With the bets rolling in and the clock ticking, Siobhan O'Connor was a woman on a mission, and nothing was going to get between her and her man

IT'S official, I'm a stalker -- and I always get my man, especially when he's a hunky 6ft1 multimillionaire Portuguese footballer.

My obsession with the most expensive football star in history started this week when I made a pact on air. My mission: to get a photo with the best footballer in the world.

Paddy Power had 3/1 odds on Rosanna Davison to be the first female celeb to be photographed with Cristiano Ronaldo, but I had a masterplan.

I knew that the 98 Morning crew would be broadcasting from the grounds of Carton House on Friday so I figured it would be easy enough to nab Ronaldo and get a picture with him near the Carton House training ground, home to Real Madrid all week. Thinking my mission to nab the man would be a piece of cake, I went live with my boast, stating confidently that I'd get the hunk first.

Paddy Power immediately joined us on the bandwagon and phoned the radio station to tell us that they now had odds on me at 20/1. Once we announced this new turn of events, Paddy Power was inundated with eager punters hoping to cash in. But could I score my goal and make everyone rich?

What I hadn't banked on was the beefed-up security team. A 30-strong team of Platinum One security professionals has been following every move the players make for the last few days, to the extent Carton House has been turned into a veritable fortress -- with their gem €94m player, Ronaldo, being the most protected.

I've never seen anything quite like it. The entrance to Carton House was flanked by the best security men in the business. Forget your burly bouncers, we're talking Jason Bourne types. As well as Platinum One, Real Madrid have their own security team. In order to seal the deal I had to get past them too!

An average of 2,000 cars a day have been turned away from the beautiful grounds of Carton House since Ronaldo has been there -- many of them with children stuffed in boots in an attempt at subterfuge.

It seems Ronaldo followers will stop at nothing. I quickly became his biggest fan.

On Friday my first attempt was fairly feeble. It was impossible to get a glimpse of Ronaldo and the lads training, as the pitch was boarded up with bright blue hoardings. After each training session hundreds of eager fans lined up around the barriers in the vain hope the players would grace them with an autograph or a smile. After trying to sweet talk the Bourne lookalikes, I was getting nowhere. My gift of the gab in Spanish was working no wonders, but suddenly I could see Ronaldo in the distance.

like a lunatic in heat, I roared: "Cristiano, I love you! Can I get a photo?"

It was my most practised phrase in Portuguese, but he just laughed and waved.

At least he acknowledged my presence, I conceded. But really, I knew I wasn't getting a look in.

My second attempt was to hide in the spa area of the hotel as I had heard the players had to pass through it to get to their bedrooms. My heart sank as every single player bar Ronaldo passed me; Raul was among them, but he was not the target.

At this stage I had been there since 5.30am and time was ticking. The lads were hiding on their sealed-off floor for a couple of hours before the next tog out. Defeated and exhausted, I drove home. Later that evening I drove back to Maynooth from Dublin. It felt like groundhog day.

Again I stood at the training ground, this time with my new best friend, sports photographer Steve Gormley. He was giving me inside tips on how to approach this increasingly frustrating stalking mission.

As the team emerged to sign autographs, my excitement was building, Ronaldo was a stone's throw away, his head popping up through the hundreds of screaming kids. Yet just as he was on my radar a burly bouncer bumped him up on a golf buggy and he was whisked from my grasp through a secret entrance to the hotel.

I was livid, but determined. In my four-inch heels I began running frantically after the golf buggy, panting sweet nothing in broken Portuguese to my target, but his minder was having none of it.

As I found myself in yet another Bridget Jones moment, Ronaldo had the last laugh -- he waved, pointed and giggled at my endeavours. Presumably he's seen it all before, yet another crazed female stalker.

I drove home a broken woman, but I had one final hope. I got wind from a Real Madrid trainer that the team would be back again at 7am yesterday. As the alarm buzzed loudly at 5.30am, I had a good feeling in my bones.

Back at Carton House, for the third time in 36 hours, I was told under no circumstances could media access the grounds until after 11am. But I wasn't taking no for an answer. I zoomed past the gates in my little Fiat 500 and got in pole position by the barricades.

As the team materialised from the grounds I made a beeline for my man. As he patiently signed autographs for hotel guests, I could see the home run. I roared.

"Cristiano! Por favor! Por favor, aqui! Aqui!"

We made eye contact and he started to smile and point at me. Finally, he succumbed to my madness. I passionately wrapped my arm around him and breathed a sigh of relief.

It felt like I'd won the Premiership. My mission accomplished. God love Ronaldo, he will honestly never walk alone!
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