Darwinism was particularly cruel to the unviables this weekend, and even some of the more advanced rugby species saw their habitats shrink. Slipping around in the gore looking for a pattern was tough, but I found one.

The advantage line is most effectively crossed with structural flexibility.

The Blues opened proceedings with a gutsy 23-18 defeat of the Bulls in Auckland. No, the Bulls aren’t known as a formidable touring side, and yes, the unpredictable Blues can suddenly catch fire to surprise even the formidable, but neither of those factors were decisive.

The Bulls dominated the set pieces, enjoying enough territory and possession to strangle any team, but strangling their own natural instinct to punt was the real problem. They couldn’t get past the gainline in phase play often enough or stop themselves reverting to kicking the ball away when that failed, so couldn’t score their usual flood of cheap points via breakdown penalties.

And the Blues scored almost every time they crossed halfway. Which wasn’t often. Tackling the giant Bulls and frustrating them into either errors or kicking was only half the job.

They did their own fair share of battering in midfield, usually starting on the back foot, but made inroads with jinking, leg driving, offloading, whatever it took to keep precious momentum. Then the odd moment of magic from hot-footed backs like George Moala and Lolagi Visinia was enough. On the wrong side of almost every other stat, they had the edge in tackle and gainline percentage.

It was a major setback for the Bulls, who need to host playoff games to win. They have three more games on tour, and three of the Stormers’ remaining matches are at Newlands.

The final month is precisely when wounded animals turn and bare their teeth. The Blues have three matches at Eden Park remaining, and while the Hurricanes next week can afford a hiccup there the Crusaders and Highlanders can’t.

Immediately after the Bulls, the Rebels were next contenders to be beaten by bottom feeders, losing 29-46 to the Reds in Brisbane. Queensland is currently a place where a large percentage of the rugby world’s wounded animals make their home, and enough were available to fatally damage the Rebels’ playoff hopes.

Neither side had a problem crossing the advantage line, as you may have guessed from the scoreline, and structural rigidity certainly wasn’t an issue. This ten-try game see-sawed wildly as two teams desperate for different reasons left gaping holes all over the park and threw caution to the wind.

The Rebels scored the first two tries, both runaways, and the last two, with a flurry of Reds scoring in between.

The Melbourne franchise has built a great business and grown the game, getting some tournament-altering wins in the process, but they give away the initiative too often and their roster of cast-offs cannot be relied on to wrestle it back.

On Saturday came the much-anticipated clash between Hurricanes and Chiefs in Wellington, the home side winning 22-18 in controversial fashion. With neither of these sides being known for their predictability the match lived up to its billing.

Second five Ma’a Nonu opened the scoring with a dismissive trampling of both Chiefs halves to dot down under the goalposts. The Chiefs replied with a well-worked midfield move, wing Bryce Heem cutting between defenders and second five Charlie Ngatai finishing off for the visitors to lead 13-10 at half-time.

The Hurricanes got the crucial first score after the break, a lineout drive putting them into strike position and flanker Ardie Savea breaking away to be driven over by his loose forward partner Brad Shields. The scoreboard lead at this point was crucial. Both Chiefs locks left the field with injuries, and the makeshift second row had all sorts of problems holding the pack together in the second half.

A James Marshall try was ruled out because of a marginally forward pass, or at least one which Wayne Barnes would have allowed, and Nonu had what would have been his fiftieth Super Rugby try disallowed for an improper grounding after once again humiliating the Chiefs defensive line, but he got it a few minutes later with an intercept that needed very safe hands to pull off.

Flanker Sam Cane brought the Chiefs back within striing distance, muscling over after a long series of drives at the line by the Chiefs forwards, but had the ball illegally knocked out of his hands a few minutes later by the man underneath him, so what might have been a winning Chiefs try was called back. With his player resources so stretched, coach Dave Rennie was furious. Four points at The Railyard would have been huge.

Carrying on their winning way, the Hurricanes best illustrate the benefits of a flexible game plan. All their personnel take on the line and choose unexpected attacking options, confident they won’t isolate themselves.

