Category Archives: Sports

Tropical Fish in Rhode Island?

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A brightly colored tropical fish with a white body, yellow fins, and bold black stripes swims near a textured coral-covered rock inside an aquarium.

🌊 A Warm‑Water Surprise in Little Rhody

Here’s a coastal New England tidbit that still amazes me. Every summer, the Gulf Stream sometimes swings close enough to the Rhode Island shoreline to deliver tropical fish into shallow coves. Yes — tropical fish. In Rhode Island!

Warm eddies peel off the Gulf Stream and drift north, carrying tiny Caribbean and Florida fish larvae with them. When one of these warm rings brushes the coast, those little travelers suddenly find themselves in New England. For a few weeks each summer, places like Jamestown’s protected coves can feel more like Key Largo than Narragansett Bay.

🌅 Beavertail: The Coastline I Did Know

I’ve spent time at Beavertail State Park, with its dramatic cliffs, pounding surf, and that steadfast lighthouse watching over the rocks. It’s one of the most striking pieces of coastline in Rhode Island — beautiful, rugged, and loud with the sound of water hitting stone.

But Beavertail is also a reminder of why I never made that tropical‑fish dive. The shoreline there is rough, exposed, and prone to rip currents. Even as a diver, I remember looking at those rocks and thinking, Where would you even get in safely? It’s a place built for sightseeing and storm watching, not for slipping quietly beneath the surface.

That contrast — the wildness of Beavertail versus the calm, sheltered coves just a few miles away — underscores how close I came to experiencing something extraordinary.

🤿 The Dive I Never Quite Made

Back in the 1970s, when I was scuba diving, the stories sounded almost unbelievable: a shallow, easy‑entry spot in Jamestown where warm water pooled and bright tropical fish appeared out of nowhere. Some divers even collected them for home aquariums, since the fish wouldn’t survive once fall temperatures dropped.

These tiny tropical visitors even have a nickname: Gulf Stream orphans. It’s a sweet, slightly melancholy name for fish that drift hundreds of miles off course and end up in Rhode Island for a short summer stay.

I planned that dive more than once. I wanted to see it for myself — to slip into warm water in New England and find a flash of Caribbean color swimming past. But work, schedules, and life kept interfering. It became one of those small regrets that stays with you: knowing there was a pocket of warm, tropical magic hiding in Rhode Island, and I never quite made it there.

 

🌡️ A Rare Event That’s Becoming More Common

And here’s the part that feels almost bittersweet: it’s more common now than it was back then. As the ocean has warmed, tropical and subtropical fish are appearing farther north, more frequently, and in greater numbers. What was once a rare Gulf Stream surprise has become a regular summer occurrence.

The ocean I dove in during the 1970s is not the same ocean we swim in today.

 

🌴 A Brief Visit From the Tropics

For a short moment each year, the Gulf Stream reaches out and brushes New England, leaving behind a handful of tropical fish as proof — a reminder of how dynamic, surprising, and ever‑changing our coastline really is. And every time I see the Beavertail lighthouse, I think of the dive I never took, and the warm‑water visitors I never met.

Beavertail Lighthouse on a calm day

 

 

When the World Comes to Your Backyard

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Flags of Japan, Australia, Scotland, Norway, Mexico, Canada, and the United States displayed side by side representing the international visitors at the World Cup.

Not Exactly a World Traveler

I’ve never been much of an international traveler. Not because I didn’t want to see the world, but because I always felt I should explore my own country first. So unless you count a white‑water rafting trip to Canada or that brief cruise to Cozumel and the ruins at Tulum, I’ve mostly stuck to that guideline. I’m certainly not a world traveler — even if my blog is.

Which is why the international energy of the World Cup landing right here in New England has been such an eye‑opener. I didn’t have to pack a suitcase or renew a passport. The world simply arrived on my doorstep, and suddenly I’m noticing cultural differences I might have completely missed if I were the one traveling abroad.

