What a final, they kept saying, and they were right, but these finals always are. Folk have of late noted that we will not need play-offs any more, when they stretch the domestic season to 10 months, smoothing out those crinkly weekends which overlap with the international game.
Yes we will. This is addictive. To be at Twickenham in high May is to see English club rugby at its best, and there is no reason to think it will be any different in high June. This time, as apparently every time, two superb, attack-minded teams cut each other up in their differing ways, Exeter by thumping Wasps through the guts, Wasps by unpicking the Exeter muscle. Twenty-two rounds could scarcely separate the two during the regular season, so 80 minutes had no chance. For the second time in four finals, we had to go to extra-time. Had to? It was a pleasure.
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