There is no such thing as the “right” winner. The only winner is the one with the most points come the final whistle. All the same, nobody who has watched the entirety of this edition of the Prem could possibly begrudge Northampton this latest gong. They have been by some distance the team of the season.

And now they have the silverware, if not to prove it, to justify their prowess. This was not quite the exhilarating, heart-in-mouth contest another remarkable season of glorious domestic rugby deserved. If anything, it was a final that featured more in the way of outstanding defence, but two yellow cards, alas, supplied the backdrop to the decisive scores, one for each side, 19 points scored while either side disadvantaged.

Not so long ago, both would have been red, but rugby seems to have grown up somewhat since the wild days of red cards for manifest accidents. Yellow cards for the same is certainly an improvement, but still one should query the justice of these important moments turning on unavoidable accidents. Both cards involved a player being forced into a collision when they were not quite ready for it, the ball-carrier stepping, twisting and dipping with lightning speed.

The first fell to Josh Kemeny, who was not quite low enough to miss the head of Dafydd Jenkins, as the big lock dipped into the contact. The second, six minutes later, was shown to Jenkins himself, as he was absurdly punished for the same on a man, George Furbank, not much less than a foot shorter.

Jenkins it was who scored Exeter’s try a minute after Kemeny’s yellow, hitting a line off Tom Hooper’s pass to earn the Chiefs the lead for the first time, in the 52nd minute, 17-14. Five minutes later, he saw yellow. Northampton bossed the game while both teams were down to 14, but when Kemeny returned, they took advantage of the extra man to work two fine tries for George Hendy down the right. Then it was over to Saints’ immaculate defence to see out the match.

A common question for a sportswriter in the outside world is whether they support a particular team. The response from this rugby writer is no, but at any given time there is a sneaking desire for any team to win who makes your day job a joy. In 30 years of the professional era, I’m not sure I’ve enjoyed watching any team in English rugby more than this Northampton side.

There are sides that are wildly enjoyable. Harlequins and Bristol spring to mind, but there is something, well, wild about them that can irritate as much as excite. Northampton always seem so much in control of their divine rugby, masters of it rather than mastered by it.

One keeps a little shortlist of favourite players over the years (Charlie Hodgson, Alex Goode and Christian Wade, for what it’s worth), but there are so many candidates among these Saints to join them in a top five. Fin Smith is the epitome of magical yet focused creativity, a playmaker of the highest class. He wasn’t at his best in this final, more passes than usual missing their targets, but, come the moments that mattered, he was deadly, his chip setting up Hendy’s second, for example, just before Jenkins’s time in the bin was up.

Tommy Freeman is another. So much more than the deadly finisher he is – and he is, tied at the top of the try-scoring charts this season – his almost lazy running style and skills set up at least as much as he finishes. He had that 18th try of the season in the third minute. He was not done creating tries, though, but the next was for Exeter, when his ill-advised flick was intercepted for Campbell Ridl’s score in the 11th minute.

But enough about backs. Another contender for that top five is Alex Coles. Exeter’s defence was superb throughout and had to be, given the torrid time they had at the set piece in the first half. Coles was central to that, but he is no less comfortable in the wide-open spaces. His break set up position for Saints’ second, scored by Smith, and there were plenty more.

And then there is Henry Pollock. The jury remains out on him so early in his career. Undoubtedly, he brings a box office swagger that the sport cannot afford to marginalise, but the easy accusation is that he might not back up the mouth with trousers. Here, as in the semi-final last weekend, he did. The sheer energy, the power and the precision rightly earned him the man of the match award. He is doing all that rugby could ask of such a young talent in the furnace.

This was indeed a sweltering arena, full to bursting with proper fans of the English game. That might explain the accent on intensity here, rather than sparkle, but in the end it was quality of rugby that won out. If quality is your bag, the 2025-26 season had the “right” winners indeed.