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Last Sunday, at 1600 GMT, the rugby world sat down as one and was treated to the best game of rugby played anywhere in the last two years. Or maybe in the last one hundred and twenty-two years, going by reports from all quarters.
Within five minutes, after conceding an early sloppy try, the New Zealand Crusaders took command and were soon easily gliding around some South African Sharks circling aimlessly looking for some chum in the water.
Meal-time never arrived.
Before half-time, the Canterbury crew led by Dan “DC” Carter and Sonny Bill Williams had the match sewn-up with a four-try angelic salvo past a defensive Sharks line that would have had an Under 14 team feeling good about themselves.
Crusaders even had time to bench four players after the half-time mark, resist a spirited fightback, and still add another try to put the cherry on top of the Cantabrian cream.
The whistle blew and the superlatives flew.
Scribes went into overdrive led by the idolising elements of British media who recognise true class – as long as it comes from New Zealand.
No other side comes close in club rugby, they gushed. Northern Hemisphere rugby (as evidenced by the recent Six Nations) was still in kindergarten compared to the spectacle served up in Twickenham they announced – with large dollops of schadenfreude on the side.
European fans were damn lucky to be able to witness such brilliance at first hand in Twickenham scolded some, and some test teams should count themselves lucky they don’t have to play in the Super 15 muttered other, more cynical, members of the Fourth Estate.
Finesse, speed, pace, intensity, sleight of hand, zip of ball, oodles of offloads, extraordinary angles and general awesomeness seemed to be the common vocabulary required to report on the game.
And that was just the Crusaders.
In the best traditions of condescending rugby reportage, the Sharks were highly commended for turning up and putting in a good game, with some belated strong tackling in the second half. But even a schoolboy could see that there was only ever going to be one outcome for this game after the first half-hour.
And boy was it good!
It kinda puts you off wanting to watch rugby ever again having seen Nirvana and tasted its heavenly fruits.
Why would you even think of going out with the somewhat dowdy local prom queen next Saturday night when you practically slept with Dan Carter for a whole two hours last weekend?
Our palate has been nurtured and refined – our taste is now on a whole other exalted level. Why nibble on plain peanuts when you can gorge on southern foie de gras every week?
Why would you bother looking anywhere else once you’ve been to the mountaintop and seen the promised land?
For those of us who can manage to keep the wider game somewhere in a small corner of our hearts, we will struggle on and try supporting our clubs and franchises with as much passion and enthusiasm as we can muster.
Though we know that Munster v Leinster, Leicester v Saracens, Toulouse v Clermont will all roll harshly off our tongues henceforth.
We’ll trudge through the turnstiles with a small part of us forever wishing we were back in Twickers. Switch on the TV will dulled eyes knowing they will never shine as brightly again; breathe a weary sigh as we tune in the sport radio to acknowledge the pain of our loss that tugs at our memory.
But we’ll stand tall, and smile bravely on whatever pitch of grass that is before us, knowing that every day that now passes in our lives, until we live our last, there will be a small corner in a field in South London that will be forever New Zealand.
Roll on weary world.
T’will ne’er be the same again. I have been to the mountaintop!
Join The Roar rugby editor Christy Doran, former Wallaby Matt Toomua and a cast of regular and special guests as they look at the biggest issues in the game on The Roar Rugby Podcast. If you’re looking for great odds on the next game check out Aussie bookmaker PlayUp. Chances are you’re about to lose. Set a deposit limit.