A potentially great Leinster squad, one with the already proven potential to become our greatest provincial unit ever, didn't become a bad one and lose that lustre on Saturday.
Sadly there are some who purport to follow Irish rugby who would wish that such were the case.
Leinster, and by extension Irish rugby, took a physical and psychological 25-17 battering on home soil against one of the English Premiership's big two. Anyone wanting to deny that fact is delusional in the extreme.
I hate almost everything that Saracens (and by extension Toulon) stand for, yet in pure rugby-playing terms what we witnessed in the Aviva was a Saracens squad united in a common cause where the desire to win outdid every other factor.
In any sport - professional or amateur - it is the most important element that cannot be coached. It is a desire stirred from within.
One side wanted this win so badly and, unfortunately for Irish rugby on this massive occasion, they weren't wearing blue.
The collective that has served Leinster so well since losing to the same opposition when last they met was marked by its absence 16 months on.
Talk is cheap and no doubt various excuses will be trotted out - not by Leo Cullen, Stuart Lancaster or their team of nearest advisors - but when stripped to the bare bones, Saracens, for all their self- inflicted internal problems, wanted this performance and this win so much more than the red-hot pre-match favourites.
At half-time, Leinster trailed by 19 points. By any standard that is a drubbing as scrum domination allied to bloody-minded physicality at the breakdown meant that, by their deeds alone, the Maro Itoje-inspired Londoners would not be leaving without every last drop spilt for the cause.
We like to think that fighting quality is our preserve against English opposition but, save for a spirited second-half revival of sorts, the better team by far - the one building on all the small margins - eventually took this even more convincingly than the eventual eight-point score difference suggests.
On a personal level, I am delighted for Mark McCall but that does not detract from my disdain for the cheating organisation that was, and given that so many are still playing, still is Saracens.
My admiration for what we witnessed on Saturday is purely driven from my perspective as a player.
The tone was set from the kick-off with Saracens manufacturing an immediate scrum and taking off from there.
They might not like hearing it but the fact is that in that opening 40 minutes the three-in-a-row PRO14 winners were bullied mentally and physically on their own patch.
There could but be an improvement in the second-half and there was of sorts but I defy anyone to suggest other than the spoils on this occasion going where they were most deserved.
The soon-to-be English Championship side now move on to face Donnacha Ryan, Simon Zebo and co in Paris.
Even without Owen Farrell, it's going to take some French effort to beat them.
To pick out any Leinster players on this 'big stage freeze' would be clutching at straws, so we'll resist.
The only positive will be in the losing experience to be had for some of the relative rookies in this ever-extending squad.
The nature of the modern game of rugby is that greater physicality invariably triumphs and on this must-win occasion, it certainly did.
We'll not oversimplify by putting it entirely down to the scrum and the battle at the gain-line but, with a marked superiority in both facets from early on, Leinster were effectively chasing the opposition for the first time since the final in the same competition 16 months ago.
It makes for a bitterly disappointing end to a strange and unprecedented season and yet one that promised so much, but as the head coach pointed out in the aftermath "with little time for moping and just a fortnight before we start again".
It is of little consolation right now but they will be back so much stronger on the back of a harsh but sobering lesson.
As for Ulster, they again gave it their best shot but lacked the wherewithal to finish some of the real clear-cut chances that came their way.
Aristocratic Toulouse are again in possession of a quality laden squad.
They are at the other end of the spectrum to Toulon and continue to represent everything good about French rugby.
Thank God for the Duponts, Kolbes, Ahkis, Guitounes, Hugets, Ntamacks, and Ramoses of this world.
Someone suggested Itoje for World Player of the Year following his Aviva tour de force. A reasonable call but it's magical Cheslin Kolbe for me every time.