Wembley, the 'Venue of Legends'. Not for me though. Up until the 9th October 2000 the place had been the Venue of Misery, having seen 7 games there (Boro and Darlington) consisting of 1 draw and 6 defeats with only 1 goal scored. I had been awaiting its destruction with glee until it became evident that places were being auctioned on QXL to play on the hallowed turf. Here was my opportunity to achieve a boyhood dream.

Unfortunately I was outbid for the QXL places as the prices went up to over £1500, and I was gutted, thinking my chance had gone. I then started my quest to secure a place by emailing, phoning and hassling every single Wembley sponsor that I could think of. I eventually got a call back from AXA saying that I should contact the NSPCC as they were having a few games. I did this and was delighted to secure a place in the match between the NSPCC and their media company Shandwick International on the 9th October.

They had said that I could get people in for a donation of £1000 which was what I was supposed to be originally paying and not surprisingly I had very little interest at this sort of price. It's a shame that I didn't know I'd be able to knock them down to £200 as I may have got some Logica FC people involved. Anyway, I managed to keep myself free of injuries and eventually the big day arrived.

On arrival at the stadium we were taken up the big white concrete steps under the twin towers to what laughably passed for a banqueting suite. I'd often watched various VIP's climb these steps before one of Boro's numerous Wembley debacles and wondered where they led. The 'suite' resembled a school gym with lots of plastic chairs and tables present. Some large posters of great Wembley moments adorned the walls, including Geoff Hurst banging in his hat-trick goal and Paul Gascoigne's dentists chair celebration against Scotland. The images of Rod Stewart and Bob Geldof crooning away at Live Aid were much less stimulating though. There then followed a short 'players briefing' during which we were given refreshments and told that the recent weather had not been kind to the pitch.

We were then led to the Wembley dressing rooms to change into our spanking new England replica kits. The dressing rooms themselves were incredibly tatty. A couple of worn treatment tables sat in the centre of the room with a pathetic excuse for a refreshment bar in the corner. This consisted of a scratty sink and a tea urn. The tiny showers and baths made me wonder how the gangly frame of Carlton Palmer ever washed after his England appearances. Mind you, I don't recall the gangly one ever breaking sweat at Wembley so perhaps that wasn't necessary. It would be fair to say that I've seen much better facilities in the world of Sunday League.

With fifteen minutes to kick off we were summoned to assemble in the tunnel area by a loud bell. It was as we lined up and waited to be led out that I suddenly realised that I was about to achieve a boyhood dream. I made sure that all the clichés were observed, bouncing balls off the crumbling tunnel wall, banter with player opposite etc, although I did wish Jez Brown was present for some cliché guidance. I was tempted to utter the famous war cry of "Yidaho!" as hollered by Fashanu, Jones et al before the 88 Cup Final [This would not have been a wise move from an editorial perspective -Ed.] but instead we began the walk out onto the pitch.

As we took the field and lined up in front of the Royal Box it became clear that the warning about the pitch was 100% accurate. The only grass present was around the perimeter, with a mixture of sand and thick gloopy mud forming the rest of the playing surface. A surface that was much worse than anything Logica FC played on last season (including the Sportobello swamp). It was at this point I hoped that our side would contain a player with the Gautamesque ability to glide across any surface with ease.

The National Anthem was rendered with professional pride and the teams were announced over the tannoy and scoreboard. The sight of No 9 - Paul Banoub on the big screen really got me up for it. Superb. We were to attack the famous Tunnel End in the first 30 minute half. It was a bizarre feeling looking up at the empty stands and hearing our shouts echoing around the famous stadium. Oddly during the game I could have been anywhere, the concentration on the match events strangely blocked out the location. It was only when the ball went out of play that we looked around in amazement.

The game started at a very fast pace, with the surface proving to be surprisingly playable and the first attack of the game brought a goal for the opposition. The NSPCC winger got free down the right side and floated over a tame cross which looked meat and drink for the keeper. The custodian of the onion bag got his hands to it but flapped spectacularly in David James style to present the amazed striker with a simple header from two yards (0-1).

As the game evened out my first opportunity arrived. After about twenty minutes, a good run by our left back resulted in a lovely cut back to my right foot about ten yards out. Unfortunately I was unable to get a decent contact and pathetically scuffed the shot straight at the keeper who gathered easily. A couple of minutes later I had another opportunity with a 25 yard shot, which although well struck was three yards wide.

Half Time: NSPCC 1 Shandwick International 0

We drew level early in the second period. A floated free kick somehow managed to avoid everyone in a crowded penalty area and found its way into the bottom corner of the net with the wrong-footed keeper anticipating a touch en route (1-1). Disappointingly, an immediate lack of concentration found us trailing again. A ball watching centre half allowing the striker to round the keeper and slide the ball into an empty net (1-2).

Englands Number Nine Graces That Famous Hallowed Turf

Although we had been creating chances my head was beginning to drop as a strong, quick and tall centre half had began to dominate our personal battle Skippy style. I managed to wriggle clear of his attentions and fire in a dangerous low cross but that was all. As I looked up at the scoreboard and saw that there were six minutes left I began to rue my earlier miss and could feel my chance of a Wembley goal ebbing away.

But on 55 minutes.... A good passing move gained us a throw in by the right corner flag. The ball was laid back to our impressive right full back who whipped a fast cross into the penalty area. I was about eight or nine yards from goal at the far post, and for once had managed to get goal side of my marker [Offside then, surely? - Envious Cabal of Logica Legends (Straw-Clutching Sub-Committee)]. The delivery was absolutely perfect and a small jump was all that was necessary for me to steer a powerful header back across the keeper and into the top right corner of the net (2-2).

I remember thinking "this is going to be close" as the ball left my pate, and was worried that it might hit the bar and be cleared from the line in a tantalising near miss situation, but was delighted to see it hit the back of the cavernous net. My celebrations were surprisingly low key as I simply couldn't believe that I had scored one of my best ever goals at Wembley Stadium. I had planned to recreate the 'dentists chair' but instead staggered about for a bit in disbelief. With my confidence high I tested the keeper again with a back header and missed an even juicier cross in stoppage time although I didn't care one bit. The final whistle blew on an unforgettable experience.

Final Score: NSPCC 2 (A.Bloke 2, 45) Shandwick International 2 (B.Bloke 40, P.Banoub 55)

We then lined up at the bottom of the famous steps and began the walk up to collect our medals. They were presented by a Queen lookalike [Handle-bar moustache and string vest? Ed] (who actually did look very much like HRH) [Oh. Ed]. An FA Cup replica was raised before we said goodbye and retired to the dressing rooms. We were required to do a little more on the pitch to participate in an NSPCC film / TV advertisement after the game. A video camera was present for the match, I can only hope that they captured my goal for posterity, so I can show it to disbelieving grandchildren in future [Don't ask Malcolm to edit it for you, it'll never see the light of day again. Ed].

After a couple of celebratory beverages and a final look around I left the stadium feeling great. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable experience made all the more satisfying by scoring one of the best goals of my football career. It was a real shame that none of my Logica FC team-mates were able to take part.

For the record the experience cost me a donation of £200 to the NSPCC, and I think that anyone else would have been able to take part for a small donation. I did spend a week making phone calls to Logica in order to persuade the company to fund such an event but with no success. The whole day had been an absolutely wonderful experience and was something I will never forget. It almost makes up for those Boro defeats at the hands of Chelsea.... almost.