This is...'Dan'

Re-worked into a track from the recently updated Eminem inspired 'Stalking Daniel Levy', with special thanks to Sean Lawrence for basically making this happen and Pete Mahatna Stalin for the lyrical tweaks and performance. Norty language, NSFW etc.

This is...'Dan'.

Enjoy. And Daniel, get in touch buddy. We should share that bagel. Or at the very least let me interview you ffs. I promise, I won't touch you inappropriately.

Well, maybe the once.

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It's happening again

Take Eminem's classic track Stan, add the vital ingredient of an obsessive fan but replace Eminem with the current chairman of THFC and you get this. That was back in 2009. So thanks to the slow news* days as we await for Joe Cole to make his mind up and lack of any other tangible 'in the know' activity, here's an updated remix for 2010.

*Congrats to Harry and his new contract 

Spooked - original song lyrics by Eminem, re-imagined for DML.com.

Chorus: (Harry Redknapp)

Hansen scoffs on Match of the Day
Spurs will always let you down
Champions League outside my window
And all I see is fourth place
And Crouchie nods home the winner
Ledleys only got one knee,
It reminds me, that Spurs are great,
I'm so great...


[Spooky]

Dear Mr Levy, I wrote but you still ain't callin
I left my mobile, my email, and my twitter at the bottom
I sent two letters back in May, along with an Enneagram you must not have got 'em
There probably was a problem with security or the postmen

Sometimes they just throw out my parcels when I drop them
But anyways; fuck it, what's happening dude? How's the naming rights going?
I can't wait for the new stadium and the new home shirt ain't blowing
So what you up to at the minute? Should we expect to re-sign Kevin Prince Boateng?

I'm not joking, if we re-sign him I think I might cry and consider drowning
Better yet I'll stick my head in the oven, has Bentley stopped his clowning?
Can we not try and sign someone decent instead?
Diego Forlan would be better than having myself ending up dead

I know you probably hear this everyday, but I'm your biggest fan
I still hide out in your garden in the shrubbery and watch you tan
I got a room full of your photos and hate Matthew Norman the schnook
I like the old work you did with Comolli too, that shit was off the hook

Anyways, I hope you get this, and mail me back,
Just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan, you on Facebook?
This is Spooky, let's talky


Chorus: (Harry Redknapp)


[Spooky]

Dear Mr Levy, you still ain't called or wrote, does your PA never take a fucking note?
I ain't mad - I just think it's FUCKED UP you don't answer your phone
If you didn't wanna talk to me outside the Lane,
you didn't have to, but you coulda signed an autograph for Theo
That's my little voodoo doll man

I'm always sticking needles in his vains,
We waited at the West Stand entrance for you in the pouring rain,
Four hours then you and Ekotto just ignored us leaving us in pain
That's pretty shitty man - just like The Opus
How can the average fan even afford one, I swear sometimes you're so pompus

I ain't 'In The Know' though, I just don't like being lied to
Remember when we met at the AGM - you said if I'd write you
you would write back - see I'm just like you in a way
I would have sacked Juande Ramos too, he was like Bill Murray;
He hardly spoke a native word and best got rid of in a hurry

I can relate to what you're saying in your match-day notes
So when I have a shitty day, I drift away and read them to myself
Cause I don't really have much else other than a blog and ketamine to help me when I'm depressed
I even got a tattoo of ENIC PLC across my chest
Sometimes I even shave my head to see how good it looks
It's like adrenaline, the bald shine is such a sudden rush for me

See everything you say is real in those official statements and I respect you cause you tell it
Other bloggers are just jealous cause I talk about you 24/7
But they don't know you like I know you Dan, no one does
That Ben bloke who climbs the tree at the Lodge has lost his buzz

You gotta call me man, I'll be the biggest fan you'll ever lose
Sincerely yours, Spooky -- P.S.
We should share a bagel soon

Chorus: (Harry Redknapp)


[Spooky]

Dear Mister You're-Gonna-Get-My-Burning-Season-Ticket-Thrown-At-Your-Door
this'll be the last fucking effigy I ever send you, 1pm Cornerpin, will end you
It's been Christ knows how long and still no word - I don't deserve it?
I know you got my last two letters;
I wrote the addresses on 'em perfect…

So this is my iphone 4 recording I'm sending you, I hope you see and hear it
I'd have rang you using voice-call but I lose reception when I use it
I'm in the car right now, I'm doing 61 on the High Street
Hey Daniel, I drank ten cans of Holsten, you dare me to do?

