It's not the size of the dog in the fight (part two)

Click on the title to see my other blog for part one.


One dimension male time. Best way I could cope on Saturday was to drink way too much guiness before the match and then drunkenly shout "I love you Ben" everytime Palace midfielder Ben Watson got near the ball (he was superb again, his vision is amazing even if mine was a little blurred).
Of course it doesn't matter that we drew two all having led two nil. It hasn't mattered for a while to be honest. Since my brush with death and critical illness and now reaffirmed by Ben's desperate attemtps to cling to life, lots of things lack the importance they once had. Supporting Crystal Palace in particular is more about being with my friends and on Saturday it was about coping with my nephew's fight for life and with me being prevented from flying out to see him. I am Orville ladies and gentlemen and if the Americans and anyone under 30 thirty doesn't understand that cultural reference then I'm not about to explain the mysteries of a fluffy green ventriloquist's dummy.
Ben is making progress, fragile progress and has more tubes in him then is healthy. And each day he makes progress is a day's progress we didn't expect.
So I'll continue my transference of emotion to ease the pain, but that's fine. Right now I'm tired. Very, very tired. It's a good job Ben doesn't know the meaning of the word.