The Crusaders marched on, over and around the Sharks towards what appears an inevitably successful Super Rugby title defence, perish the thought.
Even the Crusaders fans appeared a touch bored by the thought, the ones who could be bothered turning up for Saturday night's quarter-final cheering loudest when the ball landed amongst them.
And land amongst them it did, with regular monotony in the first half. As Richie Mo'unga hoofed the ball enormous distances aided by the Addington wind, it was a return to the days of kick and clap, or a word that rhymes with clap.
Sorry, but in many ways, these stolid Crusaders are amongst the poorest Super Rugby champions. They should be the yardstick, not the shining light. Or to put it another way, their overwhelming favouritism is a matter for serious discomfort.
Super Rugby is a confusing bore, and the rest of the competition is making the Crusaders look a lot better than they really are. Stoicism, efficiency and stellar organisation are all it takes to win the competition now, with polite clapping as an accompaniment.
The game is so weighed down by the need to chase international money while rolling out endlessly dominant All Black teams that searching for remedies is a moot point. But one thing is for sure: tribalism in rugby is on life support, with the next of kin at the hospital door.
Look back at the original Blues, recall Stephen Larkham's Brumbies, even the bridesmaid Hurricanes of old, and of course some of the Crusaders' magnificent predecessors. Compare those days to what passes now for glamour as Super Rugby bobs around, becalmed in mediocrity.
This is not to pick on an individual, but the contrived fuss around Mo'unga says plenty. He's a nifty tradesman compared with the true No 10 rugby greats: Stephen Larkham, Carlos Spencer, Andrew Mehrtens, Dan Carter, Beauden Barrett and in another era Mark Ella, Phil Bennett and Co.
The weekend opened with the Hurricanes playing the Chiefs in a game which should have stopped the nation the way Ranfurly Shield games used to. The empty seats at the Wellington stadium reflected the general lack of fervour.
