It has been a horrible weekend. Not personally. This kind of grief passes. But I find I soak it up like someone close to the thing. Football. A weekend. Watching the Spurs v Bolton game on TV on Saturday. I was alone and then the play stopped. Bolton's Fabrice Muamba looked in distress. Medics came on, TV cameras moved away. Slow motion. Anguish on players faces. Silence in the 30,000 crowd. Shock and horror. I have never seen something like that live. I felt sick to the bone. It was horrible. I felt like I was there. I could see tears and I could see fear. I thought the unthinkable had happened and could not see any other alternative but since have learned although the poor lad is critically ill still that my worst fear at that time did not happen. Not something I will forget. I was only watching on TV but jeez I felt ill for a long time during and after. Emotional overload. It was like I was there.
And more football on Sunday. Still alone watching the Scottish League Cup final contested by Celtic and Kilmarnock and the latter won the cup, the underdogs. Great joy of course on the faces of all the Ayrshire fans. But I had the radio on and something was happening, something alarming. I looked at the manager. He was alone on the park looking very down and troubled- not the usual look of a jubilant manager. Then the story came through that a player had ran up the tunnel in tears. Turns out the poor guy's father was at the game and had a heart attack. Euphoria to despair is a single instance for a lot of people. Reverberations of the night before. They were still working on the father as the celebrations were cut short. Again I felt like I was there.
So much sadness. Haven't known a weekend like it. But the grief for me is removed and passes. It doesn't for these poor souls involved, related or known. I hope all pull through and get well. I hope never to see such things again.
