We all let our hair down at Christmas - and none more than footballers, whose latest antics have made the headlines. What's new, asks TONY CASCARINO

'Tis the season to be jolly and footballers are no different to everyone else in wanting to have a drink and a knees-up. Sometimes, however, it can go too far three Glasgow Celtic players spent a night in police cells this week after a fracas in Newcastle, where the team had hoped their Christmas party would draw little attention.

It came just after Sheffield Wednesday suspended two players when they were arrested on suspicion of assault after their club's seasonal bash.

Tales like these have caused some managers to take drastic action. There didn't seem to be much goodwill emanating from the office of Gary Megson last week when he decided to turn West Bromwich Albion's party into a family affair because he thought it old hat to have players roaming Birmingham the worse for wear. They won't be rocking around the Christmas tree at Ewood Park, either, after Blackburn's annual bash was also cancelled.

Mark Wright, the Chester City manager, has stopped short of banning the festive frolics but has warned his players that they will be weighed to try to detect any overindulgence. He even considered breath tests.

It's not just the managers making a stand, though. At Leeds United, it seems the players feel they have little to celebrate and have reportedly cancelled Christmas themselves. They don't want to run the risk of causing further embarrassment to their beleaguered boss, Terry Venables, and let's face it, club nights out have not always ended happily for certain Elland Road stars.

When footballers hit town, unseemly incidents always seem to follow. I remember having a meeting with the Chelsea players to discuss ideas for our Christmas party. One player suggested going to a pub, another said a club. After much discussion we plumped for a pub in west London for a lock-in. Vinnie Jones volunteered to organise things. Ian Porterfield, then the manager, was aware of the party. It was standard practice for clubs to give the players the next day off from training to recover, then make us train harder the following day. Footballers' Christmas parties are only for players and no other staff are invited.

For part of the entertainment, we had organised a dwarf-tossing contest inside the pub. When only two dwarfs walked through the door, Vinnie inquired: "Oi, what's your game? We've paid for three, not two."

"Oh, the other one got injured when he was thrown into a load of chairs at a gig the other day," one of them replied.

The lads just cracked up. Accepting the explanation, Vinnie pointed at one of the dwarfs and said: "'Ere, I f***ing recognise you, don't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were the one I met when I appeared on that television programme, weren't you?"

"Yes, Vinnie, you were the one who tried to throw me in the water!"

You can imagine the quips made because there were only two dwarfs. One of the players piped up: "What about Wisey [Dennis Wise] making up the third one!"

I know what you are thinking: how can anyone do that? I sympathised with the dwarfs, but when I questioned what they were doing, one of them put me firmly in my place. "Don't you start saying things like that," he squealed. "With bloody people thinking like you, we can't get any work."

The dwarfs erected a bouncy castle, which had a sticky wall, and put a mattress on the floor. Then they strapped themselves into suits coated with sticky stuff. The idea was to pick up a dwarf and hurl him as far as you could, the winner being the person who could throw him the farthest.

Some of the players chose to throw the dwarf against the sticky wall which wasn't as easy as it sounds after a few pints where they would cling very briefly before they fell onto the mattress. I had a go, but I can't remember how I did. They were heavier than I expected.

The entertainment wasn't always that extreme, of course, but I can appreciate why football managers don't like their players having Christmas parties it could take a few days to recover from the alcohol flowing around your system.

Chelsea had some eccentrics then, but things were different when I began my career, with Gillingham. The parties were quieter, because the players didn't have as much money, and we would just go to a local pub. By the time I moved to Millwall, though, I realised what these dos were about. Millwall were blessed with a few characters at that time, including Terry Hurlock and Neil Ruddock. On one occasion, we found ourselves in a pub on the Old Kent Road that had a firemen's pole smeared with grease. The game was to climb to the top and kiss the ceiling. It was amusing to watch paralytic players slipping down the pole. Someone had also organised strippers.

I remember the party at Aston Villa more than most, mainly because, unbeknown to us, our wives had discovered where we were going. There I was, trying to order a drink for a couple of women I was chatting to, when I glanced into the mirror behind the bar to be horrified by the sight of my then wife staring at me.

S***, I thought. But she gave me a thumbs-up sign, so I gestured back. "Do you want a drink?" "Love one," she replied. Phew. I was the lucky one. Some of the other players were dragged home early by their ears.

I chuckled when I read that this year Villa had organised a tenpin-bowling night for the players, because they had so many different nationalities that they wanted something that everyone could understand easily.

The dress code for the parties was often casual but, at Celtic, Charlie Nicholas decided we should have a fancy-dress party. I dressed as Popeye don't ask me why complete with pipe. I stuffed some cotton wool inside my shirt sleeves and trousers to look like muscles.

I remember Chris Morris, the Ireland defender, more than anybody because he had dressed up as Tina Turner. He had hired a crazy wig and wore a slinky black dress, black stockings and a basque. His lips pouted with red lipstick and his skin was chocolate-coloured.

Most of the players thought he looked gorgeous and passable as a woman. He had a small bottom and a slimmer figure than Turner's. The lads teased him and pretended to touch him. We walked from pub to pub in Glasgow and were recognised by loads of people.

Since those heady days, football has become more professional. Foreign players and foreign coaches, such as Arsene Wenger and Gerard Houllier, have influenced the game with ideas on diet, drinking and training.

It's not a surprise that Houllier has stopped any Christmas parties at Liverpool this year. There is a different mentality in France. When I played for Marseilles, we went to an Italian restaurant for a pizza and a couple of glasses of wine. We were back in training the next day. It was a shame, really, as there was scope for a party, because the league had a 10-day break between Christmas and new year.

In fact, many of the foreign footballers I played with enjoyed the Christmas parties at British clubs. I remember Denis Irwin telling me that Eric Cantona would say he wanted to stay at Manchester United just for the parties. Just as well he's not there now, then, given that they don't seem to have the time this year, what with their participation in the Worthington Cup.

Let's not kid ourselves, though. If there isn't a party, the players will arrange their own private get-together without the staff knowing, probably early this week, depending on whether they have a midweek match. In recent years, there have been a number of lurid stories of players behaving badly, but I don't think the conduct of footballers is much worse now than it was during my playing career.

It's just that the game is more high-profile now and nothing can be hushed up. Misdemeanours leak into the papers because people can make money through one phone call to Fleet Street. Just ask Jamie Carragher, Robbie Fowler and Hayden Foxe. Old habits die hard.