Tottenham's Daniel Levy has employed eight different managers in his seven years in charge, writes Andrew Fifield

IT MIGHT be time to update that old line from biology class about insects being the only creatures capable of surviving nuclear war.

If Tottenham chairman Daniel Levy can somehow escape unharmed despite presiding over the single biggest managerial cock-up in English football's proud history of managerial cock-ups, then shrugging off full-scale apocalyptic fall-out should be a doddle.

In fact, don't be surprised if, within weeks, Levy had reorganised the remaining creepy-crawlies in his own continental-style management system, with cockroaches assuming responsibility for European scouting and a six-foot-tall woodlouse being thrust into the role of executive director (mutation).

Levy has a flair for self-preservation which might only be matched by Michael Caine's bunch of chancers in The Italian Job. In the seven years since he replaced Alan Sugar as chairman, eight different men have been employed in the manager's position. The only one to have enjoyed any sustained success, Martin Jol, was sacked the moment results dipped and replaced by someone on twice the money but half the communication skills.

Now his beloved management structure, which contained more layers than a Harrods wedding cake, has collapsed under the weight of his complexity, with Harry Redknapp brought in to mop up the mess - a task he is currently making look rather easy.

But still Levy clings on, doggedly maintaining none of this unmitigated disaster was his fault. Jol? Had to go - we're Spurs, for God's sake, fifth place just isn't good enough. Ramos? Thanks for the League Cup, but you lost the dressing room so adios amigo and take your €12.6 million compensation with you. Damien Comolli? Call yourself a talent scout - you should have gone to SpecSavers, pal.

Mindful of Levy's litany of sins - the failed appointments, the misjudged sackings, the bizarre game of chicken with Manchester United over Dimitar Berbatov that saw Spurs' best player of the last 15 years replaced by Fraizer Campbell - it would be easy to conclude Levy simply has no idea what he is doing. And you might well be right.

But, being a generous kind of guy, I prefer another theory: that Levy, stretching his obsession with the European football model to the nth degree, is merely recasting himself as the erratic, possibly unhinged club owner so beloved by our continental cousins.

For this, we must be eternally grateful. Having lagged behind for so many years, English football is now more than a match for its European rivals: the Champions League is monopolised by Manchester United, Chelsea and Liverpool, the Premier League is the richest, most commercially-savvy organisation in domestic soccer and its players the most feted and well rewarded.

There is just one area in which it falls short, and that is the loopiness of its club owners. Until now, the most notorious chairmen in the English game have been less Machiavellian princes of darknesses and more dotty uncles who have had one too many at a family wedding: Ken Bates and his electric fences, bless 'im, or the lovably loopy Doug Ellis.

Neither were a patch on Europe's finest. Everyone has their personal favourite: Silvio Berlusconi, perhaps, the old Milan president accused by various Mafia informants of having links with organised crime and convicted of providing false testimony in court regarding his membership of a right-wing Masonic lodge. Or Bernard Tapie, the former Marseille owner, who was jailed for six months in the 1990s for fixing a French league match, corruption and subornation of witnesses.

Such heroic illegality might be beyond Levy - he's only starting out on the long, pot-holed road to everlasting notoriety, after all - so perhaps he should start small. Maybe when he sacks Redknapp, probably about a year from now, he could emulate the enjoyably nutty Juan Bautista Soler. The former Valencia president - who went through coaches and sporting directors like hormonal teenage boys go through Kleenex - once announced he had fired a manager at 4am and then attempted to deflect criticism of his "unique" leadership style by accusing two of the club's former employees of industrial espionage.

And why stop there? The naming rights for Spurs' new 60,000-capacity stadium are up for grabs but if Levy wants to be taken seriously by boardroom crackpots the world over, he should take inspiration from Manuel Ruiz de Lopera.

The Real Betis owner responded to calls for his head from disgruntled fans by renaming the club's ground in his honour and then attempted to cement his place in the public's affections by showing his softer side in a magazine shoot, appearing alongside statues of the Virgin Mary and his beloved pet huskies.

So there it is. If Levy really wants to be a big-hitter, it's not enough just to exercise that itchy trigger finger every 12 months or so. Force punters to buy seats at the Daniel Dome, accuse Juande Ramos of being in league with the KGB and pose for Hello's snappers while cuddling a cockerel and maybe we'll talk.