On the night of 3rd January 1995, I was awoken by the gentle sound of breaking glass. My now heightened senses caught the nearly inaudible scraping that followed, as my bedroom window slid open. A shadow figure oozed through the narrow gap and glided across the floor towards my bed. Terrified I was about to be devoured by a terrible beast or molested by a child predator, I tried desperately to hide under the covers. But the figure was too quick, too slippery and in a split second his dirty, moist lips were pressed up to my ear canal. What followed was far worse than the most terrible nightmares my overactive imagination could muster.
"Fergie has ruled out the possibility of bringing a top class striker partner to Old Trafford for Eric Cantona." The creepy, wispy voice said. "They've also turned down the chance to sign Roberto Baggio" it went on. "read all about it in tomorrow's Guardian".
And with that, the figure disappeared through the still open window. As he left, the moonlight briefly caught his face and I swore I would never forgot the visage that peered back at me.
7 days later United signed Andy Cole and I knew Jamie Jackson was a tosser. I was just 14 years old.
Not really.