You may have missed the big news. Malcolm Changleng has hung up his whistle. He is - or was - Scotland's top-ranked professional referee. Young, fit, fast-tracked to the Test rota, he was the personification of the new breed of official the International Rugby Board has been grooming. As a consequence, his sudden decision to step down from his full-time role cannot be idly brushed under the carpet.
In his farewell statement he spoke of a desire to resume his teaching career and to spend more time with his young family. What the missive strangely failed to mention was Perpignan's white-knuckle anger at some of Changleng's decisions in their key Heineken Cup tie with London Irish in Reading last month. The French club's list of grievances almost burnt a hole in European Rugby Cup Ltd's fax machine. It would seem the barbs hit home.
As it happens I saw that game. Changleng wasn't great but he wasn't deliberately poor. We're all entitled to a bad day occasionally, as I keep telling my editor. I was also in Swansea last Saturday night when Ireland's Alan Lewis sin-binned Gloucester's Luke Narraway for swearing. It was a Bateman cartoon moment: The Man Who Yellow-Carded A Gloucester Forward For Using A Rude Word. Next they will be telling us Twickenham officials don't wear blazers. Actually someone did claim as much recently but I'm sure I spotted a shiny button poking out from beneath his own overcoat.
But let's get back to the refs. Even the good ones get a hard time. I've always enjoyed the story told by Roger Quittenton, the former English international referee. Roger was always one of those officials people loved to hate. One New Year's Day he offered his services at a club game in Bognor. He blew his whistle and jogged off upfield, only to be struck on the backside by the kick-off. Tell me you'd have kept a straight face on the touchline.
On the other hand, without Roger and Malcolm and all the other prancing pedants out there we wouldn't have a game. It is the same in cricket where Steve Bucknor, one of the world's leading umpires, has just got the heave-ho after a bad Test in Australia. Remember the criticism that forced Merv Kitchen to the point of resignation after a Test against South Africa at Nottingham a decade ago? In soccer, abuse of officials is now only noteworthy when it doesn't occur. Do we really want rugby union to go the same way? No, I didn't think so.
The sad fact, however, is that rugby is not blessed with so many brilliant referees that it can afford to wave farewell even to mediocre ones with names which recall the Bay City Rollers. How many outstanding officials can you name in Europe? Alain Rolland, Joël Jutge and Wayne Barnes, the impressive young English barrister, are probably the pick of the bunch now the irrepressible Tony Spreadbury is off the Test and Heineken Cup rota. Chris White, Nigel Owens, Dave Pearson and the aforementioned Lewis are perfectly adequate. Otherwise it's lucky-dip time. As for the southern hemisphere's finest, let's just say they can usually find a phone-box big enough to accommodate the best of them.
But did you spot what happened there? Without even noticing a casual refereeing insult just slipped out. It was the same on Sky the other day when the sound of England's Rob Debney mangling a few well-intentioned French rugby phrases led the studio host Simon Lazenby to compare his linguistic skills to Boycey from Only Fools and Horses. If we want to encourage referees to believe the job is worth the hours hunched over the law-book, the endless motorway miles and the obscene hand gestures, we may have to declare an amnesty. Hand in your white sticks and your blindfolds now, forget your age-old prejudices. Give a referee an impromptu hug this weekend and see where it gets you. A disciplinary hearing, probably, but it'll be worth it in the long run.
Should I stay or should I go?
Who wrote the following words? "Now I've retired a massive chunk is going to be missing from my life. You simply cannot replace that rush of adrenaline or the intensity of the build-up to an international match. But I won't be changing my mind." Step forward the Welsh flanker Martyn Williams whose short-lived retirement has ensured his own autobiography - The Magnificent Seven - is out of date before it is even published on January 24. Maybe that was always the plan. The Return of the Magnificent Seven was a headline just waiting to happen.
For those watching in black and white...
Sky are to broadcast a record amount of live European rugby this weekend. Hurrah! With so many games being shown the potential for Colemanballs-type commentating cock-ups has never been greater. Only this week we were informed on BBC radio that "Harry Redknapp has put down deep roots in Sandbanks" and - my personal favourite - "Daryl Gibson is iridescent with anger..." All colourful slips of the tongue gratefully received.
