The real significance of this apparently trivial incident goes, however, much wider. It goes some way to explain the difficulties suffered by English sport and might even have a bearing on why England lost that match.
In the professional era, sport - as we know - is big business. Its profitability, especially in the more populous countries, depends on attracting and retaining mass audiences, an undertaking in which the media are both major players and beneficiaries.
English football is perhaps the prime example of this growing nexus between media and fans. The media set out to dramatise and romanticise every aspect of the game. The leading players become larger-than-life figures, their exploits endlessly celebrated. The fans become accustomed to a diet of manufactured drama and excitement - and demand nothing less.
The syndrome is on its way to infecting other sports, and English rugby - sadly - is in the process of succumbing as well. Almost instinctively, it seems, the English commentator from commercial television felt that simply acknowledging a good piece of play in the England/Wales match was not enough; his viewers would expect to hear something of the superlative if it was to be given its due and they were to take it seriously.
For the sportsmen and women themselves, of course, it is fraught with danger. Having built up their sporting heroes to the status of gods, the media will ruthlessly knock them down if they do not perform up to the inflated expectations that have been created.
So, what is the relevance of all this to the English defeat? The problem is that, as the media and the fans egg each other on and feed off each other, the sport is played in an increasingly unreal context. The English fan is encouraged to live in a kind of fantasy land, in which superhuman heroes will achieve great feats. Completely unrealistic outcomes are routinely expected.
I recall some years ago reading the English sports media reporting on the first appearance by Danny Cipriani in an England jersey. He did tolerably well; but - on the strength of that one performance - the commentators proclaimed that, in a forthcoming match against the All Blacks and Dan Carter, we would see "the best two fly-halfs in the world" going head-to-head.
We saw a similarly gung-ho attitude in the England team and management, and among the fans and media, in respect of the England/Wales match. Two illustrations make the point.
The conversion of Sam Burgess from league to union has - for the best part of the past year - been regarded by many as England's best hope of pulling clear of the pack. Never mind that he was being played in a position different from the one in which he had been preferred by his club, that he had never played before with his midfield partner, and that he had only had about 100 minutes of international rugby - his status as a larger-than-life superman in the public mind was enough to earn him selection for a crucial match.
Even more significantly, the cult of the hero had a possibly decisive impact on the critical closing moments of the match. This was not so much the decision taken by England's forthright captain, Chris Robshaw, to kick for the corner rather than attempt a penalty goal - it was a brave and justifiable gamble.
Where the gamble went wrong, however, was when the five-metre lineout was taken. For some reason, Robshaw - for the first time in the match - called the lineout throw to himself, at number two in the line. He thereby made it almost inevitable that, even when the ball was taken cleanly, it would be immediately driven into touch and the game would be lost. A throw deeper into the line could well have produced the drive for the line that would have yielded the desperately needed try.
Why did he do it? Because the Twickenham crowd demanded a hero, and he saw himself - understandably given the psychology of England sport - as Captain Marvel. Fantasy is not a good basis for sporting performance.
Bryan Gould is a former UK Labour MP and former vice-chancellor of Waikato University.
