My day as an Ox

Mark in action as OllyEveryone said that I was mad - and they were right.

When I agreed to don the costume of Oxford United mascot Olly the Ox, there was something that made me think it would be good fun.

Just what that something was, I haven't a clue!

Even by just putting on selected parts of the costume during a dress rehersal two days before my big appearance, two points became very apparent, very quickly.

Firstly, it was hot. Exceptionally hot. Just donning the main body of the suit made me sweat, but the other problem was more severe. I couldn't see!

In Olly's head, there are two possible places to look out from. The biggest gap is in the mouth, but this involves tilting the head at a ridiculous angle and, basically, just isn't possible.

The other is to look out of the nostrils, but you can only see straight ahead - not even a little bit to the left, right, up or down - and this was to prove a big problem.

On matchday, I arrived at the Kassam Stadium in plenty of time, and headed straight to the bar for some dutch courage.

However, it was then that I realised that if I had a drink, I faced an added complication. Getting out of the costume took some time, and if nature called, I would be in all sorts of trouble!

I resisted temptation, and by 2.15 had donned the outfit and was ready for action.

I made my way down the players' tunnel towards the pitch, trying not to be put off by U's kit man Ken Ridley struggling to contain himself with laughter as he realised who was in the costume.

I stepped out pitchside, and it was then that I realised what I had let myself in for.

After managing narrowly to avoid colliding with four ball boys, who were all standing still, I had no such luck with the £25,000 Jaguar, knocking my knee on the edge of the rear bumper.

I somehow managed to negotiate the advertising boards surrounding the pitch to shake hands with a number of screaming youngsters, although my patience was tested to the limit by one annoying girl, who kept trying to rip the paw from my hand.

After cheering the teams on to the pitch, I headed up to the press box to watch the first half from the PA box, although I did miss Steve Basham's opening goal while trying to fit into the lift!

I was feeling a little more confident when I stepped out on to the pitch at half-time, and even plucked up the courage to show off my silky skills, beating myself with some Cruyff turns that the master himself would have been proud of, let alone a performing ox!

I was then invited to try and hit the crossbar from the edge of the penalty box, but I could only manage to scuff my shot - not surprising with the comedy feet I had on - straight along the ground into the net.

I could sense the crowd were impressed, but when chants of 'You're not very good, you're not very good,' started heading my way, I realised I had misjudged the situation!

However, those chants were fine compared to the next lot of abuse I received from around 100 fans who, led by my brother Paul, decided they ought to point out I was carrying a little bit of excess weight by bursting into a chorus of: 'Who ate all the pies, who ate all the pies.......'

I was not impressed, however true it may be!

Despite pouring with sweat, my job was not quite done, as I stood in the tunnel, hoping that that unbelievable would happen and Torquay would hold onto their lead at Lincoln.

But everyone knows the outcome, and it was a very deflated Olly who slowly ambled away at the final whistle to get changed.

Still, there's always next year for the U's - but you won't catch me volunteering to be Olly again!