It only takes a short train ride from Cromer then a hop skip and jump to the city ground, but I prefer to take a longer route and join the peaceful pilgrimage through the city streets, melting into the crowds as they swell from a trickle to a sea, of fans. We glide past the crooked medieval houses, past the church of St Julian of Norwich her -medieval message of love; her visionary understanding of Jesus as mother, her church from 700 years ago, tucked modestly and perhaps significantly, up a side road within spitting distance of the stadium. She served the people of Norwich when they felt spiritually lost. We pass, hearts full of hope, within arm’s reach of her revelations of divine love .
The pace quickens we are on a mission after all; the chatter intensifies. Crowds wait patiently in line; families (always welcome long before it became the norm); single men; partners; flocks of friends, a host of golden green bobble hats and scarfs. Inside -up-the steps -into the stadium- into the rush of pulsing anticipation. Adrenalin and testosterone- the tremoring vibrations of twenty seven thousand people. Gladiators and bull fighting – the power of the stadium vibe, springs to mind.
The oldest song in football ‘On the Ball City’ sang like a powerful hymn; a straight-laced looking man on your right sudddenly possessed with rage as a ref’s decision spears the crowd. Emotions change as swiftly as the luck of the game – a troubled pleasure. Chants hum and echo to the players moves with their dance of skill, strength and focus. The raw roar of a goal; the twenty seven thousand sighs of a miss. A recent convert, I inwardly blush at my past snooty comments of its ‘only a game’. It’s much much more. Forget meditation and mindfulness – if you want to practice being in the present- go to a match.
Cromer Sea & Sound 