On The Premier League:Funny thing, reinvention. When pop singers or film stars display a chameleonic streak, it is hailed as proof of their creative genius.

If a football club does the same, it is accused of selling out and fans start using their season tickets as frisbees.

This is understandable. Supporters have seen almost every other facet of the sport snatched away from them - cheap tickets, the chance to stand and sing until their throats bleed, the thrill of the unexpected - they are bound to become proprietary over the one thing which cannot be haggled for in football's market place: the soul of their club.

Perhaps this is the last stand for football's dwindling band of romantics - one final bid to keep the besuited, prawn-sandwich munchers at bay before we are all over-run and forced to wave cheap, tatty flags while a Royal Opera House reject belts out our new corporate anthem before kick-off.

It is a romantic notion - and God knows we could do with a little whimsy in the age of the super-agent and managers so bunged up their union should be sponsored by Vicks - but, sadly, it is palpable nonsense.

Fans might like to consider themselves as football's moral guardians but the truth is they would sell their own grandmother's season-ticket for a splash of silverware, even if it meant watching the sort of football that leads to brain rot.

Sam Allardyce was apparently sacked for attempting to impose a prosaic, pugilistic style of play on dreamy Tooncastle, but the bald fact of the matter is that if he had won every match of his eight-month reign 1-0 they would have renamed Newcastle's prime drinking region the Bigg Sam Market.

A club that last won a major trophy in an era when transfer gossip was relayed via the flickering Pathe Newsreel cannot afford to be choosy in how they pursue success: otherwise, the "Newcastle Way" might as well be renamed the fast track to failure.

Football clubs have never been shy in indulging in cosmetic surgery, and we are not talking about the odd nip and tuck here.

Arsenal were "Boring Boring Arsenal" under George Graham 20 years ago; now, with Arsene Wenger at the helm, they produce the sort of fantasy football that should only be accessible via a late-night pay TV channel.

Supporters could hardly fail to note the aesthetic imbalance but still flocked to see both incarnations because they shared one crucial quality: they were successful.

Similarly, there were few grumbles from Chelsea fans at seeing Jose Mourinho shed their side's unwanted reputation as the Premier League's answer to a Flake bar - nice to look at, but liable to crumble at the first hint of pressure.

The Portuguese gave the west Londoners a ruthless streak which won few friends but armfuls of trophies.

There are two obvious conclusions to draw from all this: first, that in football, image is a fluid concept and, second, clubs are invariably monuments to their managers rather than their history.

That does not mean managers should not tread carefully. Their challenge is to strike a balance between respecting the traditions of a club and determinedly stamping their own mark on them, and it is a treacherous business.

Ossie Ardiles was staying true to the purist philosophies of his beloved Tottenham Hotspur when he opted for his "Famous Five" attacking formation in the early 1990s but even Spurs fans were willing to compromise their principles after this collection of rich attacking talents conceded eight goals in consecutive games to Notts County and, even more embarrassingly, Manchester City in the 1994-95 season.

Ardiles was fired less than a week later.

Ironically, the only trophy delivered to White Hart Lane since the 1991 FA Cup win was by Graham - the doyen of anti-football who was so despised by the Tottenham faithful they would only refer to him in song as "the man in a raincoat".

The current incumbent, Juande Ramos, seems to have it about right, mixing a fluid style of play with a zealous commitment to fitness and discipline.

Allardyce should have followed his example but, like Graeme Souness before him, he took the belligerent approach - forcibly imposing his own rugged methodology on a club still in thrall to the giddy, free love philosophy of Kevin Keegan.

The fans hated it, the players were confused by it and the manager duly paid the price. Pity.

Allardyce was right when he identified Newcastle as a club in need of a shake-up and the supporters would have had little option but to back him had he shown more sensitivity.

After all, if there's one reputation football fans find impossible to stomach, it's that of a loser.