A line of Norwegian football fans sat down on an escalator at Boston's South Station. As the metal steps carried them upward, they leaned forward and back together, pulling invisible oars as if they were crossing the sea.
Train stations are usually built for rushing, waiting and avoiding eye contact. This should have been an awkward interruption.
Instead, commuters stopped to watch. Phones appeared. Then some local people grabbed imaginary oars and joined the crew.
The performance was the "Viking Row," a ritual Norwegian supporters brought to the 2026 World Cup. It looked vaguely ancient, but its appeal came from something very modern: Anyone could learn it in seconds.
When strangers begin moving together
Norwegian supporters were not the only fans turning public spaces into shared stages. In Houston, thousands of Dutch fans dressed in orange and marched through the streets. The procession welcomed almost anyone willing to walk with it.
These rituals look very different. One is playful, one is loud and colourful, and one is an act of care. Yet all three turn identity into something people do rather than something they merely claim.
No official organization invented them. They grew as supporters copied one another, added their own touches and passed the behaviour to newcomers.
More than a century ago, sociologist Émile Durkheim described the burst of shared emotion that can appear when people gather and move their bodies or focus their attention together. Football fans do not need to know the academic term to recognize the feeling. A song begins in one corner of a stadium, spreads through the crowd and briefly turns thousands of strangers into one voice.
Belonging is not a finished product
Schools and companies often try to create belonging through carefully planned events, speeches and team-building exercises. Such efforts can feel forced because the people taking part have little control over them.
Successful fan rituals work differently. Newcomers begin at the edge. They watch, imitate a simple movement and slowly become participants. The ritual remains open to change, so joining it feels like contributing rather than following instructions.
Research on the "IKEA effect" offers a useful comparison. People tend to value an object more when they have helped build it — even when their work is imperfect. Shared traditions may work in a similar way: We care more about a community when we have helped create its habits.
That is why an imaginary rowing boat can fill an ordinary station with excitement. The movement itself is silly. Its meaning comes from being copied.
The Norwegian fans did not hand commuters a complete community. They left an empty seat in the boat.