How much is due to Chris Boyd’s strategic direction is unclear. When your horse is this far out in front, it’s probably best to ride hands and heels rather than rein in or apply any whip. It may have more to do with pure mojo, either having Nonu back in yellow harness or enjoying more curfew room without an ex-Crusader breathing down their necks. So give credit where it’s warranted. Boyd has them humming. Not surprisingly, their well-documented off-the-field issues seem to have vanished alongside their once famous ill discipline on it.

Meanwhile opposition coaches are tearing out hair by the handful, helplessly watching their teams splinter under the Hurricanes’ multiple adventurous threats.

The Sharks couldn’t stop the weekend trend of home victories in Sydney, losing 18-33 to the Waratahs, but they had some cause for grievance after the most suspicious of Australian officials, TMO George Ayoub, rammed one raw prawn after another down their gullets.

The first Waratahs try to Adam Ashley-Cooper came from first five Bernard Foley and flanker Michael Hooper both being inside the ten at a lineout. This made the gain line easier to reach, even without wingers running interference in classic stretch-the-rules fashion, stretching the law being what New South Welshmen call structural flexibility. Ayoub then allowed a try to Waratah wing Naqele Naiyaravoro, the completely invisible ball somehow getting dragged along the ground and over the line between the calf and thigh of his opposite Lwazi Mvovo.

One of the dodgier varieties of structural flexibility, of course, is having local referees and broadcasters in collusion. George not being satisfied with just the Naiyaravoro decision, asked the freeze frame to stop with Sharks wing S’bura Sithole’s knee suspended above the touchline and the ball grounded, then claimed the knee was on the line… that Sithole was the first rugby player in history touching terra firma to have six inches between himself and his shadow.

But then Sydney is not the place to begin fresh arguments about such legal niceties. Where winning means everything, by hook or by crook, truth was a casualty long ago.

Then came the weekend’s two away wins. First the Brumbies strolled past the Lions 30-20 in Johannesburg, gifted a bonus point with the help of some confused Lions goalline defence in the first half.

Clearly the Lions had prepared for the usual Brumbies formula, which is about as structurally rigid as it gets… error-free set piece, box-kicking, breakdown efficiency and 22-exit strategy… and would probably have contained it if the Brumbies hadn’t included an extra element, carry carry carry except with retaining possession more important than winning the collisions.

This is risky stuff, running into contact against bigger men without full force. But with lower body position, carefully cradled ball and immediate support on hand it is possible.

At Ellis Park it was pure genius. The advantage line doesn’t have to be crossed early in the phase count if continuity is maintained. Patience, work ethic and waiting for the mismatch, that’s how smarter men beat bigger ones.

The Lions gang-tackled with their usual line speed and relish but without separating man from ball, and then found themselves outflanked when the Brumbies retained their composure. Eventually Lions marking up on the blind were calling to team-mates running the other way, and wingers were being sucked infield by dummy runners.

They hadn’t even done anything unplanned, they just got picked apart stitch by stitch. By the time they got into their stride and started scoring points of their own the Brumbies were comfortably ahead and could relax back into their usual risk-averse pattern.

After losing four of their last five I’d thought the Brumbies were washed up, but somehow they’ve clawed their way back to the top of the Australian conference.

The Highlanders had a much easier prospect in the Cheetahs at Free State Park in Bloemfontein, coming away with a 45-24 win. Certainly galloping out to a six-try lead was unexpected, even with the Cheetahs’ unravelling strength up front of late. Lineout ball was easy to come by, that’s for sure, throw after throw missing the local jumpers.

But the Highlanders aren’t restricted to making hay from set piece ball. Their current structure is about as flexible as the southernmost franchise has ever been, and with captain Ben Smith at fullback calling the shots they have become one of the more exciting spectacles in rugby. The assault was relentless.

First five Lima Sopoaga’s kick-pass wide to right wing Ryan Tongia for the first try didn’t have to be as precise as it was because Tongia’s opposite number Sergeal Petersen was way out of position, and Tongia’s chip and regather for a second try was mint on the lamb of Petersen’s embarrassment.

Smelling blood on the breeze, the Highlanders began to fan wide looking for opportunities. Loose forwards running over three-quarters, midfielders cleaning out, halves hitting it up, the pattern had become so flexible it was unrecognisable.