You know the song by Hoddle and Waddle, "Diamond Lights"?
About the guy standing alone in the rain regretful
And he declares his love for her even though she's as hard as stone

That's kinda how this is, you're as cold as ice to me, I'm struggling with my airflow
Why the fuck do you persist with ignoring me, do I not deserve a guitar solo
Now it's too late - you show love for Lennon and you make me feel like Yoko Ono

And all I wanted was a letter or a call
I hope you know I ripped ALL of your naked photo-shopped pictures off my bathroom wall
You're not keeping tabs on Harry either, he should be playing Taarabt, think about it,
the kid is the new Zidane, he's been destroying the Championship do you not dream about it?
And when you dream it I hope you can see his step-overs and you SCREAM about it
I hope your conscience EATS AT YOU and you can't BREATHE about it. Please don't sell him to Real Madrid, I want us to build the team around him.

See Daniel; {*screaming*}
Shut up bitch! I'm trying to talk!
Hey Daniel, that's Jermaine Jenas screamin in the trunk
But he ain't too good, I dropped James Corden on his head
See I ain't like you
'Cause with JJ his skills make me frown
It's time to get rid of him knees up mother brown

Well, gotta go, I think I'm almost here now
Oh shit, I forgot, how am I supposed to send this shit out?

{*car tires squeal*} {*CRASH*}
.. {*brief silence*} .. {*Police siren in the distance*}


Chorus: (Harry Redknapp)


[Daniel Levy]

Dear Mr Spooky, I meant to write you sooner but I've been quite busy
I'm glad you like the stadium plans, it will make the whole Prem dizzy
Look, I'm really flattered you spend so much time outside the ground
and here's an autograph from Gareth Bale, he's worth a few pound
He wrote it on a programme

I'm sorry I didn't see you at the Lane, I must have missed you
Don't think I did that intentionally just to disrespect you
But what's this stuff about a voodoo doll?
I say that's just slightly off-key
Come on now - you don't want yourself banned, in-front of a judge and have to plea

You got some issues Spooky, I think you need some counselling
To help I'll put your name down in the raffle for an Opus, you're bound to win
And don't worry we'll not be re-signing Boateng, would have preferred his brother
But sticking your head in the oven, that type of attitude makes me not want us to meet each other

I really think you need to stop getting so excited just relax it's no matter
We've got Modric on a long term contract it's left Fergie in tatters
I hope you get to read this letter, I just hope it reaches you in time before you hurt yourself,
I think that you'll be doing just fine, if you relax a little

I'm glad I inspire you but Spooky why are you so confused?
Try to understand, we've finished fourth you should be enthused
You should be so happy we've got into the Champions League, stop being so frantic
I watched this one bloke on the news a couple weeks ago that made me quite sick

He crashed his car into Matthew Norman's house, high and drunk on booze
Had some fat naked bloke gagged in the back and another weeping profuse
And they found his phone with a video message he made, but they didn't say who it was to
Come to think about, his name was...it was you... 

Damn.

Daniel Levy

I would.

With thanks

Dear Mr Levy,

Many have suggested over the past season or two that I have sold out. They say I am no longer a solider of fortune; no longer a personified rebellion against the Bourgeoisie mentality of the upper tier uber-rich West Standers. They whisper in the Park Lane toilets, in-between hurried puffs of Benson and Hedges, that I have been assimilated in amongst the other Spurs faithful. A passive shadow of my former self. Re-conditioned. Just another replica shirt in a stand of thousands.

