Life Begins At 4am.

So at 4.30 on a mild and damp Saturday morning the Press Gang set off from the Mennaye Field with their sights firmly set on victory at Castle Park.

They travelled in style too. A luxury galleon had been chartered from the Pirates fans at Summercourt Travel and the crew supplied with enough grog to slake the heaviest of thirsts, courtesy of Skinner`s Brewery.

After a round of pick-ups as far afield as Bugle, the crew mustered as we set an easterly course up the A30, where 'Marshy', landlord of the Admiral Benbow, declared the onboard bar open.

Over several glasses of Pirate Ale the strategy of the day was planned. We would make a lot of noise. The team would win at the death (again!), and we would all return home happy. It was time to rest for we had a long and arduous day ahead.

The voyage north beyond Birmingham onto the M1 was a joy and trouble free. Signs for Doncaster were spotted at 33 miles distant, news of our progress texted to Pirates back at home, and another round of grog broken out from the back of the bus.

Pirate Bert and Lichfield Cornish were passed near Nottingham amidst much saluting and cheering, and in seemingly no time at all we arrived at Castle Park.

The stewards on the gate clearly had not expected us, mistook us for the team bus and this element of surprise saw us ushered into the area reserved for VIP`s. Pirates we may be but honest ones at that and once behind the enemy lines we revealed our true identity.

Castle Park boasts splendid facilities in a large modern clubhouse sitting at one end of the pitch. Temporary stand flank each side of a playing area boasting more sand than Hayle Towans after a heavy winter up north, whilst car parking is provided behind the goalposts at the opposite end of the field. The Press Gang made the most of the hospitality afforded and feasted on the local speciality of Cow Pie washed down with more beer.

The team news was not good. Alberto was injured. A late withdrawal. James Moore was to deputise at fly-half. Unpeturbed the Press Gang welcomed fellow Pirates arriving from across the UK, for supporting this team is such a sociable event. En masse a stronghold was established on the East Terrace. There was no resistance and soon there was a sea of red, white and black behind the Pirates dug-out - a perspex touchline shelter flying a St Pirans flag. Club supremo Dicky Evans joined his travelling army and at 2.30 the game kicked off and the noise started. There are no shrinking violets in the Pirates ranks.

The match was a full-blooded rumbustuous cup tie with no quarter asked or given. Two Division One heavyweights standing toe to toe slugging it out. There was no panic as our boys turned around 3-0 down at the break, just quiet confidence. With vocal chords enjoying the brief respite right across the terrace, hostilities resumed. When Doncaster increased their advantage to 10-3 the scene was set. Another Pirates late show beckoned, but would our voices hold out? As the team stepped up their efforts on the field so did the supporters off it. Suddenly it was 10-10 after Vili Ma`asi burrowed over. The celebrations stuttered as the billowing St Pirans flag obscured the view of many on the terrace. A signal from the bench told us it was good. The singing started again.

With the clock running down there was only one thing left for the Pirates to do. Win. Jimmy Moore`s drop goal was sublime, the ball spinning end over end for an age in mid air as the angst-ridden home support fell silent and the Press Gang blew it goalwards. We had won again, just like we predicted on the bus!

Fans and players stood and congratulated each other at the end. Success on and off the field. The clubhouse was treated to Cornish singing at full volume and the players treated to the Press Gang`s spare reserves of grog. The Pirate Ale delivered to their bus never stood a chance.

Vili was spared a long taxi ride home as dutiful supporters extricated him from the bar clutching his pint glass like a priceless treasure, his own bus just seconds from departure. Then amidst warm farewells, handshakes and the raising of glasses it was time for the Press Gang to depart. With an eight hour journey home ahead nobody could have been criticised if they had sat back and allowed themselves a quiet thought of Twickenham.

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