The Tottenham Hotspur Board meeting was coming towards the last couple of items on the agenda and Daniel Levy was feeling very pleased with himself.

“I think we can all agree it has been a successful season,” he said to anyone still listening. “We still have the highest ticket prices, I remain the highest paid CEO and we have lots of concerts lined up to support our financial diversity strategy. Our reliance on that dreadful football team is reducing every season.”

The Board, as usual, hung on his every word. “Yes, your honour, I mean Daniel,” one of them said.

“Now, the last item on the agenda is the stadium naming rights, who is going to report?”

A swarthy little man with no real personality but a propensity to get right up the boss's ass raised his hand.

“We have three bids,” he said.

There had been three teams preparing feverishly to take advantage of this unbelievable opportunity. So unbelievable in fact that nobody had shown any real interest since the stadium opened 6 years before. Levy had had to float some big names to the media to get anyone interested. Amazon, Meta… all utterly ridiculous.

The first bidder was Qatar Airways. At their recent board meeting they had received a report on the matter from a senior partner at PWC, a company of once high repute. 

“Etihad and Emirates have already nabbed two of the top clubs, our recommendation is not to miss the boat this time,” he said as he reached his twentieth powerpoint.

“Get on with it,” said the chair of the Qatari business, “the bar’s open.”

“We have been to look at Tottenham Hotspur and it is the finest football club in the land,” he continued.

“You didn’t go and see them play then?” interjected the Qatari, now wishing he had paid extortionately over the odds for McKinsey, like they normally did.

“No, that is true, but the stadium is magnificent and they have the best training facilities in the land,” the PWC Partner stated. As usual, he had missed the point. “How much money do you have to bid?” he asked.

“We’ve as much fucking money as we want, you imbecile, we’re owned by a sovereign wealth fund.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t how it works,” the PWC partner replied, mopping the sweat from his brow.

“Well it worked for Man City so it can work for Tottenham,” the Qatari said, signing off a multi-million dollar bid.

The second group preparing a proposal, surprisingly to some, was INEOS.

Sir Jim Ratcliffe was talking to his board. “Nobody has noticed that I’m a Southampton fan,” he gloated. “It’s tough supporting such a shit team, although we at least managed to match Tottenham in the second half the other day.”

INEOS’s plan to subvert the Premier League had worked wonders at Man Utd. “Bringing in that idiot Amorim and sacking all the tea ladies has been such fun,” declared Ratcliffe. “Let’s have a go at Tottenham next.”

“That’s a great idea, we’ve already sold the suckers a deal to promote that ridiculous 4x4 vehicle you came up with Jim,” said one of his lackeys. “They even put our name on the seats that the coaches sit on.”

“I know right,” said Sir Jim, “so many coaches and so little coaching!”

The lackey had another thought. “We’ll tell them that INEOS stands for ‘I know everything about Spurs’”

“You idiot,” said Sir Jim, “that would be INEAS”.

After further debate in which the INEOS board hung on his every word, Sir Jim signed off on a bid.

The third and most surprising bid was prepared by the #LevyOut movement. At a clandestine meeting in the second floor of the leader’s flat, above a kebab shop on the Tottenham High Road, a plan was hatched.

“The club has been very good at extending the fan base around the world,” the leader said.

“Incredible really, given how shit the team is,” a follower chipped in.

“The plan is to use the strength of the fan base to raise funds. We are going to crowdsource a bid for the stadium naming rights. If every Spurs fan who is discontent with how the team is going puts in a fiver we should be in with a shot.”

The committee agreed that it was a brilliant idea and the rest of the evening was spent discussing what name would be given to the stadium.

Back at the Tottenham Hotspur Board meeting the swarthy individual with no personality concluded his presentation of the bids.

“So, let me get this right,” said Levy. “The Qataris are offering to give us access to their sovereign wealth fund but there’s a risk that we might contravene 115 regulations and get thrown out of the league?”

“Correct your honour, I mean Mr Levy”

“Too big a risk, I’d say. It’s down to the other two. Now our good friend Sir Jim is offering five million a year to call it the INEOS stadium with the tagline ‘I know everything about Spurs’, I rather like that.”

“But surely it should be INEAS,” said the swarthy man, for once daring to contradict his glorious leader. 

“Good point,” said Levy, “and that sounds a bit too much like ‘in the ass’, I’m not falling for that trick,” he said, suddenly suspicious of Sir Jim’s motives.

“Remind me again who the third bid came in from,” said Levy.

“It’s a mysterious group who simply style themselves #LO,” the swarthy man said, “they have offered six million a year for three years.”

Levy’s eyes lit up, an extra million of income! “What do they want to call the stadium?” he asked.

“The Daniel Levy is a Cunt Stadium,” said the swarthy man, a little embarrassed.

“The what?!” said Levy. 

“The Daniel Levy is a Cunt Stadium, sir,” the man repeated.

“How much more than Sir Jim have they offered?” asked Levy.

“A million a year for three years, sir.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Levy, signing off the deal.

“Now, AOB?” Levy asked, keen to finish the meeting and go to review his bank balance.

“Just one thing,” said a new Non-Executive Director. “Shouldn’t we have a report about the football team?” He had not been there long enough to understand the club’s priorities.

“We normally leave that to the ‘non revenue earning sub-committee’, but seeing as you ask, do we have a report from the Greek?”

“The Greek, sir?”

“Yes, that Postecogoo guy we took on.”

“He’s Australian, sir,”

“With a name like Postalogaloo? He’s not called Bruce is he?”

“No sir,”

“Anyway, what does it matter, wherever he’s from he hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing, where did we get him from?”

“Celtic, sir,’

“What idiot signed that off?”

“You did, sir,”

“Right, well what does his report say?”

“It says we won at the weekend against a very strong opponent.”

“Fuck me, how did that happen?” Levy asked. “Who was this strong team that we managed to overcome?”

“Southampton, sir. The report says that we played them off the park for the first half but due to their greater strength in depth they matched us in the second.”

“Well that’s all very encouraging,” Levy said. “Ok, meeting over.”

As they left the room Levy called over his swarthy assistant. “Call the #LO guys and ask them if we can drop the Daniel, it’ll save us a fortune on signage,” he said.

“Yes, sir, ‘The Levy is a Cunt Stadium’ it will be.”

Levy smiled and opened his HSBC app as he left the room. It had been another outstanding day at the office.

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