It's been years since I last chained myself naked to a turnstile and 20 months since I turned up at the Spurs Shop dressed as Peter Griffin, attacking Chirpy with violent bloodthirsty impunity.

I no longer wait by the gates for directors to drive in and out of the club armed with water balloons (yeah, right, water...ha! If the club wishes to give us yellow streaks against our will, then let them have some back). I have practically seen out all my community service impeccably and I have not breached the conditions of the most recent court order that politely requests I stay 100 feet away from your good self and Mrs Levy. And your pet hamster.

Demonstrations, boycotts, drug-induced squirrels, surprise gift wrapped parcels consisting of dead animal parts. All of them things of the past. Stories forever chronicled in my letters to your office. I can't even remember the last time I stood outside your home and burnt a copy of The Opus. Which for the record is a very expensive bonfire, and at the time would have appreciated a heads-up that you were in Florida on vacation.

It would seem I have become a monument to myself. Just a membership number. Just a chant, a scream, a shout. A fan. Loyal. But no different to the next. Not unique in any special kinda way, no longer standing out in the crowd. No megaphone. No soapbox.

I hardly ever write to you. There is so much blood I can spare. I find there is little need to do so anyway. You hardly ever churn out any propaganda these days either. Although don't think I didn't hear you state the word considering when talking about the proposed plans to build a new stadium post-match at Eastlands. Slip of the tongue I presume.

But the last few letters I have written have been, dare I say, pro-you and prophetic also?

Back in May of 2009 I stated how we needed a change in culture of the team and players, the need to instil a winning mentality.

Look at us now.

Then at the end of August of 2009 I reiterated again in a letter to you how removing the Director of Football structure was the catalyst for progression.

Look at us now.

I forgave you unequivocally and practically ended my vendetta because of it.

And then on March 17th 2010, I continued my goodwill gesture and called for a THFC battle cry in our push for fourth spot. I officially and definitively called a truce. My heart and lungs belonging unconditionally to Tottenham Hotspur right up to the final day of the season. No agenda in sight.

So have I turned my back on all the things that defined me in the first place?

Of course not. I'm simply asleep. Dreaming a wonderful dream.

I said I'd give you a chance. I was initially weary of your back to basics appointment of Harry Redknapp but still supportive, and this decision - whether through desperation or acute insight - has turned out to be a master-stroke of good fortune and commitment. Resulting with end product. Actual 'I can taste it and it tastes good' end product.

Stability and belief. Much like Head and Shoulders, two things you've hardly ever got to grips with. And yet now we swim in a sea of renewed tangible progression, floating on top of it if we so wish to do so. Okay, so you still don't have hair on your head, but one miracle at a time please.

How could I possibly complain? Those impossible highs, those far-fetched dreams to envisage a team, a unit, fighting and playing for each other and refusing to choke, refusing to bottle it…to see this play out in front of my eyes. Our eyes. Complain? There is no need for such a negative sentiment. You listened to the people. You listened to me.

Complain, alas, I simply can't. I refuse to. So I'm only going to say this the once, and I'm hoping your secretary reads this out to you with some conviction and heart to further illustrate my positive sentiment. Here we go:

Congratulations on a job well done.

Yes. I said congratulations.

Granted, I've played my part. Retaining a gagged Jermaine Jenas in my basement dungeon for the best part of the season was imperative to sustaining our challenge for 4th spot - be it not very cheap and quite time consuming. And don't even get me started on the mess down there.

But the big decisions made within the walls of the club are ones that have sat firmly in your full control and your control alone. My mere mortal words can not quite infiltrate your brain when it most matters. Short of me attempting to hypnotise you, I can hardly influence your day-to-day agenda and work ethic at the club. And we all know what happened when I last attempted to hypnotise you. The less said about our night in Amsterdam the better. Never red? That might work over in N17, but in the 'dam, blue is always the colour best avoided.

