Warren Gatland couldn't resist it. As sly digs go, this would have made those Seventies wrestlers wince. The Welsh nation, declared the jubilant coach, should be very proud of their players. Not just on the pitch, but off it. Fine young ambassadors, these boys.
England, of course, cannot be proud of their players. Gatland, just like everyone else, knew this would apply both on the pitch and off it. They were ambassadors, but only of the type England could quite do without.
Granted, there were honourable exceptions. But, as a group, England's World Cup stank from start to finish. From their unprofessional night-time antics to their unprofessional match-time antics, ill-discipline reigned everywhere England went. One is inextricably linked to the other and if you don't understand that then you've never followed England in the soccer World Cup. And so starts the recrimination. Oh joy.
Wales have experienced their own negative publicity during the Gatland era. Drunk back-rowers driving golf buggies along the motorway shoulder, coaches punching other coaches, players fighting with nightclub bouncers ... and all that before we even mention Gavin Henson. But through it all, Gatland remained adamant that the professionalism he introduced would eventually prevail and would do so because of the players themselves.
In Sam Warburton, Dan Lydiate, Toby Faletau, George North, Leigh Halfpenny, Jamie Roberts, Rhys Priestland and others, Gatland discovered a new breed of rugby player, untainted by the old clubhouse nonsense of the amateur era. In the wake of England's negative headlines Warburton, the 22-year-old captain, revealed the squad were off the booze. Not completely and not because of a stern Gatland edict, but because they realised the possibilities could lead to permanent euphoria, could establish them as legends before they had even peaked. This is what beckons them. So long Barry John, Phil Bennett, Gareth Edwards and JPR Williams. There is no longer need to take consolation in your rich nostalgia.