So here it is. Just when everyone is over it, it is time for it to begin. It seems like it has been going on forever but in reality it is just about to start. The time for hype is over, the time for more hype with the occasional bout of rugby union football in-between the torrents of hyperbole is upon us. Yes, just in case you've missed it, the 2011 Rugby World Cup is about to kick off.
It feels like billions of words have already been written about this tournament, without there actually being a tournament yet. Television pundits and commentators, without a ball having been kicked, are already having to reach for a whole new level of cliche to describe their sense of excitement and expectation as the hours tick down to the Greatest Ever Sporting Event in New Zealand.
So there is undoubtedly no need for me to join the clamouring masses, to commit even more words to paper on the subject. Except that as a New Zealander who has never played rugby in his life but is a New Zealander and, therefore, instinctively knows everything about rugby, I feel it is my national duty to do so.
But I don't want to write about the All Blacks, nor Australia, South Africa nor any of the teams everyone else is writing about, as the scribes/prophets-of-doom attempt to pick a winner from the hordes who are gathering to take the Cup away from the One True Rugby Nation (i.e. us).
No, instead I want to ponder for a moment upon the minnows, those teams who travel all the way here with no hope of winning the whole damn thing; who will more than likely get hammered by the big fellas but without whom the tournament would fail to be a truly World Cup. Which of these minnows is likely to be the surprise package? And which one will become the darling team of the tournament, the one we can root for (now that Telecom have said it's okay for us to root again), safe in the knowledge they will never beat the All Blacks?