Crusaders 59
Blues 12
Those brave enough to put their hand up to coach the Blues next season will have seen just what a gargantuan task they will be taking on. The new coaching team will be inheriting rubble, a franchise that has collapsed on itself after being exposed for not having any foundations.
This was car-crash stuff: the sort of rugby that had to be watched through the cracks in fingers covering eyes. The score was decidedly ugly even by half-time. The second half at least had some kind of ghoul value - the intrigue of seeing just how bad the Blues could be.
There was never any question it was going to end in record defeat territory. The only unknown was whether it would be total annihilation, or embarrassing without getting humiliating.
It was the former and the Blues have never known times worse than these. This was the nadir. Surely it was the nadir? Has there been a more painful night for the franchise? Their one salvation of previous rounds, their scrum, went the way of everything else and the Blues had nothing. Zip. They weren't even shadows. They couldn't win the ball. They couldn't stop the endless red waves and it was a long, long 80 minutes. Their two vaunted All Black acquisitions, Piri Weepu and Ma'a Nonu, played as if they were weighed down with regret. Their respective body language and contribution betrayed what they may have been thinking: why had they come to the Blues? How quickly can they scurry back to Wellington?