When, in the years to come, the Barclays Premier League juggernaut careers off the track or comes to a juddering halt – as, like all things, it eventually must – I wonder if we will look back on these heady days as the beginning of the end of one of the world’s most consistently astonishing sporting institutions. I wonder if we will come to perceive in the explosion of cash and narcissism the coming of the apocalypse.

Corporate imperatives, such as they are, seem to have vanished in a detonation of vanity as the world’s super-rich seek to leave their mark on this earth in the most reliable and unoriginal way: by buying a football club and recycling their wealth to young men with silky feet.

That they continue to choose English clubs is a tribute to the custodians of the Premier League and how they have exploited latent interest across the world while keeping intact the collective bargaining apparatus of 20 clubs that now diverge – to an almost comical degree – in their respective ambitions, interests and raisons d’être. Do not expect it to last.

The idea doing the rounds in some of the more economically illiterate columns over the weekend, is that Sheikh Mansour has lavished his petrodollars on Middle Eastlands in a quest for tourist revenues for Abu Dhabi – that his consortium is made up of hard-nosed businesspeople in pursuit of a fair return. This argument fails any test of economic credibility, but it also misunderstands the siren call exerted by football on the delicate ears of men who have more money than they can hope to spend and whose ambitions have turned to securing a glimpse of immortality. Or, at least, popularity.

Expert View

Referees, managers and players have a duty to the game. It is riddled with enough cheating as it is

Tony Cascarino

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Thaksin Shinawatra was cheered to the rafters at the City of Manchester Stadium on Saturday, but only as the person who has acted as a conduit to riches beyond the wildest dreams of the fans in light blue who had earlier romped into the bulging stadium singing: “We have Robinho.” When the sheikh shows his covered head at the stadium – as he is expected to do after the takeover is completed this week – he will be received as a hero by the blue part of Manchester, the kind of “demigoddery” that used to require some kind of military conquest.

His popularity is conditional on results and – we are often told – results cannot simply be bought like so many barrels of oil. Except that they can. Sure, you need a team ethic and team discipline to weld any collection of superstars together, something that requires shrewd and inspirational leadership. But that’s the thing with money: you can buy the best manager, too. The only limiting factor in City’s future success is the boredom threshold of their new owner.

For – and one hopes that this has been explained to the sheikh – it will take time for City to reach the level of slick and brutal efficiency displayed by Abramovich’s men on Saturday.

Frank Lampard and Deco, in particular, were in virtuoso form, passing and moving with a kaleidoscopic artistry that will have caught the ever-alert eye of Sir Alex Ferguson, let alone Sheikh Mansour. There was not the least bit of panic when Robinho scored with a deflected free kick after 13 minutes, merely a patient willingness to explore every inch of the City half in pursuit of the equaliser.

Robinho’s debut was, however, in many ways just what Mark Hughes will have wanted. His goal was nicely taken and he exhibited skill and vision with a series of deft touches and flicks. But he is only the first in a promised galaxy of superstars. The most exciting part of City’s season will commence in January, when the transfer window opens and the sheikh shows us the depths of his pockets.