Dear Mr Levy,
Thank you.
Thank you for completing me. I was a straitjacket short of a padded cell. But now I have it all. There’s even a little foam on the corner of my mouth. So thank you for my current state of mind, a consequence of you systematically dismantling the great club that Harry Redknapp built with his bare hands. Thank you for this empire of dirt, these ashes in a broken urn you have left for myself and my brethren to mourn over. Thank you for the cataclysm. Please send in the doctors. Order me a lobotomy, save me from witnessing further disgrace. Any minute now, Keith Burkinshaw will appear as a vision to remind me that there was once a football club here. You’ve managed to reanimate the dead after the wilderness of the 1990s only to bury it alive. You are accountable for this shambolic mess. But it’s okay, it’s of no major personal concern to you. It's all gone wrong so you can easily point the blame at the fall guy you’ve appointed in place of Harry then hire the next mug in or simply beg Redknapp to return to fix this crisis.
You didn't back Villas-Boas on purpose which means your failure is really a clever little escape clause. I know your game. Waiting until the final day to do business because you know how improbable it is to get the job done so late in the transfer window. You signed Dempsey because you knew Moutinho wouldn’t happen. Why would it when there are so many complexities involved in his transfer? So many that a day’s worth of hard graft was nigh impossible to iron them all out. He was Villas-Boas number one target and you purposely side-stepped it so that the money from the Luka Modric transfer can sit in that diamond encrusted shoe box under your bed. Hugo Lloris, another mastermind manoeuvre although you seem to have ballsed this one up. The player actually signed in the end, even with your attempts to stall and change the offer made to Lyon during negotiations. How dare you show such contempt for opposing clubs, a blatant reluctance to play into their hands and accept their demands over your own? Who the hell do you think you are? Shameful you are representative of THFC. How dare you cater for your own interests, nursing your agendas. You make my skin crawl.
Where was the £30M bid for Falcao? Llorente? Leandro? You were too busy pushing out club legend Rafa van der Vaart and failing to match valuations for our other alleged targets. You know the ones, refresh NewsNow or tune into Sky Sports News, they had a long list of them. Oh but wait, you signed Dembele. Whoop de doo. Let’s raid Fulham and it will be a-okay. In January we should look at pillaging Reading and if we’re feeling really really ambitious we can swagger on up to Anfield and pluck some of their gems.
We’re really aiming high aren’t we? If it was up to you Dawson, Defoe and Huddlestone would have been thrown onto the scrap-heap alongside Ledley King, cruelly casted out whilst you allow ex-gooners like Adebayor get richer at the cost of hiking up our season tickets. Oh wait, newsflash, you've improved the catering at White Hart Lane. Well that's okay then. At least we won't cry our eyes out at the disarray on the pitch on empty stomachs. To add further insult to injury we are now that little club in England that Jose can tap up if he wants something new for his big team in Madrid. Should I burn my Gareth Bale shirt now or wait until his transfer is confirmed next summer? I just can't get over this transfer window and your last minute attempts at signing players. Do you set your alarm to go off on the last day of August as a reminder to do some business? But it's all good isn't it? Because you can now swap Panini stickers with Florentino Pérez and share up-skirt pictures via instant messenger. He looks the type.
I’m furious.
You have once more screwed this club over. Selling off players along with that aforementioned refusal to meet the demands of other chairman, preferring instead to bully and play with them until they are tearful and broken. You need to consider other people’s feelings, our feelings, and stop being so self-absorbed on this ‘project’ you seem to be running into the North London ground. We’ve got money, I know we have. We sold Modric, so splash it around a bit. You saving it for a rainy day? We’re rich. That bloke who lives out in the Bahamas, he’s a billionaire God damn it.
We should be signing Champions League quality players and paying them a kings ransom to wear our shirt. But oh no, God forbid you speculate to accumulate. Let me guess, boo hoo, we need money for the stadium. Bore off. What stadium? You think a bit of scaffolding and cement mixers can fool me?
As for Villas-Boas, you've out done yourself there. The closest he ever got to playing football was reading a book about it and learning tactics and formation on a computer. He shouldn't be managing a Sunday league club let alone us. He's a researcher at best. Who's next in line? Anthony Costa? We never played this poorly under Redknapp. I refuse to give him a chance, I simply refuse. Anything below 4th is a disgrace and we're currently 14th. Unacceptable and believe me I'm being patient here. I was patient on Saturday against Norwich. I didn't start to abuse the manager until late on. I waited until the 15th minute. This isn't a transition, it's a crisis!
I've been a supporter for decades but I will never set foot back into White Hart Lane again until you are removed and gone. Okay, granted, the restraining order doesn't allow me within a mile of the stadium, but my disdain will see me boycott EA Sports games and not purchase any Under Armour gear. Apart from one of the white training tops which looks spiffing. So have some of that corporate Tottenham.
The points lost at the start of the season because of your reluctance to do business early and get in the players to replace the departing ones have cost us any chance of finishing top four. Our season is OVER. Have you looked at the table? MIND THE GAPS. Plural, that's plural.
You have sold our soul to the devil, then nicked it back, then sold it back to us only to then take a reward from the devil when pointing him in the direction of his stolen property. This, this ugly abomination of a club is what you've birthed from your greed and self-absorption. I am Gregory Peck in The Omen when he digs up that coffin in the ruined cemetery to find a jackal's skeleton in Damien's mother's grave. I'm Gregory f**king Peck! You've turned us all into Gregory Peck!
I hope you like the number ten. It’s not a shirt number Daniel. It’s the position we'll be sitting in come May. And the number 666 is no doubt glistening with pride somewhere on your body.
Yours devastatingly,
Spooky