Among those companies not selected:

Microloft. Midway through the negotiation process, irate Seahawk fans stormed the corporation's Washington campuses. Microloft withdrew.

Boys-R-Us. Proposed that the lower sections of the stadium consist of gigantic sand boxes with plastic red shovels, gold plastic picks, and alabaster port-a-potties. Sky-boxes would include private tutors, gourmet catering, and posters of one or more C/Kardashian, with the entire rest of the venue as one humongous over-arching jungle gym. The Niners checked their insurance, then nixed the proposal. Back at company headquarters, grown men wept.

Pirate's Grand Ice Cream. Headquartered in the East Bay, the company suggested a silver-and black motif for the new stadium, with a six-hundred-ton statue of Al Davis out front. Needless to say, despite the promise of free fudge sundaes twice a year for 49ers' executives, um, no.


Power Guzzlers & Ecologists. The Niners short-circuited this power company when the outfit's engineers failed to provide absolute one-hundred-per-cent assurance that the power would not go out during a nationally televised night game.

Flexflix. Promised to deliver every game in real time via live streaming video, and, therefore, deemed an actual stadium superfluous, since the team would only need for the games themselves a bare field. Flexflix also promised to mail DVDs to all those fans who might miss the live event. When the 49ers declined, postal workers everywhere kissed their stamps.

Loose-Beamworks Animation. Would partner with Diz-Heart Studios to provide cartoons for each game, thus obviating the need for actual players. Chuck Jones lurched up in his grave, but Niners' brass erased the idea.

Clementine's Bar & Grill. First established in a tent, circa 1849, and still owned and operated from the Eastern Sierra foothills by its original owner, Clementine Montrose, this small-but-convivial joint laid claim to unassailable authenticity, and pledged, should the boss-lady win the rights to the stadium name, that she would install a high-definition TV, whatever that is, above the bar so patrons could actually watch the games, instead of having the results of each play shouted in from a car-radio listener in the gravel parking lot. Clementine's beloved Bar & Grill still displays above its soup caldron, to this day, a hank of mane from Joaquin Murrieta's horse. Alas, the 49ers said nay, but provided as recompense an old analog black-and-white TV with a thirteen-inch screen. Let the snow begin!
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