F.A. Cup Final - Liverpool vs. Arsenal 2001

I found it impossible to obtain a ticket for the final for two reasons; the first being they were sold out not long after they went on sale, and the second was that I didnít have any money to buy one anyway! So I decided to ask a good mate of mine, we shall call him Scooby Doo, who had worked in the Millennium Stadium before, if he knew how I could get in?

By chance, Scooby told me that he could get me a worker's pass, but I would have to get to the stadium for 08:30 on the morning of the game, to go in with the rest of the workers.

The plan was to hide in the toilets until the public were allowed in, at about 13:30, so that I wouldnít be able to be questioned about why my job description was "McDonalds Supervisor".

The night before the game, I went round to Scoobyís to get the pass, and while I was there he drew me a map of the layout and direction I was to go once I was inside the ground. In case I got caught, I had to memorise the details on the map so that I didnít have any incriminating evidence on me and then ripped it up into 74 pieces and swallowed them, along with the moulting hairs of next door's cat.

After bringing up my fourth hairball, I went home to put on my black Velcro trousers and white shirt (worker's disguise), packed a book and set off on the long journey that lay ahead. I had to leave Liverpool at 11pm that night and catch connecting trains in order to get to Cardiff for 8:30 the following morning.

Once I arrived, I headed straight to the stadium and got there nearly dead on time. I planned on walking in with a group of workers, in case I got stopped and was asked unwanted questions that I couldnít answer, but as there was nobody else around, I had to go it alone.

As I got to the gate, I showed my pass to the three security guards and was waved through. Nice one! Now I had to remember the directions I was given.

"Walk down the ramp and into the car-park", "turn right", (or was it left?), "pass a queue of people who were being allocated their workplace" - but there was no-one there, "past the security office", - but couldnít find it, "through the doors at the back and into the lift" Ė errÖ WHERE?

Within two minutes I was lost and as it was dark in the car park, I had a problem finding my way back to where I started!

After ten minutes I eventually found my way back to the bottom of the ramp and started again. This time I got it right, (or was it left!).

I got into the lift and went up to the 6th tier then headed straight to the toilets opposite, went into one of the cubicles, locked the door and sat down ready for the wait ahead.

As soon as I settled down with my book, titled "The Logistical System of Newton's Gravity", I started to wonder when my other ball would drop, when I heard a few people walk into the toilets. They were checking to see if everything was OK and when they saw that my cubicle was locked, tried to open it with a makeshift key. At that moment I didnít know whether to cry uncontrollably or whistle Dixie!

After getting this far I didnít want to be caught now, so said the only thing I could think of, in a deep authoritative tone, "Do you mind, I'm busy" or words to that effect and farted to give my statement credibility!

They then apologised, explaining that they thought the toilet was blocked, and left me to soak in my own sweat and methane!

What a way to start a mission; first get lost in the car park and then nearly have a heart attack in the bog! Good job I had on my y-fronts with heavy duty reinforced sealers!

Once they'd gone, I didnít know whether I could relax or not, thinking that somebody else might come and check the bogs out again during the 5 and a half hours that I had to wait. Rather than be on edge, I decided that I would use a different voice any time somebody tried the door, then settled down with my book.

As time dragged on I kept getting cramp in my left arse cheek so had to rub it with the fourth vertebrae of a swans neck that I happened to have on me at the time. While I did this, I chanted the entire works of William Shakespeare in a coded stutter whilst balancing on the nib of a ballpoint pen, as I've been told, by a reliable source, that this can cure athletes nose!

Eventually I heard people entering the stadium, so decided to give it another half an hour before I emerged from my love shack and then I would mingle in with the crowd. On leaving my humble dwelling, the first thing I had to do was to get from the 6th tier down to the lower tier that gave me access to the pitch. This proved to be a problem, as people with designated tickets were not allowed to go from tier to tier. Even harder for me as I didnít have a ticket at all!

The only thing I could do was to chance using my McDonalds pass to gain access to the guarded stairs leading down to the floors below, and hopefully not be questioned about where I was going. - Piece of cake! - I was let straight through without question and headed down to ground level.

As I came out, the first thing I wanted to check out was the best place I could jump on from, but was gutted to find that every aisle was guarded by the Taliban, who were checking everyone's beard was the minimum mandatory length as they went through! The only way that I could have got through was to disguise myself as a Scud missile and hurl myself at them but, without wanting to frighten them too much, decided to wait around for an opportunity when I could walk through.

Half an hour later my chance came. Tony Blair showed up and they panicked. As they were wiping their bums with their makeshift bandannas, I seized my chance and slipped past Osama bin Laden's pubic chin, and was in. Now all I had to do was to find somewhere to sit and wait for the moment of reckoning!

As I looked around, trying to find the right storming point, I realised that every seat was going to be taken and that I would have nowhere to sit. It was going to be impossible to just stand around without being questioned, so now I had another decision to make; "What the hell am I going to do"?

There was only one thing I could do. I would have to sit in the toilets again for the whole of the first half of the game and Scud my way through again at half time, when people would be coming and going to the bar and the bogs.
I'd planned on jumping on at the beginning of the second half anyway, so the only thing I'd be missing out on was the game itself!

