As Richard Cockerill discovered the other day, his status as Leicester's head coach does not guarantee absolute respect. There he stood, attempting to break the news that a foul-mouthed rant at match officials last month had resulted in a four-week match-day ban. "Sorry," he told his players. "I'm afraid I won't be with you on Saturdays until after Christmas." The eruption of delight, air-punching and cheering apparently put even last season's raucous title celebrations in the shade.
It is hard to imagine Sir Alex Ferguson seeing the funny side. But such is life at Leicester on Cockerill's watch. The ex-England hooker was the sort of player opponents loved to hate and some things never change. The World Cup-winning lock Ben Kay admits there are moments when he cannot believe the little pest is his boss. "I am surprised, to be honest," he said. "There were a few raised eyebrows when the club brought him back as a coach, knowing how hot-headed he used to be in training. As it's turned out, he's been a revelation in that regard, although the pills do occasionally wear off."
The tranquillisers were certainly left on the bedside table last month, before the LV Cup game against Newport Gwent Dragons at Welford Road when, even by his feisty standards, Cockerill overstepped the mark. The upshot was that he had to watch last week's defeat at Wasps as a spectator behind the posts and he will have to do something similar tomorrow afternoon, when Leicester go to Clermont Auvergne, the Michelin-backed French club where he concluded his playing career. It is a critical game and Matt O'Connor, Cockerill's Australian assistant, believes the timing of the ban is "hurting" his colleague. Cockerill does not deny it.
"I was never banned as a player so I don't know what it feels like," he said. "I've been in and around rugby clubs on weekends for 30 years and all of a sudden, you can't be part of it because you can't behave yourself. It won't happen again."
Almost instantly, though, the same old incorrigible Cockers resurfaces. Anyone capable of brawling with the All Black Norm Hewitt in the street in Dunedin the night after a Test, as he did in 1998, is never going to back off for long.
"It won't change me at all. I just won't use the language I used last time. I got punished for the language, not the point I was making." Diplomacy, he reckons, is an over-rated skill. "My problem is that I act on the moment and regret it within a minute. I do things in haste and repent at leisure but that's simply passion for the job. I couldn't be mundane and think, 'I don't agree with that but I'm not going to say anything in case I get into trouble.' That's not really my thing. If I think it, I generally say it. It's been to my detriment but it's a strength and a weakness. The boys know I'm honest. If something's not very good, they get told that."
He hates it, consequently, when others, not least referees and the media, fail to own up to errors of judgment. "If we have a poor game, I have to sit in a room with 20 blokes and explain myself. If the referee has a poor game, he doesn't. They have a tough job but the next step should be to make referees more accountable."
The next six months might just define Cockerill as a coach: is he a world-class rugby guru in the making, or simply a competitive ex-player trying to earn a crust?
There are precious few hiding places nowadays, as the England regime under Martin Johnson is discovering. Cockerill, who turns 39 next week, believes recent criticism of the national management was over the top – "It's the personal attacks I don't like" – but accepts that the Leicester way is not necessarily transferable beyond the East Midlands. Significantly, he feels that he is a better coach for his time in France, in terms of the scrummaging tips he picked up and the wider perspective he gained. "When you've never been away, you don't see things," he said. "When you're outside looking in you can study Leicester more objectively. That's been helpful."
He can even envisage coaching back in France one day – "I wouldn't mind but I've a lot to do here first" – and does not wince at the possibility of his French-born son, Stanley, who is now seven, running out for Les Bleus. "I knew three words of French when I went and four when I left," he said, "but weekends in Paris would be far better than weekends in Twickenham, no disrespect to you southerners." Le Cockerill Sportif? It has a certain ring to it.
Tomorrow's game, however, is deadly serious. If Leicester lose it will be their fifth consecutive away defeat, their worst sequence in one season since 1983-84. For their coach that would represent a grim development, regardless of Clermont's superior financial clout.
"They've got the best [of both] worlds," Cockerill said, with a sigh. "No restrictions on whom they can bring in and a huge budget. If I had £10m I reckon I could put a good team together. But if we win these games back-to-back we'll qualify [for the quarter-finals], no doubt. We need to make sure there are 16,000 Frenchmen sitting on their backsides, not on their feet cheering. The pressure will come on, the band will start playing and the trumpets will start. We need to use that as motivation to keep battling."
While there are no plans to smuggle Cockerill, à la José Mourinho, into the dressing-room area in a laundry basket –"I wouldn't want him anywhere near my clothes, dirty or not," said Kay – this weekend will test the head coach's sang froid.
"It's totally different from being a player," he said. "When you're playing you just look after yourself. You can be beaten but, if you've done your bit, there's no more you can do. As a coach when 14 people play well and one doesn't you still feel pretty shit."
Particularly if you happen to be sitting in the stands, utterly powerless to influence the outcome.
