Meadow Lane

In the thickets of the brush and the greenery that is lush and abundant, a whisper in the wind carries a legend; the legend of Robin Hood. Oh, and you can see some good football.

Legend and Lore
Nottingham, home of Sherwood Forest, the land of lore, has a new castle in its midst. Nottinghamshire, as experiencenottingham.com calls it, or “Notts”, maintains the splendor of days gone by yet shines brightly with the accoutrements of a modern city. It sports fantastic restaurants, walks in the wood and even a D.H. Lawrence festival if you like that sort of thing.
But I digress

Speaking of sports, let us get back to the excitement. If you have ever experienced the roar of a crowd at an American football game, then you have a taste, yes just a taste, of the mayhem that is football (soccer to Americans). In an expanse that seems as massive as a meteor mark on the earth left centuries ago, Meadow Lane football stadium stretches toward the clouds and sports a 20,300-seat arena that tingles with excitement, even while the lights are off and the seats are vacant. It is so because here, in the land of lore, in sweet Notts, football comes to play.

The scene
Imagine if you will the twinkle of stadium lights against the silky black sky, the green grass that proves the name of Meadow lane is apropos, in a spectacularly perfect line drawing of a field of game supports its playthings, the men who call this game a life’s pursuit. Curly brown hair dons the heads of the visiting team and the blond and red manes of the locals dots the field like a splatter of an artist’s paint on a canvas of green. In a corner of the field of play, the corner near you, stands a tall, slender fellow in his early twenties, hand of attention held high and a heart that is beating like that of a hummingbird.
The din

Our young man pivots, the crowd buzzes in their hive and the thump of his kick reverberates throughout the stadium. The crowd begins to stand. A player shoots one pass, then another. The crowd is watching intently and yelling coaching calls almost as if in a plea. As the home team moves like a regiment of the queen’s finest soldiers, the crowd senses what is to come. The young man who kicked is now kicking again, this time to seemingly no one. However, his teammate, and they have practiced this, is waiting. He feigns a move right, slings his torso the ground and kicks his leg over his head. The contact with the ball is almost in slow motion but like a bullet off his toe.
What happens next? Come see us in the Notts and you will know.