The 15 most disappointed men in England this morning will be those unknown rugby players nominated by Clive Woodward to play in a Test match against Argentina at Twickenham on Saturday, in place of the squad who withdrew their services on Monday night before returning to work yesterday morning.

Imagine their feelings. Until the likes of Martin Johnson, Lawrence Dallaglio and Matt Dawson decided to accept the Rugby Football Union's four-year deal, apparently once its provisions had been explained to them in terms that even chaps with cauliflower ears could understand, these anonymous heroes must have harboured brief dreams of rugby immortality, of walking out on to the lush greensward of headquarters in front of 60,000 rugby fans, and of being borne aloft on endless choruses of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.

Nor is it likely, now, that we shall ever learn their names. Some will refuse to believe that, in the game of bluff and doublebluff which took place this week, an England Strikebreakers XV ever existed, even in Woodward's head, although Francis Baron, the chief executive of the RFU, said yesterday that calling the game off was "never a consideration", even had the strike continued.

So the inevitable question is, who won? Both sides, inevitably, were keen to play down the idea of anyone having capitulated, while each wanted to make it perfectly plain that they had got pretty much what they wanted.

The cheerful air of the RFU delegation at yesterday evening's press conference made a sharp contrast with the somewhat rueful demeanour of the senior players when they attempted to explain themselves a couple of hours later. That told one story, but it may have been misleading.

The players made the decision to withdraw their labour on Monday night because they felt they had been messed about by the RFU and were not being taken seriously as a negotiating body. Clearly they did not come lightly or swiftly to that conclusion. And, indeed, there were signs that the strategy had been carefully planned.

It was presented, first of all, as the players' own decision, taken with regret in the face of their agents' advice to accept the RFU's "final offer". Baron said, in a statement that may come back to haunt him four years hence: "If you appoint agents, you should let them do the negotiating."

Second, the players preserved what earlier generations of soldiers in the industrial relations wars used to call solidarity. The result is that Clive Woodward can, if he wishes, welcome them all back on the same emotional terms, without discrimination.

Third, they timed the action brilliantly. Lawrence Dallaglio denied last night that the result of last Saturday's match against Australia had anything to do with the matter, but it presented them with the perfect opportunity.

As in all such resolutions of industrial action, the harsher words will be set aside. Reminded that only the previous day he had described the RFU's attitude to the players as "feudal" and "archaic", Johnson fended off the tackle with ease. "We've reached an agreement with them," he said, "and we're happy to return to playing."

Strangely, nothing was said yesterday about the claim by their agents, at the height of Tuesday's hostilities, that the players were particularly insistent on increasing their share of the RFU's revenues from international matches beyond a meagre five per cent.

Whatever criticisms the players deserve, the charge of greed is not among them. In all sports, that particular sin starts at the top.