A few pages into Gary Neville’s autobiography, when he is explaining how much it meant for him to play for Manchester United and how starstruck he was when he first stepped inside the first-team dressing room as a wide-eyed teenager, there is a passage about Bryan Robson that captures the essence of why supporters love the idea of a leader whose sheer force of will could turn a brick wall into dust. “Robson was my idol,” Neville wrote. “He flogged himself to the end of every game and gave blood, sweat and tears. When he burst into the box, it was like his life depended on it. Everything was a fight and a battle.”

Your dad has probably told you on countless occasions that they don’t make footballers like Robson any more: the original Captain Marvel, he was a galvanising presence who was never afraid to put his body on the line for the good of his team, cajoling, straining, never stopping to think before running into a burning building and saving the day. If he got burnt, it merely added to his aura and he ended his career as a United and England legend, albeit one who might have achieved even more if he had not spent so long on the treatment table.

Neville’s adulation for Robson came to mind after John Terry’s announcement that he will be undergoing a surgical procedure to have his captain’s armband removed from his left biceps at the end of the season, a year after Steven Gerrard said his goodbyes at Liverpool, and it increasingly feels like we are not only about to witness the final act for a Chelsea hero but a potentially defining moment for the entire Captain, Leader, Legend species, whose very existence appears under threat now that the ultimate CLL is preparing to leave English football.

The sport is changing and Terry’s impending departure will cut the final ties with José Mourinho’s first Chelsea team. Tough and uncompromising, they responded well to what Mourinho calls “confrontational leadership”, where he would criticise members of his squad in an attempt to make them want to prove him wrong. He would push them, test their limits, and they were able to handle the intensity of his management, winning the Premier League in 2005 and 2006.

Confrontational leadership was about being “ready to provoke your players, to try to create some conflict, with the intention to bring out the best from them”. He used it at Internazionale in 2008-09, knowingly refusing to celebrate Zlatan Ibrahimovic’s goals. So Ibrahimovic kept scoring better and better goals and Inter won the Serie A title.

John Terry dives to block a late goalbound shot from Slovenia’s Zlatko Dedic at the 2010 World Cup. Photograph: Darren Staples/Reuters

Yet while there were many reasons behind Mourinho losing his job at Chelsea for the second time, one plausible theory was that the footballers of today do not like to have their egos pricked by their manager. Mourinho tried to push Eden Hazard but it had the opposite effect in the end.

It is feasible that Mourinho will struggle to match his past glories if he is unable to tweak his approach with players such as Hazard. One of the reasons that Sir Alex Ferguson lasted so long at the top was that he evolved, rolling with the times. What worked with the Class of 92 was not necessarily going to have the same effect on Cristiano Ronaldo.

It would be crass and patronising to call today’s youngsters soft, given the sacrifices that are made to reach the top. Yet there was an interesting piece by the excellent Danny Higginbotham in the Independent last weekend, in which the former Stoke City defender argued that young players will suffer from being given too much too soon. Will elite academies turn out players with winning mentalities? Or will they be shocked by the reality of adult football?

Managers need leaders, players with character, ones they can trust. Terry has been a centre-back of considerable eminence throughout his career: technically sound, strong, commanding, an astute reader of the game and a threat at set pieces. His footballing ability made him obvious captain material, just as Gerrard’s did at Anfield. The armband does not have magical powers. Wearing it will not elevate Jordan Henderson to Gerrard’s level.

Yet it was also Terry’s unstinting commitment and willingness to put his head where it hurts that made him Chelsea royalty for the diehards in the Matthew Harding Stand. England’s Brave John Terry was an ironic nickname that parodied his apparent determination to always play on through the pain, but his team-mates mostly knew that they could count on him when he was on the pitch, despite a few moments of monumental stupidity.

