When Norway’s national soccer team posed as Vikings before the 2026 World Cup, the images were celebrated by many supporters but criticized by others as invoking troubling associations. Richard Utz looks beyond the controversy to examine how Viking imagery is used today and whether such symbols should automatically be linked to violence or extremism.
By Richard Utz
In 793, the influential scholar and clergyman Alcuin of York started what would become one of the most effective medieval propaganda campaigns ever waged. In multiple “Dear Colleague” letters, he lambasted a group of marauding seafarers, who were getting into the habit of raiding coastal settlements and threatening the (allegedly peaceful) spread of Christianity in Northern Europe and beyond. Alcuin’s dramatic description of the sacking of the monastery on the “Holy Island” of Lindisfarne (“the pagans have desecrated God’s sanctuary, shed the blood of saints around the altar, laid waste the house of our hope and trampled the bodies of the saints like dung in the street”) turned the event into the most widely known example of Viking attacks, in part also because church authorities were able to use the event to bolster Christianization. After all, in a miraculous turn of events, some of the monks at Lindisfarne not only survived the raid but also managed to save the relics of St. Cuthbert and several precious religious books, among them the Lindisfarne Gospels.
After Lindisfarne, the medieval Christian propaganda machine began to create a narrative within which violence became the primary character trait of an enemy variously described as pagani (pagans), piratae (pirates), Nordmanni/Normanni (Northmen), Dani (Danes), or “Wolves among Sheep” (Robert of Gloucester). The Old Norse terms víkingr (for a person) and víking (for the journey) described the “profession” and the “practice” of raiding and voyaging for plunder. The terms fell out of use in early modernity but were revived by romantic enthusiasts and nineteenth-century scholars, narrowing them down into versions that supported the national histories of the modern Scandinavian nations of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden.
The Making of the Violent Viking
Scene from the 2022 film The Northman
While since the Enlightenment scholarship began to see the Vikings in a more nuanced light, the persistence of medieval Christian narratives survived into the present, turning “Viking” and “Violence” into something like a semantic minimal pair, and allowing the expression “to go berserk” to enter the English language as a synonym for acting with a frenzied and violent fury. The list of popular movies from Vikings! (1956) through The Northman (2022) associating medieval Norse culture with primal fury and berserker-style bloodlust is extensive. A quick look at video games from Viking: Battle for Asgard (2008) through Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla (2020) round out the picture.
A Viking Send-Off for the World Cup
Enter the June 5, 2026, PR stunt performed by the Norwegian soccer team. Right before getting on the transatlantic flight that would take them to their World Cup base camp in Greensboro, NC, they produced a series of photographs that show them sporting Viking garb and wielding various Viking-era weapons against a classic backdrop of longboats and a fjord. Judging from the overall social media reception, most soccer fans loved the idea and hailed the staging as one of the most creative presentations of a soccer team in recent history.
However, as with most iterations of contemporary medievalism, there was also a backlash which linked the publicity stunt with darker motives, calling it not only “toxically boyish” and “hyper-masculine,” but also “chauvinistic and exclusionary.” One scholar, without offering evidence, quickly accused the PR campaign as “reminiscent of what neo-Nazis were concerned about ten years ago.” This claim will remind U.S. observers of the (albeit proven) abuse of runic symbols during the violent white supremacist “Unite the Right” demonstrations in Charlottesville, VA, in 2017.
Do the Norwegian soccer team’s medievalist photographs deserve such characterizations and comparisons? The choice of the Viking theme should not surprise anybody, of course, because the Scandinavian nations have used various forms of Viking heritage to attract tourists, often light-heartedly, tongue-in-cheek, and certainly without any neo-Nazi tendrils. The most famous player on the Norwegian soccer team is Erling Haaland, a superstar who plays for Manchester City in the English Premier League. Medieval Vikings were in fact somewhat taller than their central and Southern European counterparts because of their more protein-rich diet, and Haaland truly looks as if he continues that tradition: He stands at 6′ 4″ (1.94 m), weighs around 94 kg (207 lbs.), flaunts long blond hair, and combines physical strength and muscularity with an explosive sprinting ability. In 2023, photographer David Yarrow was so impressed by his physique that he chose to take a now famous picture of him as a Viking warrior. Haaland agreed to the project, provided the photograph would be used to raise money for worthy causes in Norway (it has raised more than 1 million for charities).
