Marina Hyde illustration
'Across the airwaves and internet, Chelsea fans opined that Roman Abramovich had made their club a "laughing stock".' Photograph: Mark McCormick for GNM imaging

There was a priceless moment in Sunday's majestic BBC2 documentary The Four Year Plan, in which QPR's then-owner Flavio Briatore fumed at some supporters: "Give me the names of the ones booing me or I sell the club!"

Apparently unaccustomed to chants of "Briatore is a wanker" from his Formula One days, Briatore had experienced the distaste of the fans, and found it a deep affront to his personage. Like many billionaires, he was amusingly sensitive, even though the abuse he took was not in the ballpark of that directed towards the Glazer family at Manchester United, or Tom Hicks and George Gillett at Liverpool, or Mike Ashley at Newcastle, or indeed all manner of other owners up and down the leagues.

One who has thus far escaped such indignities, however, is "enigmatic" Chelsea owner Roman Abramovich. Not for Roman the vulgar ingratitude of the crowd, the banners cordially inviting him to do one back to Siberia, the vaguely unmannerly death threats. Ever since he pitched up, Chelsea supporters have appeared unflinchingly appreciative of all their Russian benefactor has done for them, declining even to give him a hard time when the beloved José Mourinho found his desk in the lift. Chants of "Roman Abramovich sacks who he wants" were as disrespectful as it got at Birmingham on Tuesday night.

Of course, Abramovich was vastly different from those owners who acquired their clubs via leveraged buyouts and the like. Chelsea supporters found themselves indebted in a different way, given that Abramovich is widely held to be slightly richer than Croesus, paid cash for the club, and has seemed content to spend whatever it took to ensure success. They were resolutely grateful, as well they might be.

But what do your instincts tell you now? Can this deference continue? And more pressingly, how would Abramovich react if it didn't?

In many ways, the fallout from the André Villas-Boas sacking is the usual hot air. The League Managers Association has branded Chelsea's situation an "embarrassment", which is unlikely to have caused the Russian to reach for the smelling salts. You don't claw your way up from selling rubber ducks to acquiring a vast chunk of Russia's post-Soviet oil and mineral wealth only to be wounded by the emotional posturings of some 15th-tier local bureaucrat.

But another phrase bandied about with increasing frequency may prove a worthier foe. Across the airwaves and the internet this week, you could find Chelsea fans opining that Abramovich had made their club a "laughing stock" – a position that may yet find more aggressive voice in the stands at Stamford Bridge. For the more dispassionate observer, Abramovich himself is the laughing stock – a preposterous little Caesar who has behaved in such a way that the Swansea City manager, Brendan Rodgers, has ruled himself out of running one of the most high-profile clubs in the world because he's not looking to "destroy" his career, while Mourinho himself doubtless relishes the chance to make his former tormentor beg for a rematch he has no intention of granting.

Elsewhere, you have to enjoy the absurdity of those ruling themselves in. Consider Sven‑Goran Eriksson, who has convinced himself of his suitability for one last payday more often than the Ocean's Nineteen gang. Or behold Rafa Benítez explaining why the Liverpool fans would want him to manage Chelsea. "Can anybody argue that the Liverpool fans love me?" he inquired rhetorically. "If we agree with this, what do you want for someone you love? The best for him! If they love me, they will understand," concluded Benítez, apparently seeking to conjure a scenario in which the Kop makes like Adele and sings that they wish nothing but the best for someone like him.

For Chelsea fans, meanwhile, there are suggestions that only a huge name would stave off the first rumblings of dissent, and Abramovich's itchy trigger finger and Uefa's looming financial fair play regulations conspire to make that a tough order. Of course, the fear must always be that the mysterious stranger who blew in from the cold may almost as suddenly blow out again, and leave them to a fate if not worse than death, then certainly as bad as Ken Bates. But were they to turn on the Russian, has he the temperament to stand for it?

The key word with those seeking to illuminate Abramovich's character always seems to be "control". We hear of senior club insiders doubling over in laughter at suggestions he might loosen the reins. None of which really indicates an appetite for taking a kicking from fans.

But then, as any fule kno, most dictators are terrified of ridicule – and as indicated, many rich men seem to be the most sensitive souls. In its wake, the QPR documentary drew some telling recollections from managers about the owners and chairmen they've had to deal with. Former Wimbledon manager Dave Bassett recalled how Sam Hammam eventually wanted the right to pick the team, going on to muse: "Sam used to ask me why the supporters sang: 'There's only one Dave Bassett,' when it was he who had stumped up the money to buy John Fashanu etc."

Honestly, the injustice of it. As for Abramovich, he may be able to live with the Shed End not singing hymns of praise. But whether he'd be minded to bear vocal criticism for very long is quite another matter.