The England coaching saga reminds me of a hoary old joke. Three men are stranded on a desert island in shark-infested waters. The first decides to risk the half-mile swim to land, but fails to make it. The second also meets a grim and bloody end. The third dives into the water and, without being touched, makes it to the mainland where he strolls into the nearest beach bar and orders a beer. "How come you made it and the others didn't?" asks the barman. "That's easy," replies the dripping stranger. "I wore a T-shirt saying 'Francis Baron is a genius' and even the sharks wouldn't swallow that."

Sorry, I never promised it would be amusing. But, then again, neither is the farcical position the Rugby Football Union has managed to engineer for itself. Let's just recap for those struggling to keep up:

1) Twickenham bosses give Brian Ashton a vote of confidence following an extensive post-World Cup review, but apparently change their mind within three months.

2) The RFU approaches Martin Johnson, who has never coached or managed a professional team in his life.

3) No one seems to know the precise job description being offered to Johnson but, hey, since when did that matter?

4) Ashton has heard nothing from Twickenham and is being kept abreast of developments through the newspapers. It is possibly the worst case of employer/employee mistreatment since Arkwright and Granville in Open All Hours.

The whole mishandled affair arouses various emotions. The first is sadness: Ashton remains a decent man with rare coaching gifts whose position has been crudely and unfairly undermined by individuals who possess neither of his aforementioned qualities. But there is also a sense of anger, scorn and, increasingly, outrage that none of the backroom protaganists seem willing to hold up their hands and acknowledge the extraordinary mess they have helped to create, the nasty smell of which will linger for years whether or not Johnson makes a success of his new role.

It is an ongoing disgrace, for a start, for the RFU to be openly debating who should front up the national team with the incumbent still around. That crass lack of judgement and moral fibre should be reason in itself to doubt whether the same individuals should be trusted to reach the right conclusions as to which direction to take next. Let's say Johnson takes charge on May 1. Whatever anyone says, I simply can't see Ashton happily staying on unless he retains the final say in selection. Johnson, to have any chance of doing the job properly, would require that same power of veto. My current information is that Mike Catt would be the preferred backs' coach under a Johnson-run regime. Where would that leave Ashton? Collecting up the bibs after training? Apart from being an insult to a coach of Ashton's experience, change at the top cannot be fumblingly piecemeal.

For English rugby to navigate its way back down the creek and resume paddling, therefore, it requires more than simply the appointment of a stern ex-captain with a famous frown. Now that Rob Andrew has hacked some sort of path through the club v country foilage and declined to take over as team manager, his whip-cracking role in the Twickenham hierachy clearly needs redefining. Baron is a money man who has been in the chief exec's chair for almost a decade. The Professional Game Board is about to be born, but there are still too many amateurs able to dictate how the England national team is run. To put it bluntly, there are too many cooks and none of them is Jamie Oliver.

The RFU's top brass are due to defend themselves shortly at a midweek briefing. Senior union executives have even invited their media snipers to dine with them afterwards, on the proviso that anything the former say is strictly off the record and unattributable. It reminds me of the famous old line uttered by the Test and County Cricket Board's AC Smith - "No comment, but don't quote me" - which, sadly, still seems to be the modus operandi of many of his oval-ball successors. If they want to appoint Johnson they should finalise the deal with immediate effect, do the decent thing in terms of Ashton and then retreat back into the shrubbery. One can only assume Johnson himself has been so annoyed by much of what has happened since the 2003 World Cup that his patience has run out. Why on earth, otherwise, would he consider getting involved now? Until there is a complete shift in the mindset of those in positions of executive power at Twickenham, there will be no guarantee of a happy ending.

Pride before a fall

Interesting, isn't it, how many big games are being won on the rebound? England push Wales to the brink of submission at Twickenham only to be floored themselves in the second-half. Leicester thrash Wasps in the EDF semi-final and then lose at home to the same opponents the following week. And then, most startling of all, the Ospreys lose the European plot in Watford just a fortnight after hammering Saracens by the modest margin of 30-3 at the Millennium Stadium. Given the Ospreys are virtually Wales in disguise, it suggests English and Welsh players are as prone as each other to mental disintegration. The big winners last weekend? Step forward Warren Gatland and Shaun Edwards, whose reputations as the kings of rugby psychology grow by the week.

Lions set pulses racing

Here at The Guardian we don't really do nudge-nudge wink-wink jokes. So no sniggering as we exclusively reveal the world's most gloriously inappropriate clash of dates. The first Test of next year's Lions tour is provisionally scheduled for Durban on the same weekend as the city is set to host a conference of - wait for it - nurses. If that newsflash does not cause the sale of tour packages to go through the roof, nothing will.