Yarrow, whose connection with Haaland would later lead to the 2026 shoot, is something like royalty among soccer photographers: He also took the iconic World Cup photograph of Argentinian superstar Diego Maradona lifting the trophy at the Estadio Azteca in Mexico 1986. As is often the case with reenactments of medieval culture, Yarrow insisted on various forms of authenticity, for example the wooden jetty leading to one of the longboats. He also made sure to have video footage as evidence against claims he had used AI to create the Viking shot.
I think it is unsurprising for the Norwegian Football Association (NFF) to conclude that its fanbase would appreciate a war-like theme to celebrate Norway’s men’s team’s first appearance in the soccer World Cup in 28 years. If we may trust psychologists and anthropologists, territorial sports like soccer allow actual human aggressive behavior to express itself in a ritualized and sanctioned manner. Such sports often include various forms of non-verbal intimidation in addition to acceptable, non-malicious physical contact on the field. However, the Viking photograph, which invokes popular associations with historical violence, does not even happen on the field, unlike the Māori haka, which the International Rugby Association allows New Zealand teams to perform on field before international rugby matches.
Thus, and in the absence of any problematic accompanying statements by the soccer players or their trainers and staff, the photo is clearly a benign form of medievalism, and even more so when considering that Norwegian soccer fans have an excellent international reputation as passionate, but peaceful guests when traveling in other countries. In addition, Norwegian supporters have a long tradition of showing up in self-mocking Viking-themed gear, including the iconic horned helmets (invented in the nineteenth century), braided beards, traditional tunics, and faux axes. The NFF had already responded to this medievalist tendency by introducing a new team kit, designed by Nike and inspired by traditional Norse runes (Elder Futhark). This decision, too, was welcomed by the public and opposed by a small number of academic critics.
Viking Heritage Beyond the Stereotypes
Are there any other examples of Norwegian reenactment that are similarly non-violent and non-ideological? In 2018, media outlets reported on the neo-pagan Viking wedding ceremony of a Norwegian couple, Elisabeth and Rune Dalseth. The ceremony, inspired by tenth-century weddings and held on the shore of a Norwegian lake, included two handmade longboats, full Viking garb for all participants, a gothi (priest), a hog-roast banquet, ‘throat singing’, and blood offerings. Following the ceremony, the couple, who are part of a 6,000-member-strong movement of Norwegian Viking revivalists, celebrated through the night with their 130 guests, all in costume, consuming honey-beer and enjoying Norse songs and dance.
The couple’s choice of a Viking ceremony becomes more understandable when one realizes the location in which it was held. The area around Sunnmøre, Norway, offers some of the prime archaeological sites for the study of coastal Viking life, most importantly a folk museum with an immersive Viking experience, featuring a reconstructed Viking trading community (Borgundkaupangen), one of Norway’s largest collections of 50 Viking ship replicas (including the 16-meter Borgundknarren), and a major annual festival with numerous reenactments of Viking cultural life. The museum aims for authenticity, including year-round activities like rowing, sailing, and fishing, all within a 120-hectare outdoor, open-air setting near a fjord.
When asked about their motivations for the neo-pagan wedding ceremony, the couple mentioned two elements: First, although both were educated in Christian households, they felt the pre-Christian spirituality was more respectful of nature. Second, they, and with them the revivalist group to which they belong, want to change the reputation of Vikings as “horned helmet-wearing seafarers known only for violence, rape and pillage.” As groom Rune, who runs a carpentry company, stated: “Vikings were no more terrible than any other group of people living at that time.” That statement is confirmed by historical scholarship, which shows for example that of the 113 attacks on Irish monasteries between 795 and 820, only 26 were carried out by Vikings. The rest were carried out by Irish kings or were even the work of monks from rival communities: “We should not expect anything different for Anglo-Saxon England. Destruction of cultural treasures – including Christian ones – w[as] not just the preserve of pagan Vikings. And the seizing of slaves was not restricted to Scandinavian raiders.”
