James O'Connor shone as the Wallabise' No. 10. Photo / Richard Robinson.
Forget the blue and red teams that met in a much-hyped match across the country on Saturday evening. That was a flop, so devoid of intrigue that a minor team, dressed in black and white and captained by a former NZ Maori trialist, came through and stole the show.
Another black and white team, playing in one of rugby's great cathedrals half a world away, also had the chance to make waves.
Yes, this correlation between the worlds of sport and politics might be heavy handed, but it is also apt. Twickenham, headquarters of the Rugby Football Union, has for the past week demonstrated "political football" at its best.
Beginning with the leak of three confidential reviews into England's World Cup shambles - honestly, three reviews? - tension escalated to the point where everything about the state of Red Rose footy looks rotten. If the plan was to discredit English rugby, then Machiavelli could not have scripted the campaign any better.
Twikileaks, as they've become known, painted England's players as a self-interested, ego-driven group whose primary motivation for playing in New Zealand was to pull a few birds and pick up a bonus cheque.
Rob Andrew, the RFU's permanently under siege director of elite rugby, described the state of the English game as being at "rock bottom".
That's a term that has been used more than once during the past 12 months at Twickenham, the last time when their attempts to hire Sir Clive Woodward as elite performance director ended in tears and recriminations.
Who would actually want a job there at the moment? John Kirwan should be careful about what he wishes for. As it stands, the players can't stand the administrators and don't respect the coaches; the administrators can't stand the players and don't know how to appoint coaches. It's an exercise in chaos theory.
So the beleaguered souls at the RFU would have been glad of the visit of the presumptive Sir Graham Henry and his Barbarians. At last, the chance to talk about rugby again, the type of positive, running rugby that brings a smile to everyone's faces.
Instead Henry's men were hammered 60-11 and were lucky to get that close. They faced an awkward set of circumstances, but they really stank up an already odiferous joint.
These matches used to be a send-off for tourists with one eye on the journey home, plus a chance for the best of British to play at home. This game bore no resemblance to that ethos.
The Australians were kicking off a short tour that they hope will bring some redemption after an average World Cup campaign. The Barbarians, on the other hand, looked and played like a motley crew who viewed the handsome playing fee and proximity to Oxford and Regent Sts as the perfect opportunity for some Christmas stockpiling.
The Baabaas were so bad they could not even transfer the ball via the hands from one player to the next - known in some quarters as a pass.
Not on the same page? Some of these guys were reading Solzhenitsyn, some Seuss.
Still, in a week starved of decent live sports action (unless you're from a country where drinking Bud Light is an acceptable form of self-expression), the match helped answer a few questions.
No, everything Henry and Hansen touch doesn't turn to gold.
Yes, James O'Connor is the Wallabies' No10 of the future.
No, you can't just put any old game on and expect to fill a stadium.
Yes, Digby Ioane's talents have been poorly used by the Wallabies.
Yes, Sam Tomkins could have a sparkling future in rugby.
No, he wouldn't have been that impressed by what he saw.
In fact, you wouldn't blame Tomkins if he raced back to the northwest of England to tell his Wigan mates that "these blokes aren't actually that good", especially after he saw what passed for tackling in the second half.
He will learn in time that there is a big difference between not that good and not that interested.
Whether the RFU learns anything out of the carnage and collateral damage will be determined ultimately by events four years from now.
You can guarantee there'll be more blood to flow under the bridge before then.
The real test
Last week's 48 Hours bemoaned the lack of live television coverage of South Africa's two-test series against Australia, which ended in a thrilling, if unsatisfactory, 1-1 draw.
It was even more disturbing to learn that a deal to screen New Zealand's test series with Australia was stitched together only at the 11th hour and under great duress.
That is why there have been no promos on Sky advertising the coverage.
Sky's virtual monopoly on all major sports coverage in New Zealand is going to have some fascinating repercussions in the coming years. Some sports administrators believe they are using their leverage as the only network capable of broadcasting live sport to an acceptable standard (which was evident after watching the triathlon on One last week), to pay under market rate.
Watch this space.
By Dylan Cleaver
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