Number eight Nasi Manu’s offload for Aaron Smith to score in the corner was every bit as athletic as the one Kieran Read gave the little halfback against Argentina. A Ben Smith grubber behind the Cheetahs backline was so perfectly timed and weighted it could have been dived on by either centre Malakai Fekitoa or wing Patrick Osborne. Osborne had the honour. Halfback Smith got his second with a pick-and-go past some of the biggest men in Free State.

But the end-to-end sweeping move to score from a Cheetahs turnover was what will be remembered most fondly, and revisited in dreams thirty thousand feet over the Indian Ocean.

Deep in his own twenty-two, Ben Smith had no thought of kicking for touch. His pass to Fekitoa was the only hint necessary and the sleek centre bolted between two defenders still shaping for a chargedown. Skipping past another flailing tackler and into open space, he heard Smith following up and carried it as far as he could into the converging cover before passing.

Smith took the pass, changed direction and ran on without even thinking of a risky offload. Knowing he and Fekitoa had momentarily outstripped their support, he also knew he’d be caught. Those extra yards equalled the distance the defenders would have to travel in order to u-turn and reassamble, so the cavalry arrived in time to recycle and work flanker Gareth Evans over in the corner. Some try… a reference point even, for gut-checks under pressure in the near future… memorable and important, like all great art.

Perhaps the celebrations started a little early and the collective guard was dropped, because the Cheetahs scored three quick tries in what began to look like a serious comeback – until Smith took charge again. Grubbering again but this time regathering the ball himself, he scored the final try and lifted the Highlanders into fifth place on the table.

I can still see a couple of ways for three New Zealand teams to make the playoffs. Actually, four is theoretically possible (the Highlanders in Auckland and the Crusaders in Sydney, Auckland and Canberra being the only remaining away wins) but what with my karma being in the toilet from ill temper, lack of charity and cultural slurs, and with Justice lifting her blindfold for a little peek every now and then in The Lucky Country, the old slings and arrows are making such a fortune look more and more like an outrage.

Mustn’t grumble, I suppose, especially not if myopic referees and fair playoff representation are my biggest gripes. Large chunks of the world are still pestilent, sportless shitholes, never mind that our grandfathers died in bloody trenches back when tyranny was opposed and pacifism was a dirty word.

It ill behooves middle-aged men to hurry, insist or complain. But complaining is worst.

Staying afloat in one business is hard enough and many people are trying to keep several up and running. Busting our humps to get the milking done before wrapping the cheeses before posting the homestays’ documentation before the first busload of Japanese arrives means our wives have to be good sports around the swear jar.

At best it feels like bringing down your own lineout ball, crashing it up in midfield yourself, then picking and going for as many phases as you can manage before knocking on. Far more often it feels like you’re the halfback with bobbled ball getting swamped by flankers, that the only possession you ever get is on the back foot against huge niggly cheats with a paid-off referee.

But because soldiers are in the field right now, still doing the Lord’s work and somehow heroically keeping pax americana in effect despite its commanders being asleep at the wheel / fired if they aren’t, I remain a counter of personal blessings at least.

Is it complaining, while working your arse off, to observe that the world is going down the gurgler? Too many risk having Did Nothing on their gravestones. The 21st century’s Churchill is yet to step forward, and 2016 may be his last chance to reincarnate before it’s too late even for Doctor Who to save us.

Maybe Ben Carson or Hillary Clinton can halt the permissive society’s speed wobbles. A polarising GOP insider can’t, the far Left is part of the problem, and surely the other candidates aren’t serious. Cruz, God help us? Biden? I’ll never forgive Barack Obama just for placing that SnoCone-slobbering idiot a heartbeat away from the Oval Office.

Dying from overwork is one of the few honourable deaths left to men my age. We were bred in our millions by Bidens and Cat Stevens to be lily-livered and, without ever seeing one up close, insist that war is always wrong. Even when the Nazis reappear in headscarves.

The world’s rugby nations need another unifier. The Hurricanes needing to lay a ghost or two and the Crusaders needing a miracle, that’s small beer.