When consulting a number of the archaeological, tourist, and revivalist sites, I found further evidence that, just like the Norwegian couple, many Viking revivalist groups, particularly those focused on historical reenactment, were intentionally inclusive and did not harbor notions of Viking history as an exclusive ethnic religion for people of Germanic descent. Their practices, which focus on trade, exploration, and travel, reenact what genetic research has recently demonstrated, namely that being a “Viking” was more of an occupation, job description, and intentionally chosen way of life than an ethnicity. Thus, we should avoid drawing simplistic correlations or even causations between the Viking reenactment activities (including the Norwegian soccer team’s Viking photo shoot) and, let’s say, the Norwegian white supremacist, Anders Behring Breivik, who attempted to justify his killing of 77 people in 2011 by reference to the Knights Templar and the Vikings. The historical symbols and imagery associated with Viking culture long predate their appropriation by modern extremist movements, and their use in contemporary contexts cannot automatically be assumed to carry ideological meaning.
Ironically, the Norwegian soccer team, just like the medieval Vikings, represents a cross-section of genetic backgrounds, united by a common profession. DNA studies of Viking burial sites in Norway revealed several individuals with the distinct genetic markers of the indigenous Sámi people; and the Norwegian soccer teams over the years have included players identifying as Sámi. Furthermore, just like the current Norwegian selection on the controversial June 2026 photograph (which includes players with Afro-European and African origins), medieval Viking populations were characterized by substantial transregional influences, including ancestors with genetic origins not only from Northern Europe, but also from Southern Europe and Asia.
It sure looks like the Norwegian Football Federation has put together a selection that shares more similarities with what we today know about medieval Vikings than a reductive first glance at their reenactment photo might reveal. Beyond this, I wager that the citizens of Greensboro, NC, will not suffer the fate of Lindisfarne Abbey. Nor that of Charlottesville, VA.
Richard Utz is Professor of Medievalism Studies in the School of Literature, Media, and Communication at Georgia Tech.
Top Image: Photo by David Yarrow, courtesy Herrelandslaget / Norwegian Football Association
When Norway’s national soccer team posed as Vikings before the 2026 World Cup, the images were celebrated by many supporters but criticized by others as invoking troubling associations. Richard Utz looks beyond the controversy to examine how Viking imagery is used today and whether such symbols should automatically be linked to violence or extremism.
By Richard Utz
In 793, the influential scholar and clergyman Alcuin of York started what would become one of the most effective medieval propaganda campaigns ever waged. In multiple “Dear Colleague” letters, he lambasted a group of marauding seafarers, who were getting into the habit of raiding coastal settlements and threatening the (allegedly peaceful) spread of Christianity in Northern Europe and beyond. Alcuin’s dramatic description of the sacking of the monastery on the “Holy Island” of Lindisfarne (“the pagans have desecrated God’s sanctuary, shed the blood of saints around the altar, laid waste the house of our hope and trampled the bodies of the saints like dung in the street”) turned the event into the most widely known example of Viking attacks, in part also because church authorities were able to use the event to bolster Christianization. After all, in a miraculous turn of events, some of the monks at Lindisfarne not only survived the raid but also managed to save the relics of St. Cuthbert and several precious religious books, among them the Lindisfarne Gospels.
After Lindisfarne, the medieval Christian propaganda machine began to create a narrative within which violence became the primary character trait of an enemy variously described as pagani (pagans), piratae (pirates), Nordmanni/Normanni (Northmen), Dani (Danes), or “Wolves among Sheep” (Robert of Gloucester). The Old Norse terms víkingr (for a person) and víking (for the journey) described the “profession” and the “practice” of raiding and voyaging for plunder. The terms fell out of use in early modernity but were revived by romantic enthusiasts and nineteenth-century scholars, narrowing them down into versions that supported the national histories of the modern Scandinavian nations of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden.
