Max plays up front alongside Ian Rush at Old Trafford, and paints Manchester red...
My most 'celebrity-type' day ever
At half past two on Saturday I was nervous. My train had stopped at Stoke and was waiting for a long time. I'm pretty relaxed about train delays normally - I reckon our expectations are a little too high most of the time.
However, if I've got to get to Old Trafford to play in a football match, I want my train to be on time.
An hour later, as my train rolled into Manchester Piccadilly, I was nervous. Not because I was going to be late - I was early. Now my nerves were purely football related.
A mate who was there texted me to say 40,000 people were there. When I play on a Saturday, the average attendance is around eight or nine, including substitutes. 40,000 is quite a few more.
The nerves increased as the cab approached, I ran into the stadium, and into the empty dressing room. There was a shirt with my name on it hanging up. That's a good feeling.
I got changed and walked up the tunnel - and down the side of the pitch that you always see Fergie walking down before Man Utd go out to trounce whichever opposition turn up.
I said hello to the gaffer, Joe Royle. He said I was going to get the whole second half. Happy days. I could relax for the rest of the 1st half. I let him know I was a dirty number 9, very much in his mould. He made some changes on his notes.
Seats
Those aeroplane seats in the dugout are comfortable. I sat down next to Ralf Little, who was complaining as usual, mainly that he was the best player on the pitch (despite Yorke, Cole, Solskjaer etc) and that he shouldn't have been taken off. Fair play he's useful, and we were better when he came back on.
Jason Manford had an ice pack on his inner thigh, Lee Mack looked like he'd been in a sauna for 3 days, and Ugo Ehiogu looked relaxed, as normal.
0-0 at Half Time. Dave Beasant was our hero.
At half-time we awaited our instructions from Joe Royle. He didn't appear for five minutes. I had a good chat with Tim Lovejoy about Soccer AM. He enjoys it. Dave Beasant wondered how smart that day's Soccerette had been. George Lamb was tall.
Joe walked in. He read out the starting 11 for the 2nd half. "Max, you go up front with Rushie" - there's a sentence I never thought I'd hear. I talked tactics with Ian, told him, I'd hold it up, you just stick on the last man. He welcomed the advice.
Two minutes in, Rob Lee played it to me in the box. I went for a hopeful dummy, creating CHAOS in the box, and resulting in a goal for Ralf. Five minutes later, I was set free down the right. I had time, looked up, and then crossed for Ehiogu to score. 2-0. Happy days.
Then the oppo brought Jaap Stam and Ronny Johnsen on. Game over. I'm not sure I got a kick. Not one. Even hearing Jaap open his mouth made you think, hang on, I'm not going to get this. He could get across the pitch in three strides.
And in the air? He just about had the measure of me. I'm quite good in the air at a clogger, park level. My timing's good, and I know what I'm doing. So I beckoned to Dave Beasant to hang one up there and see what I could do.
He placed it right on my head, I got in position, jumped, was just about to flick it on, and suddenly my head was in the turf, flat on my face - the ball was 40 yards back down the pitch.
After an hour of Fergie style injury time it was 2-2. I thought it was an honourable draw, so just tried to stand near Ronan Keating and Olly Murs to bask in their reflective fame and female admiration.
By the time I realised it was penalties, our five takers had been chosen. I would have taken one. But I wasn't too bothered. A miss meant a humiliating minute on this Saturday's show.
Sudden death
By the time it got to sudden death though, I was up for it.
That walk from the half-way line to the box takes hours. In any shoot out I've been involved in, it's one of the quietest moments in football. It's rare that no-one is near you for 20 seconds. It gives you so much time to think about where you're going to strike it. Too much time.
I picked up the ball and placed it on the spot. A little boo echoed around the stadium. Nice. I guess I was playing against Manchester United. I've scored three penalties this season. And missed one.
The keeper was an ex-pro Pascal Olmeta - perhaps not a household name, but still someone who's played hundreds of times for Marseilles and Lyon amongst others. He could play a bit.
So I played percentages. Get over it. Hit it hard. Look up. And hope. And that's what I did. Straight down the middle. In. Relief is an apt word given the charity, and more pertinently given how I felt.
Dave Beasant was the hero (again) a short time later and we won - all the "celebs" running up to jump on him. All the ex-pros just acting a little bit cooler and not getting carried away.
The night after was equally surreal - going out with Lee Sharpe, Max Beesley, Olly Murs and Lee's mate Greg. Lee Sharpe knows EVERYONE in Manchester. Everyone. Bouncers don't mind if you're wearing trainers if Lee introduces you. I don't remember a lot after singing Frank Sinatra at Karaoke.
We raised £200,000 for Sport Relief, in what can only be described as, by a country mile, my most "celebrity-type" day ever.
Today, I've tidied my room, cut my nails and eaten last night's leftovers for lunch. Not quite the big time yet!
Have a good week...
