I said it would be season defining and so it was. The Blues faced the Chiefs at Eden Park on Saturday, their hopes for their season and their self-respect on the line.
They lost narrowly when the teams last met, five weeks earlier in Hamilton. They romped to a big win in their pre-season match-up in Kaikohe. They are the bottom two New Zealand teams and the Blues and everyone who sails with them are completely sick of being the bottom one.
Besides, the winner of this game could still make the playoffs. We could still be the people of hope.
All the players knew it, you could tell. Both teams came out and ran around for half an hour, dropping the ball, throwing it badly and kicking it worse, running into each other not on purpose, fumbling and bumbling their way into every silly mistake you could think of. They're very evenly matched, these teams.
The Blues also did that Blues thing of having the ball most of the time and trying so hard to score but not actually managing to. It was a little bit depressing.
Up high in the South Stand, people had their phones out and were paying bills or swapping inappropriate photos of themselves, or whatever it is bored rugby fans do on a Saturday night when they've paid good money for some entertainment.
Eventually the Blues found themselves in the middle of a Keystone Kopsy juggle-the-ball routine, right on their own goal line, and it might have been funny but some laughing Chiefs player grabbed the damn thing and scored. It was almost too preposterous to be true.
But wait. The Blues scored a try themselves, and then another, and before long it was 10-8 and halftime loomed. They kept at it, forwards barging over the advantage line, Ma'a Nonu running like a pirate, head swathed in a zig-zagging black bandage, half covering one eye, holding the dreads in a high topknot.
But there were more mistakes and that was the half. Out came a man called Vincent Price, and people scurried around him laying down a bit of carpet and putting up a white trellised bower, and it turned out Vinni was getting married, by a colossal bear of a man dressed in a grey suit, and here was his intended, resplendent in white. Her name was Jessie.
The Monday Blues: Song night for the Blues in the Tron
They said their vows, which included very specific commitments from both of them to the relationship being "completely equal in every respect". It was a real wedding and at the end the crowd went wild, which was a fabulous touch.
Then a kid from Auckland Grammar had a go at goalkicking from a platform on the east stand behind the goalposts, only he was so cocky about it, he'd decided to prop the ball in a shoe.
Probably he'd have got it over if he'd done it the normal way, but that's life, eh. You take some risks and have some fun and you don't always have to win. Maybe that's the Grammar way now, I don't know.
As for the Blues, they do have to win. Out they came for the second half.
There were good things on show. Periodically the Chiefs would stage a runaway attack, against the run of play, and on almost every time it happened Blues defenders Rieko Ioane, Caleb Clarke and Malani Nanai would chase them down with the speed of a bullet train.
Patrick Tuipulotu and Akira Ioane made many surging breaks. The props Alex Hodgman and Ofa Tu'ungafasi played almost the entire game, a massive effort for anyone the size of a small truck.
The fiery Tom Robinson came on after a few weeks off through injury, and somehow the pack seemed more robust and more focused with him in it. They scored another try.
At 48 minutes the Blues were awarded a penalty and they chose to take the near-certain three points of a shot at goal, instead of the fantasy seven of a kick to the corner for a try. I want to say thank you, you wise coaches and players, for finally seeing the sense in it. The crowd did too: when that decision was made, a great cheer went up.
Harry Plummer, who had a great game except for his kicking, did not fail on this one.
With 10 minutes to go and the Blues up 18-8, it got very tense. You can blow a lead like that in a heartbeat. Sucking air, eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched, ready to leap and shout at any moment; it was even more tense out on the field.
In the lower South Stand, where lots of the action is, big rambunctious clumps of supporters for both sides waved their flags and mocked each other. Good-naturedly, of course, every clump led by that one guy who's just a little drunker than the others and a little more entitled to share his thoughts. The natural-born leader.
The Chiefs scored and there was a bit of happy rioting from the Chiefs crew to my left. Then the decision was reversed and the Blues crew right in front of them was immediately on their feet to gloat. Well, there was a lot at stake.
Then came the moment when the Blues turned into the Crusaders. First, they put in a monster scrum, right when the Chiefs were close to scoring, and won a penalty. They rumbled and rumbled. It was 18-8 and the full-time hooter went, but the ball was still in play and they rumbled some more, and won another penalty, and this time they did the right thing again, kicking into the corner for a lineout and chance to score another try. A bonus point try.
The Chiefs were like, Can't we go home now? But the Blues were like, No! Dudes! This is our time!
Up, catch, set, drive, feed, drive, all in a few seconds, and finally, there they were, the forwards, not just at the end of this game but at the end of hundreds of minutes of trying to do this all season, surging to the tryline and over it and scoring the actual try. It was a big pile of steaming bodies and it was very beautiful.
So: 23-8. The Blues deserved it because they played better than the Chiefs, all over the park, even though the Chiefs are almost as good as them.
It's still it's not too late. Next Saturday they go to Christchurch to meet the real Crusaders, the ones who have scored about half of all the points in the competition, and what could be surer than that this team of chancers will give those southern snorts the fright of their lives?
The Blues defined their season on Saturday night. Now they're setting up for the upset of the year. Although, guys, please, you gotta stop fumbling the ball.