THE silver anniversary of the London marathon will go down in history as the blockbuster marathon.

How so? Well, because women's winner Paula Radcliffe declared: "I'll have a P".

Yes, Paula put the pee into an event initiated in memory of Greek runner Pheidippides. Back in the mists of time, he was the energetic emissary, who ran the approximate 25 miles from the plain of Marathon to Athens to proclaim the defeat of the Persians -- and that without having to resort to the away-goals rule.

But after delivering his communiqu of conquest, Pheidippides promptly went and died of exhaustion. And without any need of an exhaustive exhumation of the hell-bent, Hellenic runner's sarcophagus, or for CSI Athens to get in on the act, the prime reason for his premature expiry might be because he damn well forgot to take a comfort-break.

Now hands up everyone who has been caught short at one time or another. Come on, including you lot at the back there, get your mitts up. Surely there isn't anyone who hasn't felt the need for an enforced pit-stop. I only need to mention swimming-pools and warm Mediterranean or Caribbean seas. Enough said.

Radcliffe's relief, however, has seemingly got up the nose of a lot of people.

Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells was no doubt in his/her element with claims that if he, or she, did the same on a public thoroughfare then they were likely to be arrested. The more blimpish of her critics would only be satisfied if an Asbo (anti-spraying behaviour order) be served upon England's greatest women's long-distance runner.

But what's all the stink about anyhow? Did anyone expect Radcliffe to have nipped off course to find a women's loo? No doubt there would have been a lengthy queue.

And just imagine if she had. There would be all manner of psycho-analytical clap-trap as to how she again failed to finish a marathon recounting, no doubt, her nightmare exit from the Olympic Games marathon last summer. Oceans of newsprint ink would have been wasted on the incident awash with enough lurid, in-depth television graphics to swamp a frigate.

Radcliffe's spending of a penny -- and her first-place cash prize more than compensated for such a modest outlay -- did set me thinking though as to how other sporting moments might have been affected by the pressing need for an evacuation of the bladder.

Cast your mind back to that last-gasp kick of Jonny Wilkinson to clinch the Rugby Union World Cup against mortal enemies Australia. Sorry, chaps - must dash to the gents first. That would have left an entire nation crossing its legs.

Further back in England's sporting past, remember 1986 and the World Cup in Mexico. What a boon it would have been if the now bloated Diego Armand Maradona had suddenly been seized by the need to rush to the loo. His hand of God might then have soared into the sky to beg permission to leave the field rather than to out-leap the ageing Peter Shilton to the ball and deflect it illegally into a gaping net.

There are times too when a certain opponent might well have induced a weakening of the kidneys.

Looking across a canvas ring at Mike Tyson in his most vicious pomp, or staring down the 22 yards of a wicket at whose other end steamed in Curtley Ambrose, Allan Donald or Wasim Akram would understandably have prompted a loosening of nature's grip on the urinary tract.

No, the only downside I can attribute to Radcliffe's emission is that her example might be followed by a host of competitors in the capital's long-distance extravaganza. Then the streets of London would be afloat - and that surely would not do anything to aid the 2012 Olympic Games bid.

So Paula, cut it out.

Updated: 10:13 Tuesday, April 19, 2005