The Making of the Violent Viking
While since the Enlightenment scholarship began to see the Vikings in a more nuanced light, the persistence of medieval Christian narratives survived into the present, turning “Viking” and “Violence” into something like a semantic minimal pair, and allowing the expression “to go berserk” to enter the English language as a synonym for acting with a frenzied and violent fury. The list of popular movies from Vikings! (1956) through The Northman (2022) associating medieval Norse culture with primal fury and berserker-style bloodlust is extensive. A quick look at video games from Viking: Battle for Asgard (2008) through Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla (2020) round out the picture.
A Viking Send-Off for the World Cup
Enter the June 5, 2026, PR stunt performed by the Norwegian soccer team. Right before getting on the transatlantic flight that would take them to their World Cup base camp in Greensboro, NC, they produced a series of photographs that show them sporting Viking garb and wielding various Viking-era weapons against a classic backdrop of longboats and a fjord. Judging from the overall social media reception, most soccer fans loved the idea and hailed the staging as one of the most creative presentations of a soccer team in recent history.
However, as with most iterations of contemporary medievalism, there was also a backlash which linked the publicity stunt with darker motives, calling it not only “toxically boyish” and “hyper-masculine,” but also “chauvinistic and exclusionary.” One scholar, without offering evidence, quickly accused the PR campaign as “reminiscent of what neo-Nazis were concerned about ten years ago.” This claim will remind U.S. observers of the (albeit proven) abuse of runic symbols during the violent white supremacist “Unite the Right” demonstrations in Charlottesville, VA, in 2017.
Do the Norwegian soccer team’s medievalist photographs deserve such characterizations and comparisons? The choice of the Viking theme should not surprise anybody, of course, because the Scandinavian nations have used various forms of Viking heritage to attract tourists, often light-heartedly, tongue-in-cheek, and certainly without any neo-Nazi tendrils. The most famous player on the Norwegian soccer team is Erling Haaland, a superstar who plays for Manchester City in the English Premier League. Medieval Vikings were in fact somewhat taller than their central and Southern European counterparts because of their more protein-rich diet, and Haaland truly looks as if he continues that tradition: He stands at 6′ 4″ (1.94 m), weighs around 94 kg (207 lbs.), flaunts long blond hair, and combines physical strength and muscularity with an explosive sprinting ability. In 2023, photographer David Yarrow was so impressed by his physique that he chose to take a now famous picture of him as a Viking warrior. Haaland agreed to the project, provided the photograph would be used to raise money for worthy causes in Norway (it has raised more than 1 million for charities).
Yarrow, whose connection with Haaland would later lead to the 2026 shoot, is something like royalty among soccer photographers: He also took the iconic World Cup photograph of Argentinian superstar Diego Maradona lifting the trophy at the Estadio Azteca in Mexico 1986. As is often the case with reenactments of medieval culture, Yarrow insisted on various forms of authenticity, for example the wooden jetty leading to one of the longboats. He also made sure to have video footage as evidence against claims he had used AI to create the Viking shot.
I think it is unsurprising for the Norwegian Football Association (NFF) to conclude that its fanbase would appreciate a war-like theme to celebrate Norway’s men’s team’s first appearance in the soccer World Cup in 28 years. If we may trust psychologists and anthropologists, territorial sports like soccer allow actual human aggressive behavior to express itself in a ritualized and sanctioned manner. Such sports often include various forms of non-verbal intimidation in addition to acceptable, non-malicious physical contact on the field. However, the Viking photograph, which invokes popular associations with historical violence, does not even happen on the field, unlike the Māori haka, which the International Rugby Association allows New Zealand teams to perform on field before international rugby matches.
Thus, and in the absence of any problematic accompanying statements by the soccer players or their trainers and staff, the photo is clearly a benign form of medievalism, and even more so when considering that Norwegian soccer fans have an excellent international reputation as passionate, but peaceful guests when traveling in other countries. In addition, Norwegian supporters have a long tradition of showing up in self-mocking Viking-themed gear, including the iconic horned helmets (invented in the nineteenth century), braided beards, traditional tunics, and faux axes. The NFF had already responded to this medievalist tendency by introducing a new team kit, designed by Nike and inspired by traditional Norse runes (Elder Futhark). This decision, too, was welcomed by the public and opposed by a small number of academic critics.
