No wonder Jonny left. While the Transcendental One meditates on the Med in preparation for this afternoon's final of the Amlin Challenge Cup, all hell is breaking out once again between various management factions in the English game.
Jonny Wilkinson will probably be unaware of the spat between the Saracens management and the RFU that is becoming increasingly unseemly or funny, depending on whether you see life through the prism of a rural prep school or not. Wilko almost certainly went to one of those, but countless kicks at goal, broken bones and immersions in the Buddhist sutras have drawn him a long way from that way of life.
At the end of his first year playing for Toulon, he is looking more tanned and healthy than ever and almost totally free from injury. Today, he will line up in front of an expected 50,000 fans in Marseille as Toulon take on Cardiff in European rugby's junior final.
The Stade Vélodrome can be a bit of a madhouse, so much so that it is highly unlikely that anyone would complain if you ever felt moved to get out of your seat. And yet even the Vélodrome in full cry would be impressed by the stink Brendan Venter has kicked up by doing just that at Welford Road a couple of weeks back.
Venter was charged with pushing a 62-year-old female Leicester fan and making provocative gestures and comments to spectators while his Saracens side were beating Leicester on their own patch. The trouble started when Venter continually rose from his seat, which had a restricted view, to monitor the progress of the game.
In the subsequent hearing, it was acknowledged that seating opposition coaches in the middle of home fans is not an ideal scenario, but the prosecution contended that this is not normally a problem; Venter, brilliantly, countered by pointing out that the opposition at Welford Road are not normally winning. He was accused of using foul language when confronted by fans; he claimed flatly that he did not ever use such language, and this was accepted with surprising acquiescence, presumably in light of his oft-invoked status as a GP. He was described as hitting the angry female fan in the mouth with the back of his hand; he successfully convinced the panel that it had been an accident. He is alleged to have said to her: "You will die of a heart attack"; the panel were happy that he had actually said she should calm down or she would have a heart attack – again, his status as a GP was presumably invoked here. Finally, he was alleged to have stood up, bowed at the enraged fans, blown them a kiss and cried: "I love you all!"; this charge he accepted.
Already one of the most deliciously entertaining judicial transcripts in rugby history, His Honour Judge Jeff Blackett's judgment in banning Venter from any participation with his club on match days for 14 weeks described Venter as showing disdain for the hearing itself "by coming back to hear his sanction eating a biscuit and throwing sweet papers across the table".
Now, Saracens have been something of a bellwether for English rugby this season. When it was bad, they were the worst, and since it has become brilliant, they have been the most dazzling. Now, when it is at its most provocative and climactic, they are shooting from the hip with reckless abandon, offending as many people as they can, just before they take to the field for the grand final.
Most clubs would offer a curt statement following such a judgment, signalling their intent to appeal, but not Saracens. Edward Griffiths, the chief executive, issued a scathing statement that concluded: "Perhaps it is time for English rugby to be run like a modern professional sport, and not a rural prep school." The RFU are now considering charging Griffiths.
There is a beautiful antagonism to all of this – the brash South African newcomers trampling all over English sensibilities and squaring up to the indignant English prep-school masters still unable to countenance such impudence. Blackett's judgment was full of references to rugby's "core values", the implication being that the sport might be facing the appalling fate of becoming a bit like football.
Rugby needs to get over this. Of course, there are values it quite rightly cherishes, but there are also goals to which it aspires. You cannot expect 50,000 to attend the Challenge Cup final or 80,000‑plus the Premiership final next Saturday without the temperature rising. Venter, as it stands, will not be allowed within the hallowed walls of Twickenham when his side take on, you guessed it, Leicester in the final on Saturday. This has to go down as a loss, not only to Saracens but to those who appreciate colour and unpredictability. For every Zen-master like Wilko, there must always be a wild, gesticulating doctor.