So, for now until a time when required, no more surprise packages consisting of maggot infested bagels. No more attacking Chirpy (although I can't guarantee I wont have 'words' if he cuts me up with a trolley in Tesco's again. Once I can accept it being a mistake, twice, is more than a coincidence and three times is a blatant pattern. I'll hit the git so hard he'll require another round of plastic surgery). And finally no more burning of season tickets on the final day of the season.

I'm repeating my pledge once more. For you have delivered on yours.

Even if it was a bit like you driving around a roundabout in reverse, failing to turn the car into the correct direction and take the first exit north. You could have removed the unnecessary back-seat driver, ejecting him through the window far far sooner than you did. But you did it in the end. Dizziness can sometimes end with a moments clarity. And that's all that was required to make the right choice. Clarity. And a new driver altogether. One that requires no high-end sat-nav just some experience with a more traditional A-Z.

So here I am soft, like a Care-Bear's belly-button. I suggest you keep me like this, all cute and dainty. And if you really need to ask how, then allow me to refer you to next season. Consolidate the squad. If you want to dictate our destiny I suggest you grab the bull by it's horns and ride the f*cker into the sunset. Do not accept that this seasons end is our arrival, but rather our beginning. We still have a fair distance before we genuinely make an entrance.

Go fourth and prosper.

I suggest you avoid the caviar and Cristal and concentrate on the Champions League. In the mean time, on the recommendation of my psychologist, I'll be concentrating on Harry Redknapp. It's time to shift perspective from off the pitch to back on it. I'll still be hanging onto your effigy just in case it's required. You never know when a dream can turn into a nightmare and wake you up. I don't plan to be caught short.

In the mean time let's keep the donations to the Tottenham Foundation at an absolute minimum this summer and get past that CL qualifier.

Regards,
Spooky

A proper wtf transfer moment

So. Let me get this right. Pompey owe Spurs money (£1M) for a player that never actually signed and played for us because he rejected the deal. This is thanks, apparently, to a sell-on clause that was part of a two player deal to bring Begovic (the player in question) and Kaboul. You still following? The latter signed, the former went to Stoke instead.

So to clarify. We are owed one million pounds (little finger to edge of mouth) for a player who did not agree to complete the deal his club and Spurs shook hands on.

Two things.

1) Portsmouth. I guess this was Harry's doing, right? Right? Massive epic fail.

2) Daniel Levy. Genius.

Insanity that laughs in the face of logic, then rips its face off and wears it as a scarf. It's a bit like Liverpool purchasing Robbie Keane for £20.3M and us taking him back for £12M. Madness, just madness.

Oh wait up...

Update on Thursday, April 22, 2010 at 9:20AM by spooky

Update time.

Spurs have spoken: http://www.tottenhamhotspur.com/news/articles/club-statement-220410.html

Ah, now that feels better, doesn't it?

THFC Battle Cry

Dear Mr Levy,

Medusa. It's a bitch. I can smell her stench. It's a sickly smell, one that reminds me of Upton Park, 2006. We've been here before. It's a fate that grates me. One that has to be avoided. Turning to stone is the expected outcome that those who scorn us will no doubt be hoping to witness. Again.

Can we find the guile and courage and craft to severe her head from her neck and leave victorious? Are we prepared for the task ahead, this clash of titanic proportions? Us against the odds. Us against ourselves and our fears, our personal demons?

Do we have what it takes? Do we dare? When Perseus faced the Medusa he was prepared, but that guile and courage - that fearlessness - he had that in abundance. And without that self-belief you won't get far. You won't finish the job. Even if you think you have the right tools for it.

