The death of Motherwell captain Phil O'Donnell is a terrible tragedy played out on a public arena.

When a young man from any walk of life dies in the prime of his life it is a timely reminder of how precious life is. But what makes the loss of Uncle Phil , as he was affectionately named by Motherwell supporters, all the more poignant for a wider community is that he was involved in the sport closest to the nation's heart.

From our early childhood we idolise the players, modern-day gladiators who are living our dream. No matter what team you support, everyone with a love of the game shares the 'jumpers for goalposts' past when it seemed anything was possible.

'I'm sure every football supporter will hope they can find some solace in the wave of affection and sympathy that has swept forth since Phil's untimely death'

You just knew that one day you would score that great goal in the Cup Final, and as you rounded your wee brother and slotted the ball into the back of the net, you would conjure up the sound of a euphoric crowd cheering your name as your favourite team romped to victory.

Alas, for most of us, our dreams are no more than that. We grow older and our grip on reality becomes ever tighter. We slowly realise that a less exotic future lies ahead and only a small number actually go on to fulfill that dream. Phil O'Donnell was one of the chosen few.

Like the vast majority of his admirers, I never knew Phil 'the man', but as a close observer of the game I could see that he played the game with terrific drive and sportsmanship. A long list of injuries curtailed his career somewhat but he could be extremely proud of his achievements at Celtic and Motherwell, where he had legendary status.