I'll warn you now, this is not going to be one of my usual satirical postings, musing on the follies of fellow chess players. You have been warned.
Bill Shankley is often misquoted as saying that "Some people say that football is a matter of life and death, it is far more important than that". The reality is he said something different that has over the years been moved into human psyche as to be the truth. Much like Auld Bills bit from Hamlet, "Alas poor Yorick, I knew him well". Try finding that in the play.
I am going to take you back three and a bit years ago. In the chess world that I love so much, I felt indestructible, I felt safe, I felt a place where I belonged. Then suddenly, when I was at work, something changed. I felt a pressure in my head and I could no longer control one side of my body, my speech was slurred and I found it hard to complete a simple sentence. At the tender age of 38, I had my first and hopefully only stroke.
Can you imagine that? One minute, the world is your oyster. You are doing well both professionally and in your hobby (although I was never which was which!). The next it has all come crashing down. Suddenly you feel small and vulnerable.
I'll tell you the most frustrating thing about the whole experience. I was sitting there in my hospital bed feeling a complete and utter fraud. I felt there was nothing wrong with me (although my friends and family could tell there was). You don't feel ill!
I have recovered really well, mainly because of my family and friends who have been there for me, in the good times and the bad. Giving me the kick in the arse when I have needed it and cuddles when I have suffered setbacks. I still carry my stick with me in my arbiters case, my left leg will never be normal again because of the damage in my brain, but it could have been far far worse. I am alive.
What did I learn from this experience. It is not football that is a matter of life and death, or in my own personal case, chess. It is my friends and family that are "far more important than that!"
So why have I done something I have rarely done, and poured out my innermost fears and feelings about it? Well on Friday, a friend came and sat next to me, I saw he was unwell and I told him to go home. 10 minutes later he was over at the other arbiters table looking like death warmed up. To cut a long story short, we got him to hospital as we suspected he was having a stroke. This was confirmed this morning.
Paul MacDonald is going through the living hell I went through 3 years ago. He is going to need our support to get through this.
So instead of a celebration of the Excellent Prestwick congress, I'm sure you will not mind if I keep Paul in mind at the moment.