Winged sandals

We are without the devastating speed that Aaron Lennon provides us with, jinxing down the wing, crossing the ball with pace and precision (well, mostly) and sometimes even brave enough to have a go himself. But we do have Gareth Bale, altogether a different type of talent but equally impressive. A beast. Strong and yet wonderfully skillful, there is almost an ironic blessing here to see him shifted into left-midfield from left-back giving us a vital outlet of attack. Vital and consistent, driving and flying forwards with absolute determination. I want to kiss him, run my fingers through his lush thick hair, this man with the face of a monkey, this young powerhouse of a winger. Hoodoo? He eats hoodoo for breakfast with a sprinkling of sugar and a glass of orange juice to wash it down with.

Luka Modric is possibly our most esteemed creative force. But some may argue that he is tied to the restraints of central midfield, without the ability to cut in from the left hand side and dictate the tempo in a way that impacts the opposition far more than standing alongside Palacios. It can sometimes be a congested midfield where the ickle Croatian's wizardry is lost in the dirt and grit. His work rate is unquestionable and perhaps patience is required whilst he adjusts to this emergency position. We all know he is more than capable of getting his hands (feet) dirty and can deal with the physicality just fine. Huddlestone is still out so hopefully Luka can turn on the magic and control the game from the centre much like he does from the wing. We await for his resurgence. But patience is a virtue we do not have.

Niko has a role on the right as we continue to make-shift with so many absent players. Outside of his comfort zone perhaps, but with enough ability to aid us in our quest. As a unit there is enough there to allow us to craft and create and devastate. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Mirrored shield

If we lost Wilson Palacios to suspension we might find ourselves in a position that might leave us motionless. Unable to side-step any potential final fatal nightmare. Why look into her eyes when you can bite her ankles off? Wilson is imperative. He has re-discovered some of that mojo he had when he first arrived at the Lane. Enough to sprinkle his own brand of Patheresque dominance in his arena. You shall not pass, the message on the door that never opens because he's standing there cool as a cucumber, arms crossed, studs up.

The work he does, closing down and defending and generally shielding the area between defence and midfield allows the more creative players time to muster up some of that ye old Tottenham magic. If we get over-run in the centre, then Modric has no protection, neither does our defence and there is deterioration of structure and balance through the side. As if  turned to stone, unable to move. It's a shame there is no understudy. Yet. The boy from Brazil has never been needed more, alas, he will have to wait and see if its Europa or Champions he'll be participating in next season (if he finally signs).

For now, we live on the edge. What two games will Wilson end up missing? I can think of a couple that will leave me a broken man if he isn't present. Otherwise, we are left with only one alternative. No not Jenas.  We'll need to rush Wilson in for major cosmetic facial surgery to make him look like Jenas. A Jermaine Jenas who has put on some weight since being injured and allowed gravity to shorten his height and make him appear far more stocky than normal. And yet he's a better play for it. Sshh.

As for the defence. Gomes. Corluka. Bassong. Dawson. BAE. With King edging closer to a cameo. Even if people choose to highlight the plight of Ledley and Woodgate and continue to question our keeper who has 9 out-standing games but critics feel the need to highlight one game where he flapped a couple of times. The stats tell a story of consistency and unity at the back, even if on paper we have appeared to be fragmented and stretched. The injuries to our old trusted guard meant our young ones have grown in stature, and have gained worthy experience. It's Spurs, yet I'm not that worried about us defensively. Not half as much as yesteryear.

A sword

To sever the head with. Cutting edge is something that has deserted us once or twice this season, but we have remained consistent and have worked hard to escape out of the lulls that have tested our resilience. Jermain Defoe has been prolific. Crouch not so much in front of goal and the subject of much debate regarding his attacking credentials. Is he a Plan B but not good enough as a Plan A? When he doesn't score, does his selection allow for positives in the way of assists and team play? Or does his presence introduce negatives in the way of long balls and knock-downs which is not the most beautiful or even effective style of play available to us?

Enter Roman Pavlyuchenko. The forgotten man who can't stop scoring. Rejuvenated and confident. Not perfect but a striker who is capable of playing a part in build up play - the type that involves caressing the ball on the ground rather hoofing it up in the air. Something Peter is also capable of but alas sometimes we forget. But he (Roman) can go missing at times. But who can argue against his current goal-scoring ratio to games played? Not me.

