THE Orient Game was probably the most emotional day of my life - and it wasn't just about football.

Praying for Burnley to stay in the Football League created agonies like I had never felt before.

But the day demonstrated why sport, and in particularly football, sometimes cruelly overrides its natural boundaries.

Because the Orient Game, for me, was not just about the Clarets' survival but ultimately it led to the loss of one my closest colleagues and friends - Keith McNee.

As sports editor of the Evening Telegraph I had realised during the build up that Keith had taken Burnley's predicament personally.

And during the game he was nothing like his normal self - watching the second half from a gap in the central concourse instead of the Press box.

After the final whistle and the whirlwind of tears and emotions blowing through Turf Moor, I went into the packed Press room. But there was no Keith.

Frank Clark, the Orient manager, came in looking concerned.

"You're Keith McNee's gaffer aren't you? I've just seen him slumped against a wall outside."

I missed Mr Clark's Press conference as I went to find Keith. He wasn't there.

I phoned his wife to see if he had made contact.

"He's come home and is having a rest," she said.

Next day, he was in Burnley Victoria Hospital having been diagnosed as having suffered a stroke.

He returned to work before the start of the following season but, soon after, was taken ill again. This time Keith died aged 50.

The Burnley team, led by manager Brian Miller, attended Keith's funeral at St Peter's Church in the town.

The Orient Game had been the last game Keith covered in the League.

And while Burnley's future had been secured, the sacrifice Keith and his family made was too immense for it ultimately to matter.