A nine-year-old Norwegian boy, woken up at midnight to watch his national team, summed up the whole thing best: "It might be 28 years until the next time. Of course we need to watch the games."
That's the weight Norway fans are carrying into this World Cup — and somehow they've turned it into something joyful. The Viking Row, a synchronized rowing chant performed by supporters dressed in horned helmets, has become the defining fan moment of the 2026 tournament so far. It started on an escalator in Boston's South Station, went viral within hours, and has since swept Times Square, packed stadiums, and even reached the floor of Norway's parliament.
How a viral escalator moment became a national ritual
GBH reporter Jeremy Siegel caught the original footage — hundreds of Norwegian fans rocking back and forth on an ascending escalator, pulling imaginary oars, bellowing "Row! Row! Row!" in unison. It spread fast. Very fast.
Within days, Norway's parliamentary speaker Masud Gharahkhani was calling members of parliament to attention with his gavel — then leading them all in the rowing chant. "After 28 years, we are finally in the World Cup and the team is really delivering," he said. "We are a country of just 5.6 million people. This is a huge thing for the nation." Parliamentary leader Tonje Brenna described it as "a homage to the Norwegian national team, to their effort."
A chant borrowed from Vikings heading into battle had become a symbol of peace and collective pride. Strange alchemy. It works.
Norway's squad is backing the noise up on the pitch
The fans aren't celebrating nothing. Norway opened with a 4-1 win over Iraq in Boston, then beat Senegal — at which point the players themselves performed the Viking Row on the pitch after the final whistle, drum included. They're already through to the knockout stage.
Erling Haaland and Martin Odegaard lead the side. The combination of a generational striker and a technically elite playmaker is exactly the kind of pairing that can cause problems deep into a tournament. Norway's odds of making a genuine run aren't frivolous — the squad has the quality to match the momentum.
Back home, families are waking their kids at midnight to watch. Norwegian bars in the US ran dry. Bostonians, reportedly, were charmed. Times Square got briefly overtaken by imaginary oarsmen.
"Norway is gripped by the tournament. We're dreaming of the World Cup," said supporter Veslemøy Aga. Her sons — aged 9, 6 and 3 — rowed and danced when Norway scored. At midnight.
Twenty-eight years off the world stage. They're making the most of it.