Both Roman and JD still have to step it up another level. There are now no games left for us to look back on with regret. Chances must be taken otherwise we'll be taken down. Strike without remorse. No matter the opposition. Show no respect other for one's self.

Cap of invisibility

We are not alone in this quest for glory. There are others fighting to claim full ownership of this particular destiny. It's impossible to go unnoticed. Not when you sit in the position you wish to finish in. Every game is heavily scrutinised pre- and post- match. And if someone wins, expectations are with them, if someone loses they are practically written off. It's misleading, confusing and creates illusions of hope/false hope.

But rather than spend time looking at the enemies around us, predicting and calculating, and instead of showing interest in the battles they will head into and use their results as a means of validation, it is all rendered redundant if we take a different tact on proceedings. In the grand scheme of things if we simply win the games we have ahead of us - it's as much as we can ever do - and our destiny will be in our own hands, under our control. Rather than in the hands of others. It's obvious I know, but the distractions can and have caused us headaches before. It’s time to look away and only look forward.

You might think retaining a level where each game is played as though it was a Cup final is an unrealistic expectation considering our injury plight and the fact that the atmosphere on and off the pitch is different depending on the opposing side and its fans. However, having anchored ourselves up in the Gods - no matter what - remaining there is the sole objective. Regardless of the wounded on the sidelines. Regardless of the mistakes and lost points in the past. We are 4th at the moment. So if we've managed to get there and stay there and reclaim this position during the duration of this Premier League season, then why give it up now?

If we are out of sight the opposition won't be able to see us. If we can't be seen we can't be caught. Playing each game like a Cup final? If the players want Champions League football then they have no other option.

There is nowhere to hide. Regardless of the opposition, regardless of the battlefield. It's heart-on-sleeves or nothing. Speculate. Force the issue. Leave no room for excuses and take nothing for granted.

So step forward Perseus. All eleven of you. And every single one of you in the stands. We might not be facing a Medusa or a Kraken in each remaining week that passes us by, but we may as well be. Because failure is not a path I want us to walk down. Especially the ilk of apologetic failure.

It's time to rip that bitches head clean off her f**king neck.

No hanging of effigies. No burning of season tickets. No boycott of the Spurs shop. No kidnapping and shaving Chirpy. No throwing frozen shit pellets at the scandalously expensive sports cars the players own. And no stalking of you Daniel, hiding in the rose bush beneath your bathroom window watching and recording as you shower and shine your majestic head. I call a truce.

My heart and lungs belong to THFC unconditionally from now until the final day of the season, more so than ever.

Good luck to all of you. Good luck to us all. To Harry and the players. Let battle commence.

Yours sincerely and with eternal faith and belief,

Spooky

Spurs away to Wolves...this is no side show

13 games left. And tonight's visit to Wolves is a 100% 'have to bloody win no sorry pathetic excuses or what ifs' type of encounter. I know we can't and won't be winning all our remaining matches, but (with no disrespect meant) this has to be our three points. Grafted and deserved. It's considerably more comfortable a game than one or two other fixtures ahead of us.

The opposition might not be big, but the game is most definitely king-sized. Complacency? I damn you to hell. Plums are of no use here, bring your grape-fruits.

Can we do it? We can, can we not? You're not stalling your answer, are you?

So therefore, I expect to be pushing ahead with my planned demonstration outside THFC tomorrow, with one banner, one simple banner stating the words: DIE LEVY DIE

I am not asking for the resignation of any of the directors or the manager. It's not that kind of demonstration. I am simply pointing my finger towards the person solely responsible for the club and it's progression so others witnessing are left with no doubt as to the persons identity, allowing them to join in with proceedings. It's subtle, I know. And you might wonder why I'm doing this in German. It's dramatic. It reminds me of Klinsmann.

