Pray Silence

If praying is what prevents a 23-year-old footballer from dying, then what's the point of doctors?
 It's not meant to sound flippant. I was there. It was horrible. I desperately hope he survives.
 I was at White Hart Lane yesterday, as I have been for most home games for the past 38 or so years and witnessed scenes that I have never seen before at a football match.
 Like pretty much everyone there, I never saw Fabrice Muama fall to the ground but it was quickly pointed out that a player was down and that no one was near him. I saw his leg jerk off the ground as a couple of players tended to him but this may well have been a reflex action as he was rolled on to his back.
 Confusion turned to grim realisation that this was not a case of fainting or some kind of fit. Seconds later teams of medics had scrambled to the far side of the pitch to deal with him. You could see a machine brought on which was used to try and jump start his heart and players with head in hands, some clearly in tears.
 A man came out of the crowd from the lower East Stand, He was ushered through by fans and stewards, possibly one of those situations where someone shouts "I'm a doctor" and he was applauded on to the pitch and back off again when the medical teams got there.
 I later heard a rumour he owns a heart screening business so I'm not sure if that necessarily makes him a medical expert though one would assume fans would not be so keen to get him on the pitch if he'd shouted 'let me through, I'm a medical equipment salesman.'
 It was genuinely distressing to be there. And shocking too. What was also striking was just how shocked everyone seemed to be. Fans in particular.
 There were some extreme reactions, particularly a young man two seats from me who, coincidentally is also called Solomons (it's not as uncommon at White Hart Lane as it would be, at, say, Spotland.)
 I've seen him over the years, coming to Spurs with his dad since he was a nipper. During the drama, he simply burst into tears. His dad consoled him, others looked away embarrassed, I simply patted him on the shoulder because I had no idea what else I should do. Besides, we might be related.
 Some dads with kids visibly upset were the first to leave, others stayed, perhaps out of ghoulish curiosity or because leaving seemed to be rude and unsupportive.
 No one supposed, for just a minute, that the game was going to go on but people wanted to hear the announcement officially I guess, and when it came, they applauded and then left, quietly and slowly - the exits were rammed anyway but there was no fuss, no arguing. People just made their way out, in turn, and in a very obvious state of bewilderment.
 Perhaps, thinking about it, it was bewilderment rather than shock. Watching a young man collapse and, perhaps, die on the pitch, and see the attempts to revive him, is out of context. You feel like you're invading something that should be private, not played out before a crowd of around 35,000 fans.
 I sit immediately behind a TV camera (when games are being televised live) and the cameraman had turned the lens away from where the action was happening, under orders from the ESPN management. Later, I wondered if we should have all done the same. But, appallingly perhaps, you can't.
 The usual ground noise was gone. On the way out everyone was looking into their smartphones to get the latest newsflash - many were waiting to hear if he had died, I imagine. That's not morbid, but a kind of closure. After all, we had witnessed something dreadful but without a conclusion and that can be even more upsetting.
 Then the Twitter cavalcade started. Players Tweeted 'pray for Fabrice'. Managers came on to the radio to say 'he's in our prayers' and even before that, on the pitch, some players were notably praying.
 I wonder if they considered why their religious belief would help the player now when it hadn't stopped him having a heart attack in the first place. Does God let these things happen to see if we pray for them to get better? And if that's the case, why do people die suddenly without a chance to see if their faith can be resurrected.
 Or indeed, all those millions of others who die of heart attacks, cancer, war, famine and whatever other fate befalls them. Many of those are probably in someone's prayers every night.
 And if praying is all it takes to bring people back to life, then did we need the wonderful medics, doctors and St John's Ambulance lot who got to the player within two minutes of his collapse.
 After all it is they, and not God, who may, just, have given him a chance to live.
 Spurs right-back and a neighbour of mine, Kyle Walker, Tweeted 'even if you aren't religious, pray for Muamba.' Poor Kyle, he doesn't quite get this whole religion thing does he?
 You see, neighbourino, there's no point praying to a God you don't believe in - it doesn't make sense and if there is a God, he's probably saying 'Oh, NOW you want my help do you?'
 But I accept the sentiment. Although it would have been nice to see a few more players Tweet about how brilliant the medical staff from both clubs were in that situation.
 So why others put their faith in an ancient myth of which there is no proof, I'll put my faith in science, medicine and the hard work and dedication of people who have gone through years of training to deal with this kind of incident.
 I'll hope for his recovery as much as anyone else in the country but forgive me if I don't pray for it.
Get well soon, young man. And if you do, don't thank God, thank doctors....Solly