LOVE the pictures. This week saw three. Everest, an unlikely account of how dangerous it is to sell double-glazing in what appeared to be Newarthill in July; The Walk, which would have been more impressive if the geezer strolling across a wire between the Twin Towers had been wearing a bowler hat, carrying a brolly and marching behind a Lambeg Drum; and The Martian, the biography of the only person who did not know that Brendan Rodgers was always heading for the sack at Liverpool.

His demise was a result of falling out with owners who viewed some of his comments as impertinent, much of his spending as wasteful and many of his results are embarrassing. Two hours to draw with Carlisle and a 6-1 tonking by Stoke City in the last game of the last season are not obviously designed to make one a legend with the Kop.

Rodgers, though, would have been immediately sacked by this observer after he told Steven Gerrard in a private meeting: “Wear the crown. You’re the king of your own destiny.” Mr Gerrard subsequently if not immediately went out, fell on his bahookie and handed the title to Chelsea.

There is, though, a serious reflection on Rodgers’ fate. It is apparent from Michael Calvin’s excellent and informative book on football managers that Rodgers is considered a talented coach by his peers. However, the reasons for his downfall are varied, even gaudy and stretch far beyond the training ground.

The truth, of course, is that being a football manager is an impossible task with life expectancy at a club in England rarely stretching into two years. In many ways, Rodger was a victim of a culture though he certainly contributed to his demise in the manner of the gunshot victim who sustains his fatal wound by peering down a barrel while testing the trigger.

The cliché is that being a football manager is an impossible job. Like being a lion tamer when allergic to cats. Like convincing a Cabinet minister to buy a Big Issue. Like being a comedian when you are Miranda Hart. In the modern world, there is much truth in the notion that it is all too much for one man and, at the top level, they are all men. Management now requires such a range of skill that everyone must fall down in at least one area. Increasingly, the manager is becoming redundant.

Even Jurgen Klopp, a manager of huge charisma who revolutionised Borussia Dortmund, will be comfortable at Anfield with the reality that he cannot and will not be in charge of everything. The Fenway Sporting Group do not only bring an American sensibility to Liverpool but are also increasingly drawn to the European model that demands that all decisions on recruitment cannot be made by one man. Indeed, in many major clubs the head coach will have no say over transfers, in or out.

Many English observers howl that this is not the Anglo way. But it may be one reason why English clubs buy very big but find little success in Europe of late. The future may be that coaches are hired merely to impose systems and disciplines on players and to handle the imperatives of matchdays. How the club plays in terms of systems and who it recruits will be decided at a higher level. A rough form of this system is creeping inexorably into the EPL. It makes business sense and that is the only criterion many owners will appreciate.

It is most conspicuously in operation at Arsenal. They have a defined way of playing that has been laid down by Arsene Wenger in a reign spanning 20 years. There is just one quibble. Arsene has not won the league since the ball became round and has the same amount of Champions League final triumphs as Accrington Stanley, another very nice chap. But this is rendered acceptable by a board that sees the regular income of European football providing very decent profits. A sustainable business plan is sustaining Arsene. However when he leaves Arsenal – next century or when he wins the Champions League whichever is the sooner, and I am backing 2116 – he will be replaced by someone who will not have the Frenchman’s powers over buying players. (Or in Arsene terms in not buying players, particularly a holding midfielder or a centre forward).

A model is slowly emerging of a definite philosophy, a recognisable business plan and a permanent staff among the top clubs. The coaches can be seen as necessary bolt-ons to that set-up. They will come in, work either successfully or unsuccessfully with a group of players and then leave. Much like they do now. The clubs, though, will have an infrastructure and a plan that will remain largely unaffected by a departing coach.

After all, there are thousands of them out there. Calvin’s constantly intriguing book makes clear one certainty in that the terminated are, in turn, Terminators, oddly indestructible. Martin Ling, a victim of severe depression and a recipient of electroconvulsive therapy, wants to return as a manager. His chapter is one of the most dramatic in Calvin’s book but Ling holds on to the script of every sacked manager. He echoes what Arnie once said at the pictures: “I’ll be back.”

Living on the Volcano: The Secrets of Surviving as a Football Manager by Michael Calvin is published by Century at £16.99