivers up the spine, heart beating out the chest, Flower of Scotland belted out with gusto, its power almost greater on a foreign field than it is at home.

The scene was an antidote to all that is wrong in world football; the rampant greed, the unrelenting bombast. This was raw, powerful and emotional.