When you’re the visitor, you’re too busy adapting to take stock of what’s different. But here at home, with my familiar routines and my usual landmarks, the contrasts stand out in the best possible way.

The Japanese: Respect in Action

Take the Japanese fans. After their match, they quietly stayed behind to clean the bleachers — not their section, all the bleachers. No fuss, no announcement, just respect and responsibility in action.

And then there was the story of the Japanese visitors who tried to pay for the free chips and salsa at a Mexican restaurant. Cultural humility meeting American hospitality — and everyone smiling about it.

The Aussies: Joy at Full Volume

Then came the Aussies, chanting “Oi! Oi! Oi!” with the kind of joy that could power a small city. You could hear them before you saw them, and honestly, it was impossible not to grin.

The Scots: Music, Merriment, and… No Beer Left

The Scots have turned Boston into one big musical block party. Bagpipes on the T. Singing in the streets. And according to local bars, they’re drinking us under the table. Not metaphorically — literally running out of beer. It’s impressive in its own way.

The Norwegians: Vikings at Heart

And then there were the Norwegians, fully committed to the Viking theme. Instead of doing the wave, they sat down and did a full “row,” like they were powering a longship straight through the stadium.

I thought that was peak creativity until I saw a group of them sitting on an escalator doing the same rowing motion as they glided upward. I will never look at an escalator the same way again.

What’s Even More Remarkable

With all this energy — the singing, the chanting, the costumes, the beer, the bagpipes, the Viking rows — what’s struck me most is what hasn’t happened.

None of the riots or chaos that sometimes follow big sports wins here in the U.S. or in other stadiums around the world. For the most part, the world has come together here in fun and enjoyment. It’s been loud, joyful, and a little chaotic at times, but never destructive. Just people celebrating their teams, their cultures, and each other.

A Lesson for All of Us

All these little moments — the kindness, the enthusiasm, the humor, the pride — shine brighter because they’re happening right here in my everyday world. I didn’t have to travel internationally to see the beauty of other cultures. They brought it with them.

And honestly?
We Americans could learn something from all this.

Bring our enthusiasm and joy when we visit other countries.
But also clean up our messes.
Be respectful.
Smile more.

It’s the universal language.

Traffic Cones? What’s that About?

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A tight cluster of bright orange traffic cones surrounding a fresh sinkhole in a Boston street, with a red car parked nearby.

What’s With All the Cones?

Well, it’s official. Boston has been invaded. Instead of New England, we have become New Scotland. The Tartan Army has managed to bring Boston to its knees without a single shot fired. Nope — they did it with kilts, bagpipes, and a contagious party spirit. They came, they saw, they partied, and Boston loved every minute of it.

But what is it with the traffic cones?

Around here, we have plenty of cones. They sit in potholes, they mark construction, they gather in mysterious clusters on sidewalks. But suddenly they’re adorning every statue and monument in Boston. Even Mrs. Mallard and her brood are not immune.

These Scots are like heat‑seeking missiles. They search out and find even the most obscure statues, and let’s face it — Boston has many. From George Washington in the Public Garden to Robert Burns standing proudly in the Fens, they’ve all been “coned.”

But what does it mean? It must mean something, right?

The Real Story Behind the Cones

The whole tradition actually goes back to Glasgow in the 1980s, when locals started sneaking a traffic cone onto the head of the Duke of Wellington statue outside the Gallery of Modern Art. Every time the city took it down, someone would climb right back up in the middle of the night and put it on again.

What began as a bit of late‑night mischief turned into a full‑blown tug‑of‑war between the people and the authorities — a tiny, harmless act of rebellion that basically said, “We see your authority, and we raise you one bright orange cone.”

By the 1990s, the cone wasn’t just a prank anymore; it was a symbol of Glasgow’s humor — irreverent, stubborn, and proudly chaotic. When officials tried to raise the statue’s plinth to stop people from climbing it, Glaswegians protested so loudly the plan was scrapped. The cone stayed. It always stays.

