Claudio Borges became Head of Fan Relationship Management at Manchester City on Wednesday. He announced he was "ecstatic", praised the "loyalty, passion and authenticity" of the club's supporters, and then made the schoolboy error of telling the truth.
His mistake was to describe his role, on the social media platform LinkedIn, as "creating direct relationships with fans worldwide, learn about their interests and beh-aviours, and better engage them, serve them and monetise them".
The Orwellian overtones of such candour challenged the carefully constructed illusion of empathy and informality between football and its followers. Little wonder that within 24 hours Borges was covering his tracks. He removed the M word, and revised that clumsily composed sentence by insisting his job was to provide fans "with relevant commercial offers".
Unfortunately for someone who boasts he is "passionate about football, revenue and innovation", a screengrab of his indiscretion was already circulating amongst supporters' protest groups. He had invited scrutiny of City's strategic approach to relieving their fans of their disposable income.
It seems Big Brother is alive and well and doing the Poznan. City's fans are segmented into 33 target groups. Each represents a different commercial value to the club. Data is collected through the official website and membership cards which report purchasing patterns via a radio-frequency ID system.
City identify individual supporters, monitor when they arrive at the stadium and what they buy when they are there. In the jargon of the trade, they analyse "unrealised potential value". The database differentiates between fans so they can be cross-sold merchandise and other services.
Robo-marketers like Borges create a parallel universe in which multi-millionaire players are "the lads". They use Facebook to promote the cosy assumption that "we are together". To outline a typically crass initiative, fans are offered "the opportunity to have a permanent place in City history" by buying personalised discs for up to £350.
The sales patter promises the stadium will be "transformed when thousands of supporter messages, inscribed on to individual discs, are connected in a giant circle to spell out the words in 'Blue Moon' ".
Of course, City are no different to other clubs who robustly milk football's cash cow. But as they do so, the struggle for the sport's soul intensifies. The idealists and the monetisers, true believers and barrow boys, are increasingly entrenched.