TV commentator Justin Marshall alluded to McCaw taking "a bad knock" as the camera deserted the flanker to follow Beale.
A medic rushed in. McCaw mumbled something and the medic grabbed his right arm and started cranking it.
Commentator Grant Nesbitt took over: "Well, he's bounced back. No, in fact Richie McCaw is still down."
Nesbitt continued: "It's one thing to get up and walk away but he doesn't often show pain like that."
Marshall: "No."
Chimed in fellow sportscaster Ian Smith as another medic ran in: "It'll be interesting to see what they do with him from here."
Smith carried on: "Do they pass it off as a head knock? I'd assume it is so he'll have to have a concussion test."
Nesbitt, as medic continued the right-arm rotation: "No, I think it's the shoulder, Smithy."
Smith somewhat unconvincingly: "It's a shoulder, is it? Let's hope so, anyway."
Play resumed.
Was it really his shoulder?
I have replayed slow-motion footage of the incident, relayed in different camera angles, and there doesn't appear to be any contact with either of McCaw's shoulders.
That three TV commentators mulled over it, as TV anchor men do a state funeral on a sombre tone, suggests something was awry.
It's pointless asking McCaw if he was battling concussion because he is media shy, coming under scrutiny for his remarks in 2009.
The Crusader reportedly said because he had recovered fully, he was no more susceptible to the effects of another head blow before the latest injury.
This is coming from a bloke whose cerebral noodles were beyond the state of al dente at least four times since 2004.
Two successive blows to his head this year had dramatically curtailed his Super Rugby season.
It's not surprising that McCaw drew the ire of every collective brains trust, not just in New Zealand but globally, which is trying to knock some sense into sportspeople.
In many respects, elite athletes such as McCaw, Kieran Read, Conrad Smith and Wycliff Palu, and those from the NRL and American Football, to name a few, are receiving expert advice and treatment after compulsory stand downs.
Did the two medics at ANZ Stadium on Saturday use the 10-minute window to make a prudent assessment on whether McCaw was concussed?
Well, stopping the game on TV is sacrilegious but allowing substitutes to run on while a player undergoes tests in a neutral medical bay is a logical step.
Napier City Rovers football Welsh import Miles John was fortunate to have had team physiotherapist Alex Gairdner adopt a pre-emptive stance in the Chatham Cup clash in Wellington late last month.
The industrious midfielder/striker doesn't remember much but has the presence of mind to deduce it's not something he ever wants to experience again.
"I've never got injured like this before so Alex and [teammate] Dan Ball helped me through what was a very scary experience," he had said.
While it's commendable some codes encourage players to make honest decisions, the fact remains a false sense of bravado means some people need to be protected from themselves.
That is understandable because for many players every game is a healthy pay cheque to paying one's mortgage, if not retirement fund or an ego trip.
Enter the TMO or a medical commissioner, if team medics appear to be under duress, to make unqualified judgements akin to the TV commentating trio last Saturday night.
Erring on the side of caution, it seems, sounds sensible.
Interestingly enough, the Australian Rugby Union has appointed a concussion specialist to its stable.
Studies reveal concussion isn't the yardstick for the seriousness of injuries because MRI and Cat scans following head knocks aren't necessarily conclusive.
Prominent players such as ex-Kiwis international Shontayne Hape and ex-AB Steve Devine do go on to become ideal ambassadors in the fight against concussion when they admit they are lucky to be alive.
It's frightening that Toulouse club sent concussed centre Florian Fritz back on to the field during the French Top 14 clash recently.
Slipping on head gear helps but isn't fool proof, as gridiron in the United States reveals.
Boxing embraced head gear but, for some odd reason, no one seemed to be wearing it at the Glasgow Commonwealth Games.
Is it because it's uncool, akin to donning cycling helmets?
Frankly what is deemed a head-high tackle is always open to debate on who fans support.
Common sense suggests zero tolerance is required to change habits ingrained from childhood days.
But who polices all those people on a collision course every weekend at grassroots level in football, rugby, rugby league or demolition derby?
It's a mind-boggling thought.
To the reader who left a message on my phone, your guess is as good as mine.
