When David Sullivan grew up in a council house in Cardiff, he dreamed of becoming a professional footballer. Short and squat, he knew that playing was unlikely, but the wealth he accumulated in the adult‑entertainment and property sectors eventually gave him a pathway into the sport. The first obstacle he encountered was convincing a club to open its doors to him and his business partner, David Gold.
Both men were lifelong West Ham United supporters and bought a stake in the east‑London club in 1991, only to find the boardroom sealed against them. “We had no contact with the board,” the late David Gold wrote in his autobiography. “They simply did not want David Sullivan and the Golds at their football club.”
Their links to the adult‑entertainment industry proved a barrier, so they turned their attention elsewhere. After considering Leeds United and Tottenham Hotspur, they settled on Birmingham City, which was in administration and struggling in the second tier when they purchased it for £700,000 in March 1993.
In different circumstances, the story might have celebrated Sullivan’s determination to overcome exclusion and guide Birmingham out of financial trouble, eventually leading him to West Ham. Instead, his tenure ended amid controversy, with his resignation on Saturday following accusations of “improper conduct” that he denies and has threatened to litigate against the BBC.
Sullivan’s departure will prompt many within the game to reflect on how a former pornographer ascended to such a prominent position in modern football.
When he first bought Birmingham, his past was already well‑known. He had been convicted in 1982 of living off immoral earnings from prostitution and served 71 days in prison before a successful appeal secured his release. He also owned the Daily Sport and Sunday Sport tabloids, notorious for their topless photo‑shoots and sensational stories.
For a cash‑strapped club, those concerns were initially set aside. “How he’s made his money is unimportant,” a reporter said at the time of the takeover. “His desire for success is the only criterion on which to make a judgment.” The comment has not aged well.
At the time, there was no fit‑and‑proper‑person test – the rule was introduced in 2004 by the Premier League, Football League and FA and focuses on financial malpractice rather than moral questions.
Now the conversation shifts. Sullivan’s resignation will be welcomed by West Ham supporters who have long yearned for an end to his 16‑year ownership, a sentiment intensified after the club’s relegation last month.
Inside West Ham, many hope for a clean break. Analysts question why Sullivan clung to the club for so long. Some argue football served to sanitise his reputation after his adult‑industry career, yet he never became a sympathetic figure. He has faced protests from fans for over a decade and persistent criticism from the media over his management style.
Opinions on his Birmingham tenure are mixed. He guided the club to the Premier League in 2002, where they stayed for six seasons before relegation. He and Gold never secured universal popularity, and after selling to Hong Kong tycoon Carson Yeung in 2009, they did not abandon football entirely.
West Ham was financially vulnerable in 2010, and Sullivan seized the opportunity, purchasing the club with Gold in January of that year.
His time at Upton Park was rarely smooth. Supporters never forgave Sullivan, Gold and former vice‑chair Karren Brady for the 2016 move to the London Stadium, a decision still bitterly remembered. Sullivan later aimed to acquire a larger share of the Gold family’s holdings, hoping to become an equal partner with Czech billionaire Daniel Křetínský, owner of Royal Mail.
Sullivan refused to accept that modern football had outpaced him. He remained eager to win, especially during transfer negotiations. While the Birmingham sale netted £81.5 million, he argues that his regular cash injections into West Ham demonstrate a personal financial commitment to the club.
Despite his unpopularity, football has, to an extent, legitimised his public image. He was front‑and‑centre when West Ham lifted the UEFA Europa Conference League in Prague in 2023, appearing less as a former porn magnate and more as one of the league’s eccentric billionaire owners—a clear case of sports‑washing.
It is unlikely that there was ever a grand, humanitarian strategy behind his involvement. Unlike state‑backed owners with dubious human‑rights records, Sullivan acted as an individual who made populist gestures to appease fans, only to be reviled by the same supporters.
His final match as chairman saw him jeered as West Ham’s relegation was confirmed on the season’s last day, and the iconic image of his tenure will be him leaving the directors’ box early.
In the end, football did little to repair his reputation. Internal concerns about personal‑life allegations— which he denies— threatened sponsorships, and allies such as Brady have distanced themselves professionally.
Now, isolated and facing legal threats, resignation was his last viable option.
As West Ham’s former owner, Sullivan achieved his dream of leading an English football institution, but his past ultimately brought his tenure to a halt.