Viking Heritage Beyond the Stereotypes
Are there any other examples of Norwegian reenactment that are similarly non-violent and non-ideological? In 2018, media outlets reported on the neo-pagan Viking wedding ceremony of a Norwegian couple, Elisabeth and Rune Dalseth. The ceremony, inspired by tenth-century weddings and held on the shore of a Norwegian lake, included two handmade longboats, full Viking garb for all participants, a gothi (priest), a hog-roast banquet, ‘throat singing’, and blood offerings. Following the ceremony, the couple, who are part of a 6,000-member-strong movement of Norwegian Viking revivalists, celebrated through the night with their 130 guests, all in costume, consuming honey-beer and enjoying Norse songs and dance.
The couple’s choice of a Viking ceremony becomes more understandable when one realizes the location in which it was held. The area around Sunnmøre, Norway, offers some of the prime archaeological sites for the study of coastal Viking life, most importantly a folk museum with an immersive Viking experience, featuring a reconstructed Viking trading community (Borgundkaupangen), one of Norway’s largest collections of 50 Viking ship replicas (including the 16-meter Borgundknarren), and a major annual festival with numerous reenactments of Viking cultural life. The museum aims for authenticity, including year-round activities like rowing, sailing, and fishing, all within a 120-hectare outdoor, open-air setting near a fjord.
When asked about their motivations for the neo-pagan wedding ceremony, the couple mentioned two elements: First, although both were educated in Christian households, they felt the pre-Christian spirituality was more respectful of nature. Second, they, and with them the revivalist group to which they belong, want to change the reputation of Vikings as “horned helmet-wearing seafarers known only for violence, rape and pillage.” As groom Rune, who runs a carpentry company, stated: “Vikings were no more terrible than any other group of people living at that time.” That statement is confirmed by historical scholarship, which shows for example that of the 113 attacks on Irish monasteries between 795 and 820, only 26 were carried out by Vikings. The rest were carried out by Irish kings or were even the work of monks from rival communities: “We should not expect anything different for Anglo-Saxon England. Destruction of cultural treasures – including Christian ones – w[as] not just the preserve of pagan Vikings. And the seizing of slaves was not restricted to Scandinavian raiders.”
When consulting a number of the archaeological, tourist, and revivalist sites, I found further evidence that, just like the Norwegian couple, many Viking revivalist groups, particularly those focused on historical reenactment, were intentionally inclusive and did not harbor notions of Viking history as an exclusive ethnic religion for people of Germanic descent. Their practices, which focus on trade, exploration, and travel, reenact what genetic research has recently demonstrated, namely that being a “Viking” was more of an occupation, job description, and intentionally chosen way of life than an ethnicity. Thus, we should avoid drawing simplistic correlations or even causations between the Viking reenactment activities (including the Norwegian soccer team’s Viking photo shoot) and, let’s say, the Norwegian white supremacist, Anders Behring Breivik, who attempted to justify his killing of 77 people in 2011 by reference to the Knights Templar and the Vikings. The historical symbols and imagery associated with Viking culture long predate their appropriation by modern extremist movements, and their use in contemporary contexts cannot automatically be assumed to carry ideological meaning.
Ironically, the Norwegian soccer team, just like the medieval Vikings, represents a cross-section of genetic backgrounds, united by a common profession. DNA studies of Viking burial sites in Norway revealed several individuals with the distinct genetic markers of the indigenous Sámi people; and the Norwegian soccer teams over the years have included players identifying as Sámi. Furthermore, just like the current Norwegian selection on the controversial June 2026 photograph (which includes players with Afro-European and African origins), medieval Viking populations were characterized by substantial transregional influences, including ancestors with genetic origins not only from Northern Europe, but also from Southern Europe and Asia.
It sure looks like the Norwegian Football Federation has put together a selection that shares more similarities with what we today know about medieval Vikings than a reductive first glance at their reenactment photo might reveal. Beyond this, I wager that the citizens of Greensboro, NC, will not suffer the fate of Lindisfarne Abbey. Nor that of Charlottesville, VA.
Richard Utz is Professor of Medievalism Studies in the School of Literature, Media, and Communication at Georgia Tech.
Top Image: Photo by David Yarrow, courtesy Herrelandslaget / Norwegian Football Association
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