Yankees spokesman, Beelzebub, his unspeakable reptile form dimly visible from deep within a sulphurous cloud of smoke, rises to speak, mighty black wings flapping ominously:

Beelzebub: OK, we'll start by reading the press release, then I'll throw it over to the Man U boys and finally we'll take questions from the floor. [Covering microphone] I'm sorry before I start, could I get another cup of baby's blood? Thanks, Mike, appreciate it. OK, here we go.

Clears throat, eight journalists in front row die in the filthy blast of Stygian air.

Oh most portentous hour! Today it is announced in accordance with the prophecies of Abbadon and as encoded in the books of Moloch, that the work of the Arch-Fiend, most high Satan, is nearing completion.

The Great Horned One expresses his baleful joy that the Soldiers of Darkness from all corners of this blasted earth today join as one in defiance of all-ruling Heaven to serve his treacherous will.

For 'tis done: the red robed minions of darkest Manchester do this fateful day state that the most fearful alliance with the benighted spawn of Steinbrenner - oh we must serve him - to bring to pass the neverending reign on earth of The Desolate One.

Right, as I said now I'll chuck it over to the United guys.

Manchester United spokesman, Mephistopheles, hanging from the ceiling, swathed in eternal fire, flies down form his perch, alights on the podium, gripping it with his fearsome leathery claws, his seven green eyes raking the room with vengeful fury.

Mephistopheles: Thanks, Bub. Yes, not much to add really other than that today it will begin - a thousand thousand years of His dominion, and what pestilence shall now arise upon the earth and what wrathful struggle shall commence and how all light shall be extinguished in the furtherance of His high, ignoble desire.

And, I think it was left out of the press pack, but we will be selling Posh and Becks dolls in the 42nd Street Yankees store.'

Enter from left Hannibal Lecter in Man United away shirt and Yankees 2000 World Series cap.

Lecter: I have been in hibernation these ten years, but now this glorious union denotes that it is my time again. Does anybody mind if I start on the nibbles, only I missed breakfast?

Mephistopheles: Go ahead, Doc.

Lecter grabs the face of junior Yankees press girl and proceeds to eat it.

Beelzebub: OK, now we've got a satellite link up with the Big Man himself. He said he'd like to say a few words so [Beelzebub frantically clicks at his little remote control, to no avail] - shit! How does this work, Mike? Sorry, everyone, it went OK in rehearsal.

Mike takes the remote control, points it at the AV machine, shrugs at the press corps with a sheepish grin. A screen descends from the ceiling. Beelzebub's head rotates 360 degrees and he throws from his fearsome jaws an all-engulfing fireball at Mike who is instantly reduced to a small pile of ash on the floor.

That'll teach him to make me look a jerk. OK, over to you Lord of all Woe and Potentate of Despond.

Satan is visible, chained to a burning lake somewhere just outside the deepest recesses of Hell.

Satan: Thanks boys. WHHHHOOOOAAARRGGGGGHHHH!!! The deed is done!! The deed of darkness is performed!!!! Resist me now if you dare, Nazarene!

For a moment the entire world is plunged into darkness. All that can be heard is the mind-rending screams of the undead as they endure the unspeakable tortures of Inferno's depths. Also audible is Mayor Rudi Giuliani yelping with delight as he saws the limbs off a homeless person. The lights come back on.

Satan: Now if you'll excuse me, I've got Murdoch coming in at ten, so I'd better get on.

The screen ascends

Beelzebub: Sure, thanks, boss. Now, any questions?

Journalist stands up tentatively:

Journalist: Hi, Tony Lamb from the Manchester Evening News. Just two things - Would it be true to say that this deal is a kind of culmination of the process whereby the sports of ordinary people are being transformed from honest, noble endeavours into the vehicles for the bloated egos of a few rich men?

And, would it also be true to say that one of the things you hope to learn from each other is how to extort as much money as possible from fans, knowing as you do that they are always loyal and will always end up spending high proportions of their income on tickets, merchandising, cable TV subscriptions etc come what may?'

Mephistopheles [resignedly]: Yes, yes both those things are true. Now, you impudent enemy of the Kingdom of Darkness, you must spend eternity in the company of those who draw rusty broadswords in and out of your bowels, along with: all Premiership referees who disagree with us, skeptical TV commentators, those who didn't vote for Don Mattingly in the Hall of Fame ballot, anyone who beats us fair and square and anyone else we can think of who we don't like.

The Manchester Evening News reporter is frozen to the spot, disappearing in a flash of black lightning accompanied by a stomach-churning shriek.

Beelzebub: Right, OK, thanks for that, everyone. It's a wrap.

He is nudged in the ribs by Mephistopheles

Oh yeah sorry I nearly forgot - one last thing: the new logo. Take it away - what's your name again?

A pretty Yankees publicity girl bends over and whispers in Beelzebub's ear

Take it away, Oh Ye Daughter Of Chaos!

Pretty publicity girl unveils pentagram incorporating interlocking NY and Red Devil, turns into beak-faced scion of Sycorax, screeches and flies into the rafters shouting 'Lucifer is with us!!'

Beelzebub and Mephistopheles as one: With us now, you children of Belial! To the Land of Shades! WHAKAKAKAKAKAKAK!!!

Exeunt in cloud of smoke accompanied by their bat-winged flock: PR people, Hannibal Lecter, sports marketing practitioners, players' agents, TV executives, Bobby Charlton etc etc etc and the Number of the Beast shall be 666 and his name shall be Brian McClair.