JUNE 22, 2026 -(Cont.) At 10:00 on Saturday morning, the expeditionary force hiked the three-quarters of a mile to the T for the ride to Chinatown, where we alighted for the short walk to the Boston Common and the start of the famous Freedom Trail. But first we ambled around Boston’s glorious park that comprises the Common (a cow pasture in Colonial times) and the adjacent Public Garden.
In the Common we experienced our first direct encounter with the “Scottish Invasion”: fotbol fans of all ages, wearing attire of kind, color, wording, and emblems unmistakably Scottish. Think kilts, Glengarry Bonnets and the dual flags of Scotland, St. Andrew’s Cross[1] and the Lion Rampart[2]. The burly, heavy-bearded men wearing kilts were no shrinking violets. After all, their national “flower” is the thistle. Throw in a corps of bagpipers and you have all the reasons you’d need to clear out of their way.
Perhaps because of their history of oppression at the knee and fist of the English, the Scottish people have developed an admirable tradition of “jiggery-pokery.” One stock prank among Scottish football fans, anyway, is the business of rounding up construction cones from an entire metropolitan area—in this case, Boston and environs—and placing them securely at rakish angles on every venerated head of bronze or stone. Thus, statues of Boston’s Revolutionary heroes, from Ben Franklin (born in Boston; later ran away to Philly) to Sam Adams to Paul Revere were wearing headgear in the form of a bright orange construction cone. Even the bronze likeness of Roger “All About Business” Babson—founder of Babson College, Byron’s alma mater—next to Wellesley, was seen sporting an impressive cone-hat.
Not only statues of humans were stricken by the Scottish invasion. At the south end of the Frog Pond, both “Tommy,” the big bronze fishing frog, and “Angelica,” his companion striking the pose of Rodin’s The Thinker, were adorned with “Scottish orange” cone caps. Over in the Garden, however, each of the bronze “McCloskey ducklings” (rendered famous by Robert McCloskey’s classic, Make Way for Ducklings) was cloaked with a St. Andrew’s Cross. If their heads had been bigger, surely they would have been “coneheads” too.
As we strolled along a pathway past a row of benches occupied by the Scottish invaders, I couldn’t resist the chance to spoof the spoofers. Assuming a stern countenance (complete with a curmudgeon’s raised eyebrow) and pointing an accusatory index finger (slightly bent to emphasize the authority of old age) I approached several 20-something fans and with a feigned growl, enhanced by my cold virus, I said, “Are you sluggards responsible for all the orange coneheads on America’s best and brightest?”
“Ma-a-a-a-by,” said one of the fans, smiling widely, as his pals laughed.
“Well, then,” I said, “I salute your sense of humor! Keep up the good work!” That sealed the deal in the name of international friendship; of grass roots diplomacy grounded in a solid sense of humor.
After sighting dozens of orange construction caps, I wondered, How many construction sites had the invaders raided and by what organizational network had they collected, transported, and placed so many hats?! Surely the prank created major headaches for construction site managers, but in this world of woes, credit for the Scottish “jiggery-pokery” must be assigned where credit is due. Yet, that credit must be extended in equal share to the Boston authorities who saw fit to laugh with us all. The rest of the world could learn from this amusing display of unconventional international good will. (Cont.)
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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