I must admit, every time I've gone to an event, I've never actually seen much of it anyway, I'm too busy watching the security positions and checking that I had an accessible jumping on point. The only difference this time was that I wouldnít have the luxury of making 100% sure that the designated launch pad was still safe.

The game was to start in half an hour so, after picking my launch spot, I left the seating area and waited around until 5 minutes before kick-off then went back into the toilets, on ground level, locked myself in a cubicle and waited for the game to begin.

The next 45 minutes were the most tense.

I'd set off on the mission 16 hours before and in that time I'd spent 9 hours travelling and the rest was concentrated on acting like a burnt out anus piece! Now I only had an hour to go before achieving my objective; scoring a goal in the FA Cup final, and all my thoughts were now on the deed ahead.

First, get rid of any incriminating evidence that might implicate anybody else in this crime of humour, so I tore up the pass and turned it into an origami looking upholstered sling-back before flushing it down the swanny, which proved to be a job in itself I can tell ya! Next, I removed all fluff from cleft chin and naval passages and moulded it into the shape of a bus conductors cap.

Turdly, and most importantly, I made sure I was in the right place! Now I was ready! When the whistle blew for the end of the first half I left my second home and stood around waiting for my chance to get past the Taliban, and it came almost immediately. As people piled out to get to the bar, I walked through the middle of them and was in. I didnít need a seat now, I just needed to be somewhere near the front until the players came out for the second half.

I made my way down to where I'd chosen earlier and went into the second row and sat in a temporarily vacated seat, behind three lads who were well into the swing of things. This was the first time that I could take in the atmosphere, and it was electric! The whole stadium was buzzin' and, after being holed up for most of the day, I could now start to feed off the energy that I was engulfed in.

As I was enjoying my short spell of freedom, one of the lads in front took one look at me and shouted, "STREAKER!!!" This wasnít a good move as there were stewards everywhere, so I asked him to keep his voice down before telling him what I was about to do. But he now had me worried now in case anybody in authority heard him, so I thought it best to keep my head down and told him to let me know when both teams were on the pitch and when the ball was on the centre spot.

I donít think one of his mates understood what I was about, as his head started twitching violently in a cemi-circle of it's own choice! While I stayed low, I took off my shoes and socks, undid the buttons on my shirt and tried to figure out if I had a clear path onto the pitch before a steward was able to stop me. As I did this, one of the lads quickly told me, "They're on the pitch, they're on the pitch"!

Without any more thought, I took off my shirt and jumped between the lads, over the wall, then over the boarding and onto the pitch, ripping my trousers off as I went.

The moment I got onto the pitch I realised that I was the only one on it! Great joke lads! After all I'd done to get this far, my 'goal' had gone out of the window because of a few pissed up nobheads. But it was too late to turn back now, there was only one thing I could do.......RUN! As I ran I looked back, only to see a 6' 90" chest pounding after me with a look on it's face that said, "SAY YOUR PRAYERS"!

MOTHERRRRRR !!!!!!!!!

Before my head could do a 180 degree turn back into it's frontal path, I was taken out with the force of a juggernaught slamming into a low flying squirrel! Such was the force of impact, the juggernaught and myself went into a roll equivalent to that of a crocodile with it's prey! Now was the time to call a taxi, if only I could breathe! As I stood up, or should I say airlifted up, I found it impossible to catch my breath, but put my hands up to the crowd as if to say "I tried"!

As Mr Jugg held me, another steward came running on with a blanket and wrapped it around me as if I was his mother-in-law! I was then led off, still unable to catch my breath and taken down the tunnel in between both teams as they were coming on. It was only then that I realised the enormity of my premature estreakulation!

It had taken me 17 hours to get this far, but the whole plan was spoiled by jumping on 60 seconds too soon!

Oh well, at least I got on.

Through the haze of pain I was feeling, I noticed Gary McAllister look at me with an expression that suggested he had been chewing nettles and further on saw Jamie Redknapp laughing his barnet off! I wheezed hello to both players and was then taken to the police charge room.

The pain in my back was now so bad that I had difficulty putting my clothes back on and even found it hard signing my name on the charge sheet. One of the officers noticed the pain I was in and asked me if I wanted to see a doctor?

The sooner the better as far as I was concerned!

When he examined me I was informed that I had two broken ribs, curried giblets and a chickens breast! I thanked him for his observation and proceeded to regurgitate the previous eveningís meal over his hush-puppied lemon kickers!

Half an hour later I was released on bail to appear before the magistrates a few weeks later and made my way to the train station with my ribs in a brown paper bag.

When I appeared in court, I was fined £100 and banned from every football ground in the country for three years. This also included an international banning order, meaning that whenever ANY English club plays abroad, I have to surrender my passport to a nominated police station five days before the game and sign on at kick-off time!

They had to be having a laugh I thought, so I appealed against the ban, only for it to be increased by another two years!!!!! If some stuck up magistrate without a sense of humour thinks that I am going to abide by their ridiculous rule, then they really have got a sense of humour!

As I left court, the sentencing beak said, "That'll teach you". So two days later I did the British Open golf tournament, followed a short while later with the Lib-Dem conference!