Market forces. The strikers strode out into the Twickenham arena as proudly as they did last week, last year and probably last century. The only difference was that they had the comfort of believing that the English Rugby Football Union (RFU) were no longer fleecing them. Players, it seems, have grasped the concept of professionalism more acutely than the "old farts" believed they could.
Bill Beaumont had said in print last week that he would walk over broken glass to pull on the white jersey of England. Curmudgeonly Bill, despite his presence with Dewi Morris on the traditionally upbeat Sky Sports panel, can release some iffy wind himself. Bill's language is old fart's language and comes from a time old farts made important decisions. They still do, but not all of them. Ask any agent.
Still, English rugby averted a strike and went on to earn three out of 10 on Saturday from commentator and former England outhalf Stuart Barnes. Perhaps Barnes was marking the team for their work over seven days, because Saturday's match against Argentina could hardly be seen in any other light. Doubtlessly, Sky were aware of this.
In the stand, the quintessential prig Clive Woodward sat frigid and distant. Woodward is a Thatcher child, a ruthless, controlling and highly successful coach. His priggery during the week could hardly have illuminated the English dressingroom with any sense of cohesion, given he had told the players to "stop prattling about" on Wednesday.
Imagine the players' reactions. "Thanks Clive for being so candid." Or "You did it for England and the good of rugby Clive." The image of the pre-match dressing-room is distressing. There stands Woodward, dwarfed by the team and asking for their commitment to him when Woodward was adding to the negative pressure and siding with an organisation which was described variously as "condescending" and "arrogant" by three principal players, Martin Johnson, Laurence Dallaglio and Matt Dawson.
So just how did Clive gee up the side who had just beaten the world champions a week ago? The answer is that he didn't. Or couldn't.
"It's all very well England making points about money and principle, but if they are not going to deliver on the pitch people are not going to be that sympathetic," said Barnes. "They must have been affected by the goings on. England . . . three out of 10."
Strike leader Johnson won man of the match. Johnson understands market forces as well as Anna Kournikova, Tiger Woods or Brian O'Driscoll. Johnson knows he will not always pick up man of the match awards, and sometime Woodward will effortlessly sacrifice him for the imperative of the moment. All players understand this. But Woodward can do it with all the warmth of an amphibian.
Had England faced Argentina eight days ago and Australia this weekend, their belated lurch into professionalism would have cost them the match. As you might expect from a Murdoch station which was instrumental in delivering more money to the RFU than they ever dreamed of, they could hardly be seen to criticise the players for demanding a bigger slice of the Sky cheque, nor indeed poke the eyes of the organisation who they hand over the cheque to in the first place. The moralisers were kept low.
"The media will put two and two together and get five," said some overbearing pitch-side reporter to Johnson after England's under-performance.
"What happened this week happened," he replied. "I thought the guys were switched onto the game. We just made errors."
You could have fitted the full bloated RFU committee into the gaps at Twickenham, but not into Sky's increasingly busy attempts at virtual rugby. We now get open side flanker possession, percentage possession, player cams, gain line successes and a yellow line superimposed across the pitch to show us exactly where the gain line stands.
Science is taking over. There is now little left to add bar tearing open a Sky Sport scent sachet bearing the smells of Twickenham turf, deep heat and a front row's anchovy breath.
Dave O'Leary clearly doesn't beat his breast over player's salaries. He doesn't, because he understands that market forces override tradition, morality, commitment, passion or sense of place. He doesn't lament, because Leeds sold the right to hold those precious commodities when they became a limited company whose main responsibility is to its shareholders.
As Leeds demonstrated heart but little class against Real Madrid on ITV in the midweek Champions League, O'Leary was busy behind the scenes preparing the limo for a delivery run down to London with an £18 million sterling cheque on the back seat for Rio Ferdinand.
"From Real to Rio," quipped anchorman Des Lynam, snuggling down to the preferred ITV link style. Big Ron Atkinson was simultaneously cuddling up to Clive Tilsly in the commentary box .
"Amazing," said Big Ron, his managerial instincts still burning bright. "As long as he (Ferdinand) can't walk away from that contract."
So it was a week of contrasts on television. O'Leary was riding soccer's bull market bareback and with a ferocity that belies his recent move from tracksuit to Saville Row. Meanwhile, English rugby was again cack-handed, plodding and refusing to bend under the pressure of market forces, perhaps still believing that administrators are as important as players.
