Chris Rattue: The Crusaders are poor champions reflecting Super Rugby doldrums

Kieran Read of the Crusaders and his team mates look on during their victory over the Sharks. Photo / Getty

COMMENT: The Crusaders marched on, over and around the Sharks towards what appears an inevitably successful Super Rugby title defence, perish the thought.

Even the Crusaders fans appeared a touch bored by the thought, the ones who could be bothered turning up for Saturday night's quarter-final cheering loudest when the ball landed amongst them.

And land amongst them it did, with regular monotony in the first half. As Richie Mo'unga hoofed the ball enormous distances aided by the Addington wind, it was a return to the days of kick and clap, or a word that rhymes with clap.

Sorry, but in many ways, these stolid Crusaders are amongst the poorest Super Rugby champions. They should be the yardstick, not the shining light. Or to put it another way, their overwhelming favouritism is a matter for serious discomfort.

Super Rugby is a confusing bore, and the rest of the competition is making the Crusaders look a lot better than they really are. Stoicism, efficiency and stellar organisation are all it takes to win the competition now, with polite clapping as an accompaniment.

The game is so weighed down by the need to chase international money while rolling out endlessly dominant All Black teams that searching for remedies is a moot point. But one thing is for sure: tribalism in rugby is on life support, with the next of kin at the hospital door.

Look back at the original Blues, recall Stephen Larkham's Brumbies, even the bridesmaid Hurricanes of old, and of course some of the Crusaders' magnificent predecessors. Compare those days to what passes now for glamour as Super Rugby bobs around, becalmed in mediocrity.

This is not to pick on an individual, but the contrived fuss around Mo'unga says plenty. He's a nifty tradesman compared with the true No 10 rugby greats: Stephen Larkham, Carlos Spencer, Andrew Mehrtens, Dan Carter, Beauden Barrett and in another era Mark Ella, Phil Bennett and Co.

The weekend opened with the Hurricanes playing the Chiefs in a game which should have stopped the nation the way Ranfurly Shield games used to. The empty seats at the Wellington stadium reflected the general lack of fervour.

Next stop Christchurch, where the result was as inevitable as finding milk in a milkshake, and where the game took three minutes to get going as it set the first scrum.

All power to coach Scott Robertson and his machine, but the way the Crusaders cantered to top seeding says more about the opposition than them. Runaway favourites? Please.

The Sharks were poor quarter-final opponents. They crashed and bashed to good effect but their attackers were spaced apart like it was 1968.

Worn down by the first two games, and the lack of atmosphere, I ditched plans to watch the Waratahs and Highlanders. Bad choice. The Waratahs' fightback, against predictions, is what cut-throat sport should be about.

Maybe the Crusaders and Hurricanes can stir up throwback passion for their semifinal. (They used to have some decent aggro going on.)

The Hurricanes' backs can be the best thing about Super Rugby but the quarter-final victory over the Chiefs was still clunky. Nehe Milner-Skudder was beaten up, Beauden Barrett wasn't truly firing, Jordie Barrett was erratic at centre.

As for Ngani Laumape, though - stupendous moments, even if he is as subtle as a brick, or a truck loaded with bricks.

The Crusaders are stacked with players who are a credit to their sport, team and themselves - noble Sam Whitelock, boy-next-door Matt Todd, community-minded-beyond-his-years Jack Goodhue and Co. But please, could someone give them a decent towelling.

This "neutral" hopes the Hurricanes run riot in Christchurch, meaning a trip to Johannesburg or Sydney for the final. Anything to break the monotony.

Dream on. The Crusaders will crush their way to another title. Good on them, at a pinch, but not the rest.