The aforementioned statement was made by one of the head honchos of a business last week. But who was it? The embittered boss of the newly nationalized Northern Rock? Perhaps changing their name to Southern Softy now the suits in the Treasury have bailed them out? No.
Was it then head of Turkey Twizzlers at McFattys School Dinners Inc, now they've decided to call them Organic Offal? No - think harder.
It was actually Ian Penrose the head of Sportech, the company that now owns all the traditional brands that make up what we used to refer to as the football pools. Now his company owns the names of Littlewoods, Vernon's and Zetter's it makes sense to re-brand.
But what is the name of this new brand? The New Football Pools. Stunning.
How many creative young men in distressed jeans and floppy hair did it take to come up with that - and how much did they charge?
The football pools are a fantastic allegory for what has happened to this country in the last decade or so.
In 1994, when they were at their peak, one in three of the adult population took part weekly. That's 10 million people, perming any eight from 24.
Cut to today and the numbers have dropped to about 15 per cent of that, just 700,000.
The National Lottery has obviously had a massive effect, coupled with the fact that it is unfashionable for football matches to be played at three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, despite the millions who go to the matches wanting them to.
And we thought the customer was always right.
What happened to those good old days?
It wasn't that long ago - I bet I'm just getting old - but doesn't the world seem a bit more sterile now that the working classes have all but disappeared?
Not so long ago, perhaps around the time of the Golden Age Of The Coupon as I've decided to call it, I used to collect the pools for a bit of spare cash. I can't begin to tell you what kind of turmoil that used to put me through.
Let's face it, most people who are prepared to schlep around the neighbourhood on a Thursday for a few quid are likely to be tempted to pocket some of the cash that these people throw away every week.
I have to confess to sometimes looking at the coupons Mrs Devereux had given me and thinking "you reckon Partick are going to get a score draw away to Montrose on Saturday - you're an idiot" and considering pocketing her £2.27.
Of course I didn't, I couldn't. It was the same conscience that drove me out of the house on those wet evenings when I'd rather have sat in with my feet up and Top Of The Pops on with a cup of tea on the go. But what if Partick Thistle did get that draw at Montrose and Mrs D's life would have been changed for ever?
I know how important it is to have a dream.
I remember the day when my dad won the pools. It was about 4.45pm on a Saturday in November in the mid-Eighties. My father was having a swift one at the club with my grandad and I was checking his Treble Chance.
I checked it. Double- checked it, got my mum to check it and we both realised that, yes, we had hit the big time. Twenty-four points, Bingo! I legged it off to the club while my mum started to make plans.
I think she had picked the new house and was deciding whether it was Eton or Harrow us kids were going to go to while her and my dad sailed the seven seas before my dad arrived home to explain you only counted eight of the lines and not all 10! Tweet