Rarely will a football match of such intense pleasure be remembered with such overwhelming sadness.

As the initial handful of Motherwell supporters stood outside the main reception area soon after 6.30pm on Saturday night, in a darkness lit up by their own car headlights, to grieve, lay flowers and tributes, the full realisation of the tragic events of the afternoon hit home.

One young boy, no more than 12, being comforted by his father with a supportive arm around his head as only they can. The father failing to find the words to reply to his son’s comment that Phil O’Donnell was too young to die. Indeed he was.

At 35 years old he should have been playing in the midfield for his home club for a good few seasons to come. Instead, with the night progressing by now in slow motion, I watched on as cars drew up to the Lanarkshire ground in increasing numbers as club officials, supporters and football fans from across the country made their way to Fir Park to pay their respects.

Hardly a word was spoken as they each took it in turns to lay scarves, strips, photographs, or whatever club memorabilia they had in their pockets, on the steps outside the players’ entrance. There was no mass outpouring of grief, no sounds of tears or sobbing. It was too early for that. It was still. A stunned, nonbelieving silence. A club had lost not only a player, a captain, a legend but a son. One of its own. And long before his time.

It later emerged O’Donnell had told fellow players he had not been feeling well on the eve of the match against Dundee United, but having had a career dogged by injury he was now enjoying an Indian summer and was determined to play on.

He had been instrumental in helping his team to an early 3-0 lead with his boundless enthusiasm showing no signs of being on the wane despite his veteran playing years. We even joked it had taken him 35 years to learn how to take a corner with the captain the surprise choice for several set-plays.

In a team surrounded with youth and energy, he had adopted a different role from the box-to-box midfield player which won him a £1.75 million move to Celtic in 1994, a club record fee for Motherwell to this day. He passed his experience on, he led, he inspired. He spoke, they listened. Most of the time, anyway.

All had seemed going to plan as the assistant referee signalled a double substitution after 77 minutes in a game which Motherwell would eventually win 5-3. Steven McGarry, their midfield player, slowly made his way to the sidelines with Keith Lasley his replacement. Marc Fitzpatrick stood on the touchline as the No 16 was shown to replace O’Donnell’s No 10. And we waited. And waited.

In the corner of my eye, on my far right, something had happened. From the technical area, the Motherwell doctor or physiotherapist pointed to the mass of players crowded in a circle. He did not wait for the referee’s approval as he ran on to pitch. The ambulance staff did likewise with their stretcher.

Later, Lee Wilkie, the Dundee United defender, revealed he had tried to help the now prone O’Donnell to see if he had swallowed his tongue before appearing to move him into the recovery position. “His eyes were wide open and there was something really wrong,” Wilkie said later, not knowing then the severity of the situation.

And then near-perfect silence in a ground holding 5,227 spectators. Had he been hit in an off-the-ball incident? Had something been thrown from the crowd? The reaction of the players immediately ruled out such ideas with Ross McCormack, the Motherwell striker, running back towards the technical area clearing shaking his head. It was no ordinary injury and he knew it. We knew it.

David Clarkson, O’Donnell’s nephew and teammate, was ushered away from the scene as both club doctors and ambulance staff carried him on a stretcher with what appeared to be an oxygen mask over his face. Clarkson soon substituted himself such was his concern. The game was played out as United threatened an unlikely comeback. Come the full-time whistle the celebrations of a match which should have been remembered for all the right reasons were subdued and muted.

It was to be an after-match press conference like no other. Mark McGhee, the Motherwell manager, uncharacteristically snapping when a reporter’s mobile rang. But the official line was that O’Donnell was conscious and was on his way to hospital. Little did we know that at 18 minutes past five, he would be pronounced dead.

Word quickly spread. McGhee came in to break the news but stressed the player’s family had not yet been told. Long after the official conference had ended the worst fears were confirmed as McGhee reentered the room, joined by Bill Dickie, the chairman. They said what they wanted to say in brief statements. No questions were asked as another club official sat on the stairs only two yards from both men crying into her hands. We all felt like joining her.

O’Donnell was another Motherwell legend taken when having so much more to give. Davie Cooper, the former Rangers winger, died at the age of 39 in 1995 shortly after leaving the club to join Clydebank. He passed away while filming a training video for young players.

As is often the way at such times, only a handful of pages separated an article on Cooper’s magic and O’Donnell’s final interview in the official programme on Saturday but the two Motherwell stars will forever be bonded together. Legends.