Scotland fans’ shocking reaction to ‘Donald Trump’ asking if he can join the Tartan Army | Football | Sport

Donald Trump often likes to raise his Scottish heritage. Whether it’s discussing his affection for the British monarchy or his controversial golf course in Aberdeen, the US president likes to say: “Well, you know, my mother’s Scottish.” This bloodline, in normal circumstances, would be enough to qualify as a fully-fledged member of Scotland’s football fanbase, the ‘Tartan Army’, who are a notoriously welcoming bunch.

In fact, I’ve met many supporters following the national team whose connection to the nation is more tenuous than Trump’s. I mean, there have even been players pulling on the navy Scotland jersey with a weaker link. But given that a fair number of Scots dislike the Republican leader and have protested his visits to his motherland, I was curious: were Trump to appear among the Scotland fans, would he be welcomed?

I considered calling the White House to see if we could get the President to adapt his YMCA dance and shake his hips to ‘The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond.’ But given there’s a war going on in Iran alongside a raft of other pretty massive issues, I felt this might be a little bit of a stretch.

So I decided to do the next best thing, transform myself into Trump and ask the Tartan Army straight up: would they ‘hire’ or ‘fire’ him?

At a wonderful Boston costume shop, we found just about the creepiest Trump mask on the market.

It may have had limited visibility and a pouting face that never changed. But the blond mop of hair was unmistakable; Scotland fans would be in little doubt who was asking to join.

I paired it with a vintage 1986 Scotland football jersey. A throwback to a more nostalgic Trump era, where he was better known for drawing explosive ties in the Rumbelows Cup on Saint and Greavsie than launching bombing raids on Middle Eastern nations.

So I pulled on the mask and headed into the crowds around Gillette Stadium to speak to those who’d just watched Scotland beat Haiti 1-0.

In my best Trump drawl, I asked them the question: “Can I join the Tartan Army?”

The response was mainly blank stares.

Even the most flamboyantly dressed Scots who travelled to the US for the World Cup seemed to want to avoid the question.

A few gave me a straight “no” but didn’t elaborate on why. Some of the Haiti fans, on the other hand, actually seemed excited to see me.

“Hey Donald,” a smiling man wearing a red Haiti football jersey said, before giving me a fist bump.

Another was less complimentary, holding up a middle finger right to the mask’s eye. It was difficult to see through the small plastic holes, but even then I was fully understanding—this man wanted Trump to ‘do one.’

Suddenly, a burly Scotsman appeared through the crowd and clasped my hand.

‘Finally,’ I thought, ‘someone who properly answers the question.’

He pulled me towards him and, in a trademark crackling accent, whispered, “Let me tell you something.”

“Yes?” I replied.

But his response was mumbled into unintelligible nothingness. There was something about the Bosnia-Serbia conflict, although I couldn’t be sure.

In retrospect, his reddened cheeks and slurred words should have been a giveaway that this was not the man to give me a definitive answer.

That was followed by someone shouting, “Donald is a jobbie!”—which is a Scottish term for poo—to a few cackling laughs.

Given that many others were also telling me ‘no,’ I began to think that, for all his ancestry, the man in the White House had found a club he wasn’t allowed in.

But then an older couple appeared, delighted to see Trump. After several hugs and a few pictures, they confirmed that the President was very much invited to join the festivities.

Although it made me think, Trump, who is famously teetotal, might have to develop a taste for Irn-Bru rather than Tennent’s, which Boston venues around the stadium had specially sourced for the travelling crowds.

That said, if I thought the couple’s enthusiasm for the US President would mark a sea change among the Scotland fans, I was wrong.

Many refused to be pictured with Trump, and lots continued to deny him entry to the Tartan Army.

The more time passed, the clearer it became that this was a bruising night of rejection. One could only wonder how the man himself might respond to so many negative reactions.

Then, just as we were about to pack up and go home, a glimmer of hope was offered as we neared the end of our asking the question.

Three men, one of them wearing a ‘jimmy hat’ with red hair poking out the side, excitedly said Trump could join the Tartan Army.

Not only that, but one of the men wearing a light red Scotland jersey also had an impression of the US president and started waxing lyrical about Trump’s motherland in his voice.

But the bitter truth of the matter is that these moments only papered over the cracks.

If the real Donald Trump were to join the Scots partying in the USA, I reckon the response he’d get would cause, at the bare minimum, some pretty hefty tariffs on whisky.

It doesn’t bear thinking about what might happen if he, too, were called a ‘jobbie’ (and knew what it meant).