And from there the tradition spread across Scotland — Edinburgh, Dundee, Aberdeen — until coning a statue became as Scottish as whisky, bagpipes, and arguing about football — soccer to you, mate.

So welcome to Boston, Tartan Army.

We’ll join your party, drink the beer — it’s our beer after all — dance to your bagpipes, and happily share your cone obsession with our statues.

 

Update

Scotland was defeated in their match with Morocco — a hard‑fought loss. They’ll now move on to face Brazil in Miami on Wednesday, June 24. Sadly, that means it’s time to bid farewell to our lively, outgoing visitors.

And if the cones weren’t enough, the Tartan Army left us with something even better: gratitude. One visitor posted a heartfelt thank‑you to Boston and all of New England, saying how welcomed they felt here. It turns out they didn’t just bring fun and joy — they brought a touch of class.

Bagpipes, Kilts, and a World Cup Win: The Tartan Army Arrives

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Boston, the World Cup, and a Surprise Scottish InvasionPlayers from Scotland and Haiti battle for possession in midair during their World Cup match.

A few days ago, I posted an essay on Boston sports and our wonderfully chaotic mix of teams and traditions in Wicked Good Reasons to Love Living in Boston.
>I somehow managed to leave out two things: our Scottish heritage and Boston’s long, stubborn relationship with soccer — or as the rest of the world calls it, football.

Ask any soccer fan and they’ll tell you American football is the upstart, the imitation, the knockoff.
The real thing — and yes, that’s Coca‑Cola’s line — belongs to the rest of the world.

Well, the “real thing” arrived in Boston (okay, Foxborough) on Saturday, June 13, when Scotland beat Haiti 1–0 at Gillette Stadium in their first World Cup match on U.S. soil.

Soccer in Boston: Older Than You Think

Soccer didn’t just show up for the World Cup.
>It’s been here since the 1800s, brought over by Scottish immigrants who played in mill towns, factory yards, and open fields long before anyone thought to build a stadium.

Fast‑forward to 1996:
Robert Kraft — already owner of the Patriots — became the founding investor of the New England Revolution, one of MLS’s ten original clubs. The Revs had a rocky start (including the dubious honor of being the first MLS team to lose to an amateur club), but New England fans stuck with them. Even in the lean years, crowds of 15,000+ proved that soccer wasn’t going anywhere.

June 13: The Cheers Heard ’Round the World

So when the World Cup finally landed at Gillette, Boston showed up — but the Scots showed up louder.

The Tartan Army, Scotland’s legendary fanbase, marched in wearing kilts, waving flags, and playing bagpipes like they were soundtracking their own parade. Young, old, men, women — all proudly tartaned up for the match and for Scottish Heritage Night.

Their cheers didn’t just echo around Foxborough.
>They felt like they traveled the globe — a modern twist on “the shot heard ’round the world,” but this time it was the cheers.

Welcome Back, Soccer

Boston already has Red Sox Nation and Patriots Nation, but on this weekend, the city gained something new:
a joyful, plaid‑covered, bagpipe‑powered visiting nation — the Tartan Army.

And honestly?
They fit right in.

Scottish Update

Boston has officially been adopted by Scotland. Bagpipes on the T, the wave at Fenway, Sweet Caroline sung like it’s a national anthem — and everywhere you look, pure joy. I’m soaking up every second of it.

 

Golden Tempo Wins Belmont!

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Welcome to Saratoga, NY — known for health, history, and horses. And today’s Belmont Stakes did not disappoint!

Golden Tempo. He did it again — from last place to first in the Belmont Stakes.

For three‑quarters of the race he just loped along at the back, unbothered, unhurried, almost lallygagging. Then he hit the far turn, straightened into the homestretch, and unleashed it. That breathtaking surge — that rocket‑launch from last to first — is why this horse has a grip on my heart.

Golden Tempo surges across the Belmont finish line ahead of his rivals on a dirt track.

 

He didn’t just pass rivals. He blew by them.

Congrats to Golden Tempo and his team.

From underdog to GOAT. You just gotta love this horse.