Last Monday, Chief Justice Frank Clarke released letters he exchanged with Mr Justice Séamus Woulfe in which he claimed the latter's stubborn refusal to resign was causing "irreparable damage" to the Supreme Court.
But looking at the mess dumped on the Oireachtas, those outside the Supreme Court bubble might just as easily conclude that if "irreparable damage" was the criterion for resignation, then Chief Justice Frank Clarke and not Séamus Woulfe should resign.
Reading last Monday's correspondence between the Chief Justice and Séamus Woulfe, it seemed to me it had less to do with Golfgate and a lot more to do with natural justice.
The self-conscious tone of Chief Justice Clarke's letter seemed to be tailored less for Woulfe's attention as for media consumption.
In contrast, Séamus Woulfe's sometimes discursive but always open response showed he was less guarded, more natural, and more vulnerable.
To my mind, and I am not alone in thinking this, the "irreparable damage" part of the Chief Justice's letter simply beggars belief.
"Irreparable damage" is not done by mistakenly attending a banned dinner or refusing to resign or defensively sounding off at a subsequent inquiry.
"Irreparable damage" would be finding out a judge was paid to decide cases, and his colleagues knew it and covered it up. Or possessing child pornography. Or golfing with known criminals.
To show that Séamus Woulfe's minor offence was nowhere near causing "irreparable damage", let me briefly review the story.
Woulfe went to a dinner in a partitioned room which he reasonably but wrongly felt was within the Covid regulations. Golfgate followed. The Supreme Court called in former chief justice Susan Denham to consider his culpability.
Denham sensibly felt Woulfe deserved a yellow card rather than a red card, and recommended temporary demotion and a hefty loss of income.
At first, the Supreme Court said it would follow her advice. But that changed when the transcript of Denham's meeting was published, including some wild remarks by Woulfe about being wronged.
Surfing on the support of a predictably negative public reaction, the Supreme Court began a campaign to pressurise Woulfe to resign.
Clearly in the grip of a groupthink bubble, the Supreme Court did not deny a series of leaks by "legal sources" telling us that Woulfe's colleagues would not sit with him.
Until then, I had an open mind. But boycotting Woulfe reminded me of the shunning of poor devils in my national school.
But it got worse. Soon the sustained public pressure on Woulfe seemed to me to come close to bullying.
To my mind, it was one thing to beat up on Big Phil Hogan, a political cage fighter who can look after himself. But Woulfe cut a lonely and vulnerable figure.
Last Monday was the last straw for me. Being stupid about Covid regulations does not do irreparable damage. But hounding Mr Justice Woulfe all the way to the Oireachtas could cause serious damage.
But why did the Supreme Court ignore Denham's report first day and embark on such an excessive and risky course of action?
Possibly the Supreme Court felt a bit of virtue signalling would go down well and make it look good in an era of pressure for judicial reform.
The Supreme Court has no power to compel Woulfe to resign - which is just as well because he did nothing bad enough to deserve more than Denham recommended.
But frustrated by Woulfe's stoic refusal to resign, the Supreme Court has now dumped its mess on the lap of the Oireachtas.
Given that breaching Covid regulations sets a ridiculously low bar for impeachment, let's hope the Oireachtas dumps it right back where it came from.
Because unless he murdered someone, the Constitution says the members of the Supreme Court have to live with Séamus Woulfe.
Meantime, if the Supreme Court really wants to know what "irreparable damage" looks like, it should compare Woulfe's dopey faux pas with the delinquent behaviour of the late chief justice Brian Walsh, who is much admired by green legal eagles.
Walsh, a sitting Supreme Court judge in 1970, was in Kinsealy the day Charles Haughey was lifted by Special Branch on suspicion of conspiracy to illegally import weapons.
Tipped off the attorney general had decided to charge Haughey, Walsh decided to head over to Kinsealy to give Haughey some free legal advice -although it was obvious the whole case might come before him if any convictions were appealed to the Supreme Court.
In the end, Charles Haughey didn't appeal, because he didn't have to. But his brother, Jock Haughey, did appeal to the Supreme Court as a way of trying to wriggle out of answering questions about gun-running before the Public Accounts Committee. Walsh ruled on that case, with Cearbhall Ó Dálaigh and others. Jock won.
According to Colm Tóibín, in his superb long essay on the Supreme Court published in Magill in 1985, Walsh decided extradition requests from Northern Ireland by communing with the dead.
To set the scene, Tóibín shows how Walsh reacted to the arrest of Mad Dog McGlinchey in 1984. McGlinchey, nominally a member of the INLA, was the nearest thing to a mass killer the Troubles spawned.
He boasted of personally killing "around 30 people" and the Garda knew he could back that boast up.
After a 16-month hunt, he was caught by gardaí in 1984 - much to the relief of many republicans.
Given the appalling nature of his crimes, there was an attempt to get a Supreme Court panel together to rule on his extradition that same day.
Walsh was the willing judge they found. Here, I'll let Colm Tóibín take up the full weird finale.
"On St Patrick's Day 1984, Brian Walsh was informed by telephone at his home in Howth that Dominic McGlinchey had been captured by gardaí following a shoot-out in Clare. Would he be available that evening, he was asked, to sit on the Supreme Court to rule on whether McGlinchey should be extradited to the North?
"Brian Walsh made it clear on the telephone that he would be willing to sit on the court that evening to decide the McGlinchey issue but he didn't believe that McGlinchey should be extradited to the North, that McGlinchey should be tried for offences allegedly committed in the South.
"He added that if McGlinchey was to be extradited, it should be not be done until Monday morning; the reasons were historical, he explained: Kevin Barry had been hanged on All Saints Day, Rory O'Connor and Liam Mellows had been executed on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Dominic McGlinchey, Walsh said, should not be extradited on St Patrick's Day. His caller did not ring back."
Walsh has scholarships named after him. But he ruined the moral reputation of the Irish Republic by his refusal to extradite the most evil IRA murderers.
In comparison with Walsh, Séamus Woulfe, if not a living saint, is certainly the most venial of sinners.