England lost their first match to Wales in the Rugby World Cup.
Poor England.
For years we've berated them for embracing the conservative kicking game, then the one time they man-up and try for a try, we berate them still.
Their loss to the Welsh on Sunday was why we love the Rugby World Cup.
The sport's egalitarian foundations play a big part in its allure; any team can topple another on its day.
And then there's its indelible Kiwi heritage.
Our late historian Keith Sinclair, in arguing that it was impossible to separate politics and sport, once described the notorious 1981 Springbok tour: "The worst scenes of disorder and violence since the Anglo-Maori wars of the eighteen-sixties".
He also couched the 1905 test match with Wales "The Gallipoli of New Zealand sport", believing it "a major episode in the mythology of New Zealandism".
When academics get hold of the game, they describe it variously as "muscular Christianity", "military preparedness" and "our greatest religion".
Other historians believe the game epitomises the "drawing together" effect, where the unskilled labourer could nonetheless be the most skilled rugby player.
I've seen this plenty of times during my unsuccessful tenure on the paddock. A player's background was always immaterial to his on-field potential.
Rural or urban, rich or poor, state or private school, Maori, Pakeha, Japanese or South African - you have every chance.
The ball itself illustrates this with its non-conforming, shape of chaos. Unlike the round ball, there's oval-opportunity in every random bounce.
It's why I love it. It's folk-footy.
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