A new book, "Land of the Permanent Wave: An Edwin 'Bud' Shrake Reader," contains a column Shrake wrote for the Dallas Morning News about a plot to sabotage the halftime show of a Cowboys-Redskins game in Washington.

I have long been a connoisseur of stories about unusual happenings at sports stadiums, and am proud to say that Camp Randall and Madison figure in a few of them.

We can boast about the first appearance, in 1976, of the "Portage Plumber," a portly man named Terry Westegard, who wore a fur skirt and a helmet and danced with the UW pompon squad, to the roaring approval of the Camp Randall crowd.

There was also the time, in November 1999, when a young Badger fan celebrated Ron Dayne breaking the all-time NCAA rushing record by streaking naked from Camp Randall 's north to south end zones.

By far the most mysterious of the Camp Randall pranksters was someone who for years was identified only as "the Phantom."

I will have more on the Phantom momentarily, but first let me share the Cowboys-Redskins story, which is a classic, related in Bud Shrake's new book.

Shrake is a Texas writer with whom I have occasionally corresponded. After he left the Dallas Morning News, Shrake wrote for Sports Illustrated, and also did novels and screenplays.

Shrake hit a commercial home run when he collaborated with Austin golf pro Harvey Penick on "Harvey Penick's Little Red Book," which became the best-selling sports book of all-time.

In the early '60s, the Cowboys-Redskins rivalry was heating up, and a small group of Dallas fans -- possibly with the knowledge of Cowboys management -- had schemed to smuggle 50 chickens into the Washington stadium to wreak havoc on Redskins owner George Marshall's beloved Christmas halftime show, which included Santa Claus on a dogsled. The conspirators had earlier scattered chicken feed on the field.

The idea was to release the chickens at the peak of the halftime show. They would run amok, spook the sled dogs, and CBS would broadcast it to the country.

It would have worked, too, if it was possible to keep chickens quiet. They were hidden in crates in a stadium dugout with canvas over the crates. One of the conspirators stood nearby.

A Washington team official, strolling by, thought he heard chickens.

"What's in there?" he asked.

"Ice cream," the conspirator said.

"Ice cream doesn't sound like that."

The result was fines and short jail time, and a vow to try again.

Which brings us to the "Phantom of Camp Randall," who according to legend saw every home Badger football game in the 1970s without ever buying a ticket.

The Phantom's existence was first reported by Fred Milverstedt, who wrote a popular sports column in The Capital Times in the early '70s. Milverstedt, who knew the Phantom, was amused to see the Phantom enjoying a game from the Camp Randall press box, which he had successfully infiltrated by posing as an elevator repairman.

Milverstedt never named the Phantom, but a few years ago I obtained the first and only on-the-record interview with the Phantom, who turns out to be Edgewood High School graduate Dan Lynaugh.

Lynaugh recently retired from his longtime position as postmaster in the village of Marshall. He told me he began sneaking into the games as a kid because he couldn't afford a ticket, and later did it for sport.

One particularly effective method involved dressing up to approximate a UW trainer -- a white shirt with a Badger logo, and red and white striped pants. He'd also carry a fake medical bag. "I would give myself a running start," Lynaugh said, so he would be huffing and puffing as he approached an entrance gate. There, he would ask the usher, "Did you see a guy with a box of kicking tees go by here?" When the usher said no, Lynaugh said, "If you do, tell him they want him on the field NOW!" And Lynaugh would walk into the stadium.

One of Lynaugh's best Camp Randall stunts came after he had retired the Phantom and bought season tickets. It was in the 1990s, and Bill Clinton was president. Lynaugh had a friend, Madison native Randy Nolen, who was managing a Clinton impersonator, whom he brought to Madison.

Lynaugh and two Madison buddies -- to protect their identities I will refer to them only as Tom Shipley and Patrick Sweeney -- rented a limo and drove it onto the field at Camp Randall, where "Bill Clinton" addressed the football Badgers during a practice.

Accounts vary whether Barry Alvarez, then the coach, was in on the prank. Lynaugh thinks so. Nolen, however, said this: "Barry Alvarez figured out pretty fast what was going on. But I think some of the players still think Bill Clinton spoke to the team."

Contact Doug Moe at 608-252-6446 or dmoe@madison.com.