Piers Morgan: The inside story of the U.S Celebrity Apprentice finale

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By the time you read this column, I will have either been crowned The Celebrity Apprentice by Donald Trump in New York (the announcement was on Thursday night) or been anally fucked by a 6ft 7in unreconstructed redneck country singer called Trace Adkins.

It is probably in everyone's interests that I lost and get confined to the dustbin of reality TV history as "The man who came second to a bloke in a ponytail who sang Honky Tonk Badonkadonk."

But whatever the result, the 36 hours I spent last November working on that final challenge were some of the most exhilarating of my tawdry life. This is the diary I kept at the time…

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Clockwise from top left: Ronnie Wood, Ozzy Osbourne, JK Rowling and Roger Daltrey were among those to offer Piers prizes for the final of Celebrity Apprentice

TUESDAY
11am. Trump has set the final task - to hold a charity auction in front of a star-studded audience, with the Backstreet Boys as the entertainment.

There would be three criteria for winning: money raised from selling 50 tickets each, proceeds from our own unique auction prizes, and how we coped with our management roles on the night.

I was also responsible for the auction itself and the food (with my helpers Stephen Baldwin and Carol Alt), and Trace (backed by Marilu Henner and Lennox Lewis) for the Backstreet Boys and the bar.

Noon. I called Fergie's office.

She is one of the most generous people I know.

"Where is she?"

"New York, but only for two hours."

I jumped in a cab. "Your Majesty… help me!"

She laughed, and quickly agreed to offer a royal tea with herself. I was ecstatic - Americans love Fergie.

"Who's the most generous person you know in this city?" I asked.

"Howard Lutnick."

"Who is he?"

"He's the boss of Cantor Fitzgerald, who had the top four floors of One World Trade Center when it went down, killing 658 employees including his brother."

I called Howard, and after 15 minutes of relentless badgering, he said he'd come down to the auction.

2pm. I returned to the venue and rang Simon Cowell.

"Will you help me win?"

"But that will only make you more famous in America and therefore more obnoxious. So why would I want to do that?"

"Because the charity [the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund] is great - it raises money for wounded soldiers."

Silence.

"OK, I'll help, but only because I like that charity, not you…" I spent the next two hours making over 100 calls and emails to every star, PR, tycoon and friend I could think of.

4pm. My phone rang. "Piers, Ronnie Wood 'ere, mate. I 'ear you're flying the flag for Britain - count me in for three of my paintings."

Five minutes later, I also had Roger Daltrey's microphone. The Stones and The Who… not a bad start.

5pm. Sharon Osbourne called from Hollywood.

"Right, revolting though you are, Ozzy and I are going to offer dinner at our house here in Los Angeles, and if you get at least $50,000 for it then Ozzy will take his band anywhere in America and perform for free."

8pm. A text from Sarah Brown: "We can offer tea at Number Ten, with me definitely and GB too if he is in town. Am on the case for other stuff, too, good luck!"

Midnight. I'd entrusted ticket sales to Stephen Baldwin, and he'd managed to sell precisely five by close of play. "I'm going to hit all the clubs tonight and get loads of stars to come down," he vowed. Hmm.

WEDNESDAY
9am. I tracked down Andrew Lloyd Webber in London, and he offered two priceless VIP tickets to the opening night of his sequel to Phantom Of The Opera, including dinner with him and the stars afterwards.

"Win it for Britain!" he cajoled.

Then the film director Richard Curtis rang to throw in a walk-on part in his next movie plus two first-class tickets to the premiere in London.

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Does Donald Trump (left) tell Piers Morgan he is hired or fired at the U.S Celebrity Apprentice Final against Trace Adkins?

The willingness of all these people to help astounds me.

11am. Baldwin arrived.. "How did you do?"

"Not great."

"How many did you sell?"

"Erm… none."

Noon. The representative of my charity turned up.

"They say I'm being too mean," I told her.

"Does that bother you?"

"No way! Be as mean as you like… go get 'em, Piers."

7pm. I overheard Lennox Lewis saying he has Don King coming down - the wealthiest man in boxing.

There was only one thing to do - I called Sir Philip Green. "I might be in trouble… are you there for me if I need you?" He chuckled.

"Of course… relax."

There must be more reassuring things than hearing Britain's richest and most generous retailer saying "relax" at that precise moment, but I can't think of any.

8pm. The auction started with our items being sold off alternately. Trace went first, raising $20,000 for an Opus book on the Super Bowl.

My first prize came next.

"And what am I bid for tea with the Duchess of York?"

The bidding reached $10,000 before a middle-aged, balding guy stepped forward and declared: "$100,000."

It was Howard Lutnick.

The room erupted into shocked gasps, then cheers. Five minutes later, he bid another $100,000 for dinner with the Osbournes.

Trace looked like someone had just garroted him. His next lot went for just $4,000. Mine for $50,000, courtesy of a phone bid from Mohamed Al Fayed.

And so it went on, with tens of thousands more dollars pouring in for tea at Number Ten, the movie walk-on part, the Phantom tickets, Ronnie Wood's paintings, Roger Daltrey's mic.

Oh, and Don King never showed.

This was the worst day for a cowboy since Gary Cooper met them head-on in High Noon.

9.30pm. My last item was a shopping trip with Ivanka Trump, and bidding reached $20,000 before I grabbed the microphone and announced a special phone bidder from London.

"Mr Cowell… how lovely to hear from you." We exchanged some typically acerbic banter before he made his bid: "$100,000." I turned to see Lennox ask Trace: "How much?"

"Another hundred grand, man," he sighed wearily.

I looked at Donald Trump and winked.

"Good job," he smiled back.

10pm. The auction ended and I noticed a voice message on my phone: "Hi, Piers. This is Jo Rowling. Sarah Brown asked me to help with your auction, and I'd like to offer a signed Harry Potter book if it's not too late…" Tragically, it was.

Midnight. I crawled back to my hotel, mentally and physically exhausted.

The auction had raised over $500,000, and I knew I'd brought in at least three-quarters of that.

But Trace had sold more tickets and run his side of the event well. So it's all down to Trump and the final boardroom drama. The suspense might literally kill me…


kthx