SOMETHING utterly bizarre happened last night.

The All Blacks lost to another country on their home soil.

New Zealand’s near-invincible rugby team had not suffered such a defeat since 2009. It came against all expectations, leaving fans of the sport shell-shocked.

But the even weirder part, if I may spend a few hundred words navel-gazing, was my reaction.

As a New Zealander with a fierce (bordering on rabid) attitude towards every sport from cricket to lawn bowls, I am not a graceful loser.

Loved ones have learned to avoid me for at least an hour after any defeat, leaving me to growl mutinously at the TV. Twice that if the referee is responsible, which he invariably is.

Think Serena Williams in the US Open final, but far less polite. That’s me.

But as South Africa’s stunned players and fans celebrated their nerve-shredding 36-34 win last night — big, beefy man beasts fist-pumping, hugging and in some cases even crying — I felt none of that characteristic rage.

There was only a sort of benign, good-natured satisfaction, as though I were actually … happy for them?

The question is, why?

It never used to be like this. A decade or so ago, when losses to the Springboks and Wallabies were a little more frequent, each one provoked a stream of particularly vicious swear words. Losing was never — and I mean never — acceptable.

I’m not old enough to remember every one of the All Blacks’ infamous World Cup chokes, but I will never forget the existential anguish that followed their quarterfinal defeat to France in 2007.

In fact, I could still bore you at length with a bitter soliloquy on the outrageousness of referee Wayne Barnes’ failure to notice a blatant French forward pass in the lead-up to the winning try.

Or I could tell you all about the dread I used to feel every single time New Zealand was behind on the scoreboard.

But as Steve Hansen’s team has pushed its already unbelievable win rate above 90 per cent in recent seasons, something has changed.

Even when South Africa surged to a 31-17 lead in the second half last night, there was no sense of panic.

“Huh. Interesting. Can’t wait to see how the All Blacks win this one,” was essentially my attitude. Not a hint of worry.

When Beauden Barrett kept skewing his goal kicks into the posts, I was mildly amused.

“Gee, he’s leaving a lot of points out there. That’ll make the final scoreline annoyingly close.”

When a scrum was packing near the Springboks’ line with seconds left, and New Zealand was still behind, I had nothing but sympathy for the other team.

“What a shame. The Boks have defended so well, it’ll break their hearts when we score here.”

The comeback very nearly happened, because even on their worst days, these All Blacks make victory feel as inevitable as Ben Smith beating the first defender or Brodie Retallick making five metres from a standing start.

But even when Damien McKenzie dropped the ball and the South Africans started celebrating, the despair I normally associate with a loss never came.

It was a staggering win for the Boks. They had a quarter of possession. Made 226 tackles compared to New Zealand’s 46. Completed 61 passes to 234. Conceded 10 penalties to three. Everything but the final score went against them.

Coming after half a decade of agonising underachievement by their own very high standards, it was surely one of the greatest, most richly deserved results in their history. It came out of nowhere. They lost last year’s corresponding game 57-0.

And yet I felt no frustration. Instead I was wholly satisfied, having just watched one of the most entertaining Test matches of my lifetime.

It must be a testament to the All Blacks’ absurd level of success. They win so convincingly and so often that fans like me have started to empathise with their opponents; to enjoy the thrill of a genuine challenge almost as much as our own team’s success.

It’s proof we have been the luckiest fans on the planet for years now.

Still. They’d better not lose next time.