As a loyal supporter of Tottenham Hotspur FC, I constantly challenge Daniel Levy and his propaganda machine (which from time to time cleverly fools the Spurs faithful).

We are trapped in the depths of an eternal struggle. Never sustaining the grandeur of glory we so richly deserve because of weak minded errors of judgement. He's a great accountant. But anyone who hires and entrusts Damien Comolli in matters of a footballing nature deserves to have his car water-ballooned. Not that I did...would...ever do that.

I'm also the founder of the The Association of Real Spurs Enforcers Neutralising Antichrist Levy and the League of Lilywhites. My crusade is one of immense importance and grandeur:

To help free the spirit of Tottenham Hotspur and thus allow us to progress forward rather than being ripped to shreds like a cockerel with no means of escape surrounded by rabid foxes (Levy, and his board of directors are the foxes in this metaphor. I'm the cock...erel. Cockerel).

At the end of each season, I burn my season ticket in full view of the directors box, from my seat in the Park Lane Lower as a protest of disgust at this reign of injustice and humiliation that is compounded upon us with each passing year.

Levy cares for nothing other than feeding his ego, spending money on superfluous players and knee-jerking faster than a West Stand season ticket-holder. My eyes see no glory. Just overly expensive bagels and dead pixels in the Jumbotron and DVD releases of score-draws.

Though I can't complain about the new stadium development plans. Although I'll pass full judgement when I see the price of a bagel and coffee.