It was probably an innocuous remark in reference to the prospect of Hayne, five games in to his NFL career with the San Francisco 49ers, being poleaxed, and, if so, it prophetically came two days before he made his third fumble in six games when blindsided in a loss to the Baltimore Ravens – an error that resulted in him being dropped from the 49ers’ active roster.

But the comment could be interpreted as portentous in light of the anti-Hayne sentiment building since the virtual hysteria that accompanied his unprecedented exploits in America’s top sport, a sentiment which has intensified since his strange decision to quit the NFL to unsuccessfully audition for Fiji’s sevens side for the Rio Olympics and return to the NRL, where the comfort of a warm embrace is regularly jolted by an excoriation, leaving him longing for what he says is the United State’s healthier relationship between the media and sports stars compared to Australia.

Hayne may have found himself in the rare, unenviable position of being double-teamed by an ad hoc but highly effective national reaction that aims to cut him down for being “gratingly success-bloated”, as a secular society recoils at the “audacity” of his public affection towards God.

Kevin Rudd and Tony Blair had many flaws as leaders but neither man was adventurous enough to flaunt their Christianity. The opposite is obviously the case in the US – the promised land for born again Christians like Hayne; a country where he quickly unburdened himself of the prescriptive restraints of his homeland’s attitude towards religion and proudly displayed his supplication for the world to see.

Someone forgot to tell him that when you arrive at Sydney Airport and a customs officer asks if you have anything to declare, you’re not supposed to say, “Jesus is your saviour.” And while posturing after making a key play and screaming “This is my house”, like Hayne did after kicking a match-winning field goal against Wests Tigers this month, might play well in the excessive strut which is American professional sport, such a proclamation doesn’t sit well with Australian sports fans.

Or does it? Or is it, like someone publically asserting a love of God, less offensive now?

In April, The Daily Telegraph ran an article titled “NRL clubs are embracing religion on and off the field”. It detailed the round four clash between Parramatta and Wests Tigers this year in which seven players from both teams huddled on the field post-match, arms around one another, and prayed; something we saw plenty of from Hayne and his 49ers teammates but which, according to Eels chaplain George Dansey, was “completely spontaneous” in this instance, and perhaps a first for the NRL.

The article also detailed the growing number of openingly Christian NRL players and pre-match prayer sessions. Eels captain and practising Christian Tim Mannah said: “… to see the way players are expressing their faith now … it’s completely different to even five years ago.”

What’s also different is how celebrating tries has evolved into NFL-like entertainment. The “Inglis Goanna”; the “Fa’afili Coconut”; the “Johns Cigar”; the “Prince Ride ’em Cowboy”. There have been somersaults, back and front, and an imaginary grenade thrown.

When St George great and Immortal Graeme Langlands, at the behest of his sponsor Adidas, famously wore white boots in the Dragons’ 38-0 loss to Eastern Suburbs in the 1975 grand final, the sight of the refulgent footwear midst a sea of the customary black leather was deemed by legend to be an aggravating factor in the injured fullback’s horror performance. Nowadays, white boots look staid next to the neon kaleidoscope of colours adorning players’ feet, as old timers look on incredulously.

The Hayne Plane, the “this is my house” boast and even the religiosity don’t necessarily seem out of place in this modern milieu. Yet the $2.4 million man, not helped by his “everyone hated Jesus” rebuff of his critics, is being increasingly targeted. The headline for an ABC Online article on August 25 stated: “Australians don’t hate you, Jarryd Hayne, but they have little time for pretentious athletes”.

“Pretentious”. The word indignant Australians use as motivation to flog uppity fellow citizens who say things like this: “What I’ve done is not of this world.” Or this: “The world these days isn’t about taking yourself out of the kingdom and putting yourself with the peasants [which Hayne believes he did pursing his NFL dream].”

The media’s reaction to Hayne’s transmutation from self-confessed “arrogant” rugby league superstar to “pretentious” Bible-basher swaggering across an elevated plane, is as predictable as his self-aggrandising. We saw signs of the latter in the 60 Minutes interview in March when he uttered the “not of this world” and “peasants” remarks, while the former has gone from a few jabs to something more severe.

Hayne insisted he wouldn’t let the “haters” ruin his NRL return. But what if they do? What would be next for Plane? “I like my red wine, so maybe the south of France,” he said when contemplating his future before signing with the Titans.