Alastair Hignell column: And they can't even cheat right. Harlequins may not have always believed they were god's gift to the rugby world but they've always been god's gift to the rugby comic.

What fun after–dinner speakers have had with the name (take your pick of Harley-queens, Charlie-quins and Se-quins), the image (toffs, city slickers or fancy-dans), the strip (what self-respecting club could possibly boast colours of magenta, French grey and chocolate?) and, latterly, the title. Apparently some of the Quins forwards believed that the NEC initials that now prefix the club name stood for Knowledge, Excellence and Quality! Now, of course, they stand for Now Evidently Cheats.

What if Tom Williams hadn't winked as he left the field, thus alerting Heineken Cup officials to the possibility that the all-too convenient blood injury that allowed drop-goal expert Nick Evans back on to the field was fake? In all probability the post-match protestations of Leinster coach Michael Cjeka would have been quietly forgotten and the cloud of suspicion surrounding Harlequins' actions would have gradually dispersed.

And what if, after a wink-free substitution, Nick Evans had been successful with a drop at goal and thereby dumped Leinster out of a tournament which, history shows, they went on to win? The suspicions would have lingered longer but they would also have been tinged with the grudging admiration reserved for winners.

In much the same way as Neil Back's 'hand of god' cheat in Leicester's Heineken Cup Final win over Munster in 2002 – the flanker used his hand to steal possession at a Munster scrum close to the Tigers' line – the end would just about be seen to justify the means.

But the wink was caught on camera and Harlequins are only just beginning to feel the fall-out. The original judgment of the disciplinary hearing – it banned Williams for 12 months and fined the club 250,000 euros, but, despite naming three Harlequins officials, couldn't bring a case against any of them – was, it seems just an opening gambit from the ERC.

The full verdict – delivered last week – prompted Williams, already irked at being hung out to dry by his club and left to take full responsibility for an act which must have required collusion, to appeal against his ban. It also prompted the ERC disciplinary officer to appeal against the sentence passed on Harlequins, and that, in turn, prompted the club's internal inquiry and the resignation of director of rugby Dean Richards.

And that's where the joke really becomes sick. Richards as a player was the very opposite of a Harlequin. He was rough, tough, direct and unsophisticated. He was all about endeavour and graft, simplicity and pragmatism. His arrival at The Stoop, marking as it did one of the most successful periods in the club's history, was seen as consummating the perfect marriage between the work-ethic of the industrial Midlands and the flair and glamour of the big city.

But perhaps Richards worked too hard at his job. The margins in professional sport are so fine and the culture so macho that he who doesn't exploit every perceived advantage, loophole or opposition weakness to the nth degree is regarded as being weak himself.

Once the focus widens from what you can achieve to what you can get away with, the fine line between ruthlessness and sharp practice becomes blurred. From sharp practice to cheating is not much of a step.

By accepting Richards' resignation, Harlequins would appear to also accept that they cheated. They seem now to be throwing themselves on the mercy of the court and, not just because of historical ties with the establishment and their stereotyping as the unelected aristocracy of the English game, they are unlikely to get any.

Although the club are now backing Williams' appeal against the severity of his ban, the fact that they all but abandoned him first time round, won't sit well with traditionally fair-minded rugby folk. Nor will their initial refusal to either admit that there had been an irregularity or to conduct an internal investigation until far too late. And given that rugby is still reeling from the drugs scandal at Bath, Quins will know only too well that public opinion is against them and that the sport's authorities will want to show just how determined they are to clean up the image of the game.

The least they can expect from the ERC is an insistence that the fine is immediately paid in full – half of it was initially suspended for two years – and a ban from the Heineken Cup, financially punishing in itself.

The Mighty Quin? Now, that is a joke.