The season began with one of those sighs of relief that go with us putting, in time-honoured fashion, a line under a rather unfortunate business. Put the net curtain back into place, dear, and let's never talk of it again.
Mind you, Bloodgate was good fun while it lasted, splitting a lip and bubbling along nicely. Most of the fun was generated by the cover-up, the attempt by ex-plod Deano to conceal the truth from the guv'nors, in this case European Rugby Cup Ltd, who are still young enough to be very prickly about a threat to their authority.
ERC were a vision of blazers at bursting point, citing cases that would prove their right to rule. Sure, they were very smart in discovering the truth, putting Tom Williams alone on the rack and making him sing like a canary. But they are sports administrators, not the CIA. Their three-year ban on Dean Richards spoke of indignation taken to an extreme. No, it wasn't a bodice-ripper, but the sense of big old Deano doing it all for Wendy – Dr Chapman, the doctor left holding the bleeding scalpel – gives it a romantic twist as he plods off one way and the rest of us head into the new season.
So, here we are, back in the same old same old. Sale banged over five penalties against Leicester's four, one of the Manchester club's Welsh connection, Lee Thomas, outshooting one of the defending champions' new Irish recruits, Jeremy Staunton.
The Magners League has a legal background to its action as well, with the Welsh regions and the Welsh Rugby Union arm-wrestling for the players. To be honest, it was pretty dreary stuff until the regions launched a philippic against the union, only to find the object of their ire – the WRU's CEO, Roger Lewis – was, at the time of the burn-in-hell pamphlet's release, smooching the aggrieved parties.
The summer showed justice in rugby, be it the International Rugby Board finally ruling on the armband protest of the Springboks – Oxymorongate: Justice for Bakkies – or the ERC's damning of Deano, moves with solemn and aching slowness. But never has a statement been more swiftly retracted than Regional Rugby Wales'. Damn you, Lewis, you're a bast... baster of the cogs of reconciliation. Bless you, sir.
Today comes the climax of the opening weekend. After the mono in Manchester, we had the London double-header at Twickenham and, now, the threes-up on the Sabbath.
Gloucester play Bath, the derby element undoing some of the damage of making Kingsholm turn out on a Sunday. Probably, though, they've been in place since yesterday, making a camp overnight of it. The Tent, not The Shed.
It's the home team with a new head coach, the upgraded Bryan Redpath, after the departure of Dean Ryan, against Bath, the scandal sensation of the year until Harlequins knocked them off top spot. Cocaine-ville makes the short trip up the M5.
As far as Newcastle rugby is concerned, there's no such thing, until Hawick qualify for the Guinness Premiership, as a derby, but Leeds is as close as they come to avoiding jet lag. Unbelievably, the Falcons have shed more than 20 players since last season, but they have recruited Jimmy Gopperth from New Zealand.
I was almost going to say to replace Jonny Wilkinson, now steering Toulon in the top cluster of French clubs, but, of course, that process took place a long time ago. Life without JW is hardly new in Newcastle. Steve Bates's team will be very good, but perhaps it will take them time to bond, even in the bear-hug of captain and prop Carl Hayman, another all-important Kiwi. And, perhaps, the last thing a side not quite yet fully sure of themselves needs is to meet Leeds on the opening weekend.
Neil Back, Leeds's head coach, will have spelt out in no uncertain manner his team's terms of reference. They will make themselves intensely difficult to beat. They may not bring a load of glitter to the Premiership, but they will bring organisation and determination. By next April, those qualities will not guarantee prosperity, but, for the opener at Headingley, they may well do nicely.
Finally, there is the cross-Midlands fixture between Northampton and Worcester. The Saints finished last season with a trophy, the European Challenge Cup, which always does wonders for the sense of purpose.
Worcester engaged in their usual dogfight to avoid relegation, which raises questions about how long they can keep going in the Premiership. They beat Gloucester and Wasps home and away, but lost time and time again at Sixways and on the road. One day, they are going to time it all wrong, miss the points at the climax of the season and fall off the cliff.
But maybe not just yet. Worcester have been quiet this summer and, in these turbulent times, going about your business without fuss is not only unusual, but perhaps even profitable.
Talking of profits, the clubs edge ever closer to break-even, with Gloucester even declaring a slight profit. Crowds continue to rise and awareness beyond the devoted to expand.
It shows that the sport can ride out its regular crises. Or, perhaps, that violence and scandal are selling points. Perhaps we should consider that before allowing pomposity to steer our justice towards the draconian. Free Deano, for Wendy.