Harsh you might think that I'm waving my finger just at the chairman. And I do believe he should have done more in the last window. Not suggesting we over-spent or panic-bought. But simply worked harder to secure a deal for another midfielder. We've had since the summer to do so. The chance to consolidate is one that has been missed. Much like 2006. But the team is still more than capable. And we remain a club without (potentially) crippling debt.

I'm ignoring Harry's 'we can finish about Arsenal' media-friendly pre-match nonsense. And I'm happy to hear Luka speak of the Wolves defeat (back at the Lane) and how revenge is on the cards tonight. And although King will be absent, I can not disagree that if we do continue to play the way we are playing, we are going to hit good winning form.

I personally believe we'll smash someone to bits very very soon. Teams defend deep, suffocate space and make it a pain the backside for us when playing in N17 causing way too much fragmented urgency. Away, it's different. They come and have a go, allowing our players to use the space presented to them. It's ironic we are more comfortable on our travels. No always, but more often than in previous years.

We need to be lucky by making up our own luck. And we need to take a risk, both on the pitch and off it (then on it) - in the way of substitutions at pivotal moments in the game. Would be nice to see Niko make an appearance tonight - at some point. And the continued improvement of Bale and Bentley goes without say. But most importantly, we need to be patient. Much like we were at Leeds in the cup.

So, with those thoughts in mind, I'm hoping to see you all tomorrow, outside the ground at around 11am. In celebration of victory, and in celebration and support of our chairman. A love parade of sorts. A demonstration of endearment for The Levy; Daniel Levy. And the supporting cast of manager and players. Our support is very much needed. Believe. And the players will believe.

After tonight, its down to just 12 games and 36 points.

Can we do it? We can, can we not? Of course we bloody can.

COYS.

New Spurs stadium = Majestic

Credit to the chairman. Majestic, no? It's got an understated swagger to it. Modern yet still manages to retain a traditional boxed in look, aided no doubt by the fact the stands are closer to the pitch (in comparison to other newly built stadia).

Levy. I could almost kiss you, you wonderful bald munchkin you. This is testament to managing a redevelopment project by listening to the fans. Great work from everyone involved. I'm all giddy over here.

Reduced capacity because of the amendments made to the design? Just about 'ok' with me. 70,000 registered members. 23,000 waiting for the chance to apply for a season ticket. Perhaps we could have done with a few less exec boxes at both sides of the 'Kop' end. The more fans, the bigger the atmosphere and the bonus gloating rights to be able to sing about how our one is bigger than yours. But let's face it, we will sell out most games anyway. And better a packed ground than one with 5,000 or so empty blue seats. Last thing we want is radio adverts begging day-trippers to buy up tickets.

Corporate boxes are a modern day requirement (from a financial stand point I guess) and their 'section' looks quite inoffensive. Probably would have made it far nearer the 60k mark if we had less of them. Posh Tarquins tucking into their glazed ribs and chilled champagne in the luxury of their boxes is fine, thanks to the fact that the rest of the ground will be vibrant with us commoners. Considering the noise we make (ear bleeding levels innit?) at White Hart Lane, we'd probably tear a hole in the space time continuum when 50,000 Lilywhites slow sing Oh When the Spurs go marching in...

As for the above artists impression, loving that 63 row single tier stand. I can see myself standing bang in the middle of that beauty. Hopefully the Park Lane lot get shifted into that stand when the move eventually happens. Although it's more likely that we'll be in the opposite stand near the away fan section. If that's the case then fingers crossed the single tier end is more than just a family stand (aka Paxton II).

Also. Please get rid of that clock.

More details and pictures can be found on the Tottenham site.

Now all we need is a decent sponsor for the 'name' of the new stadium. Shame really that there are no loyal traditionalist millionaire Spurs fan(s) who can simply pay the club to name the ground something apt like...

The Bill Nicholson.

...and avoid the necessity to have a brand name plastered all over it. But then again that's just a fanciful daydream on my part. Still, here's hoping we get a statue of the great man. Would look great at the front of the new stadium.

Yes. I want the moon on a stick too.