It starts slowly — one pair of hands, then ten, then a thousand — and by the time the roar arrives you are no longer watching a football crowd. You are, at least in spirit, aboard a longship going somewhere it has no business going. That is more or less what happened to Norway this summer.
Norway's return to the FIFA World Cup after a wait measured in decades has produced exactly one piece of viral infrastructure: a Viking rowing chant that began on Icelandic terraces during Euro 2016 and has since migrated north, mutated slightly, and is now turning up in locations its architects could not have anticipated. Boston commuters on the MBTA Green Line have been filmed doing it. A cluster of fans in Times Square — outnumbered by confused tourists — did a full rendition on camera sometime last week. The clip, depending on which platform you caught it, has between two and four million views.
The sequence is not complicated. A slow rhythmic clap descends in tempo, the crowd mimics the pull of oars, and then a single held note breaks into a collective shout. Stripped of context it looks mildly alarming. In context — which is to say, with 60,000 people inside an Oslo stadium doing it in unison — it is the kind of thing that makes neutral observers check the atmosphere score before the football one.
The moment that appears to have tipped the chant from supporter culture into general circulation came when footage emerged from inside the Storting, Norway's parliament, where a group gathered to mark the team's campaign and performed the full sequence in the building's central hall. The acoustics helped. The clip circulated internationally within hours.
Norway's squad, for their part, now carry the chant as ambient pressure and ambient fuel in roughly equal measure. Their next fixture will tell which one wins out.