A bloodied Terry Butcher leaves the field after England’s 0-0 draw with Sweden in a World Cup qualifier in 1989. Photograph: Popperfoto

Bravery comes in many forms. Terry was fearless, to a reckless extent, when he threw himself at a loose ball in the 2007 League Cup final and was knocked out cold by a stray boot to the head from Abou Diaby. Three years later, he kept England in the World Cup when he blocked a late goalbound shot from Slovenia’s Zlatko Dedic by diving in the way of a ball like a fish flapping around on the floor of a boat. Yet it also takes courage to receive the ball in tight spaces, to run a game like Xavi Hernández, for Lionel Messi to pick himself up and run at the defenders who have just chopped him down. Bravery is not just going in for a 50-50 challenge, it is having the confidence to forget about the piece of skill that didn’t work and keep expressing yourself.

The importance of captaincy in football is debatable. Unlike in cricket, the captain’s influence in tactics and selection is minimal and there is an argument that captains are up built up to unrealistic heights, immortal figures who can do no wrong, revelling in Terry Butcher’s bloodied, bandaged head in Stockholm in 1989, Gerrard’s staggering thirst for success in Istanbul in 2005 and Cardiff in 2006, Roy Keane’s night of sacrifice in Turin in 1999. They were hailed as captain’s performances and they are proof that wearing the armband alone is not enough. When West Ham United were relegated in 2011, there was a widespread assumption that Scott Parker was their captain, when it was actually the comparatively timid Matthew Upson. It is not hard to find people who believe it is an overrated role, unlike in cricket, where the captain’s influence in tactics and selection is crucial.

Even so, the confusion over the identity of West Ham’s captain in 2011 is pertinent. Despite Parker’s noble efforts, the team repeatedly crumbled under pressure, too many players taking their cue from Upson, and they finished last.

Not every captain has to shout. Bellowing can fall on deaf ears, especially when it comes from the wrong voice. Bobby Moore led by example and if John Stones can cut out the errors as he gains more experience, his calm, poise and skill mark him out as a future England captain. His ice-cool game may even make him more suited than Terry to the role of captaining a team at international level.

Bryan Robson celebrates with Alex Ferguson after Manchester United’s 1990 FA Cup triumph. Photograph: Allsport

All the same, there is nothing wrong with hurting someone’s feelings every now and then. Neville wrote that he understood the standards at United when Keane, for want of a better word, bollocked him for taking a touch before crossing the ball. “Who the hell are you talking to?” Keane said when Neville tried to defend himself. “Get the fucking ball over!” Football is emotional and frantic. Some players need to be told. Vincent Kompany is not an old-school captain but Manchester City’s defence is a mess without him.

My colleague Amy Lawrence recently recalled the story of Tony Adams, a supreme motivator, sparking Dennis Bergkamp into title-winning form with a sharp word in his ear on the bus back from Middlesbrough in 1998. “You’ve been here two and a half years now, Dennis, isn’t it about time you won something?” Adams asked. “It would be a shame not to, with your ability.” Arsenal went on to win the Double, largely thanks to Bergkamp’s brilliance.

There is a danger of straying into pseudish territory by altogether dismissing the value of a player whose powers of motivation can bring out the best in his team-mates, whether it is a thundering challenge from Terry or a 30-yard rocket from Gerrard, and there is a suspicion that football will be poorer if those leadership skills are not present in current and future generations. Yes, matches are mostly decided by superior tactical plans and individual quality – as good as Robson was, he could not lift United above Liverpool on his own in the 80s – but that does not mean it is archaic to talk about a team being hungrier than their opponents. It happens.

Germany’s Bastian Schweinsteiger in the 2014 World Cup final against Argentina. Photograph: Paulo Whitaker/Reuters

Even the greatest teams have been glued together by big characters. Pep Guardiola’s Barcelona had football’s Captain Caveman, Carles Puyol, in central defence, while Germany won the World Cup final in 2014 with their vice-captain, Bastian Schweinsteiger, looking like a cross between Mr Stamper from Tomorrow Never Dies and a Terminator as blood poured from a cut just below his eye after a clash with Sergio Agüero.

It is possible to attach too much symbolism to isolated moments but consider this: precisely how much did you fear for Arsenal when they walked out with Theo Walcott as their captain against Chelsea and Terry last month?