What I want to know is, what did Blues coach Leon MacDonald tell the team at half time, when they were 24-5 up and OMG looking good to win the game. Whatever it was, Leon, you should bottle it. Then take that bottle and send it on a boat deep into the Southern Ocean, and get them to attach heavy weights to it and throw it overboard.
You could send your board and managers to do it for you. I suggested time was up for them last week, so we could get in a new crew of leaders who know how to inspire confidence and teamwork and bring out the best in a multicultural group of talented young Aucklanders. The city's full of them. And, demonstrably, the current board and management have no idea how to do it. No idea at all.
Still waiting to hear back. Oh well. I hid in the kitchen at the start of Saturday night's game against the Hurricanes, the last of the season. It seemed appropriate. I cooked a very good meal, pork that came from happy pigs, none of that rubbish Canterbury lamb that ruined the Crusaders game for me a couple of weeks back. With perfect roast potatoes.
I peeked through my fingers across the room at the screen, as the score rose and my heart did too, right into my mouth.
Three nil, then 10-0, then 17-0, to the Blues! The Hurricanes grabbed 5 back but by half time the Blues were hotter than my oven. Winger Caleb Clarke was all class, and scored. First-five Otere Black charged and then held up the ball superbly for centre Tenielu Tele'a to run onto and score. Fullback Melani Nanai made a fool of Ben Lam and scored.
By half time the Blues were hotter than my oven.
There was one period where the Blues pressed and the Hurricanes, in sequence, tackled Sonny Bill Williams before he got the ball, stopping a certain try; lay around on the Blues' side of the ruck instead of rolling away; defended from an offside position and tackled Sonny Bill round the neck. All illegal. But hey, the Blues got the try anyway.
No stopping the boys tonight. 'Til half time, that is, and MacDonald's pep talk. What did he say? Come on guys, ease up, you're embarrassing them! Whoa, lads! They're never coming back from this, so who's for a beer?
The big question after half time was whether the Hurricanes would try to come back, because they didn't need to – they were already in the playoffs with a home advantage. Maybe they'd already hit the beers.
Monday Blues: Another win and the sound of 'happiness moaning'
They came back. Of course they did. They'd had their B team on the park that first half, resting most of their All Blacks stars, but now they brought a couple of them on: halfback TJ Perenara and loose forward Ardie Savea.
Savea promptly drove the entire Blues forward pack almost to their own goal line, on his own. And Perenara took charge of the game, supplying the referee with an eager stream of advice on where to stand, what to look at and when to blow his little whistle.
The Blues, not to be outdone, brought on 20-year-old rookie first-five Harry Plummer, a player of considerable promise, presumably so he could watch these masters of the fightback up close and learn a thing or two. He'll be a much better player for it, in a year or two.
Up in the coaches' box, Leon MacDonald put on a performance of his own. As the Hurricanes scored one try and then another, he sat there like a man who knows that if his team lose this game, he's doomed.
He buried his head in his hands. He dragged his hands through his hair. He swivelled on his chair from one side to the other, staring wildly. He threw his body back, arms stretched high, mouth open and eyes rolling up into his head.
The Hurricanes charged upfield and Sonny Bill got himself completely stranded by Isaia Walker-Leawere, who put a step on him that looked like it he'd found a trampoline hidden in the turf. Walker-Leawere is a lock. Try.
Eventually, MacDonald resorted to the only tactic he had left: he brought on Tom Robinson, Jonathan Ruru and Ma'a Nonu, the three players with the longest hair in the team, in order to frighten the opposition.
Strangely, it didn't work. The Hurricanes charged upfield, again, led by Alex Fidow this time, a prop who runs like a runaway bulldozer and has an offload that would make Sonny Bill weep with pleasure, if he wasn't the guy being fooled by it. Another try.
The Hurricanes got to 26-24 and the Blues barely touched the ball and there were still 15 minutes to play. In the end they were lucky it wasn't worse. 29-24. MacDonald spent the last 10 minutes sitting very still, his arms folded tightly, his face flicking between fury and despair.
Just like the rest of us, really.
This is my last commentary on the Blues, what it's been like to be a fan this year. I've written up every game, even the pre-season. It's been fun, or something. I've learned so much, though I'm not sure I trust myself right now to share all of it.
There's obvious stuff: not enough core players, especially 9 and 10, are up to this level. The senior players don't inspire or organise well enough, honourable exceptions Nonu and, when he's been fit, Williams.
There was a dangerous patch mid-season when the Ioane brothers, Akira and Rieko, both supremely gifted, started playing for each other and not the rest of the team. That got stopped, to the coaches' credit. They have an excellent defensive record, also to the coaches' credit.
But you have to score points to win and, way too often, they just couldn't do it. That's about confidence and patterns of play and basic skills and courage.
Above all, it's about having the desperate need to win and the patience to keep on with what you've trained to do. It's about turning those two things into the same thing, right through the game.
I want to give back, I really do. So this is my gift to Leon MacDonald, and to anyone else who'd like it.
I call it, how to enjoy a perfect game of rugby. First, roast your potatoes. Use agria, the floury yellow ones. Don't peel them, but cut them up small. Boil them until they're starting to break up. That's the secret. Oil an oven pan and spread the potatoes out on it. Bit more oil on top, and coarse salt.
Roast for an hour, or until the skin and other bits curling off the potatoes are crunchy browned. Drain on paper towels and tip into a bowl.
Serve with a leafy salad or a whole roast dinner or whatever you want. Or on their own. And then, inspired by the excellent potatoes you're eating, switch on the television.
It's not so hard. Why isn't rugby like that?