KEY POINTS:
Revenge is a dish best served cold, a rugby commentator intoned on Saturday night.
So is a rugby test. Serve a dodgy game slightly chilled, and it actually warms up, I found to my delight in the early hours of Sunday morning.
Having scratched and clawed my way through last week's test of patience between the All Blacks and a coach-load of French tourists posing as footie players, I was hurled into a sporting experiment.
It involved shunning the tradition of watching rugby tests live, and catching Saturday's second test via replay instead.
This was not a deliberate experiment, because truth be told the social secretary had pre-booked us in for dinner at the home of friends with the entree timed to start as the Wellington test commenced. Sacre bleu.
One of our hosts on Saturday night was a chef, a man who can cram more ingredients into a small tomato than exist in an average fridge. What he can do with a tamarillo defies description. It was a sumptuous feast unaffected by temptation - this household doesn't have Sky. And on returning home close to midnight, a ridiculous rugby mismatch turned out to be reasonable wee-hours viewing.
My theory is that lowering the test rugby expectations, in other words fitting it around life rather than vice versa, reduces the potential for disappointment.
By relegating rugby to an after-dinner minutiae, it got its just desert. Replay rugby watching, I found, is a palatable way of getting through this early season test dross.
Sure, if you happen to be at home and at a loose end, turn the footie on. But otherwise, carry on regardless and catch it when you have a bit of free time.
It may be a bit like the theory around movies - that they are more likely to disappoint after a glowing build-up and can thrill more easily when unburdened by expectations.
The act of watching test rugby live has been to honour its importance and status. It is a subconscious reminder of the many years in which the world stopped for an All Black test, even when the closest you could get to it was via a Bob Irvine radio commentary.
But no more. The hold has been broken. If it comes down to AB versus France C, then I'll head to D - as in dinner.
There are natural, technical advantages in becoming a replay watcher, especially for squeamish types who, faced with another injury break, can fast forward past those interminable Jordan Luck songs that filter through the TV speakers.
There are only so many Jordan Luck songs that one should cram into a lifetime, and rugby interludes busted my Jordan quota long ago.
It's high time rugby moved on here, and started giving John Hanlon a decent go. It will remain one of rugby's enduring mysteries why Damn the Dam has never got a break while Jordan's anthems get such favoured status.
I fear attending rugby matches these days because:
A) the full blast of one of Jordan's jingles might glue it in the memory cells for the next three days
B) a bunch of tuneless Kiwis - ie the rugby crowd - might start singing along to one of Jordan's tunes
C) the sound of a bunch of tuneless Kiwis singing one of Jordan's tunes could become stuck in the brain for three days.
This is not an attack on J. Luck and The Exponents per se. Hell, I have Victoria on the iPod. It's just that he is deep in that dangerous zone of over-exposure.
Anyway, back to the rugby itself. It was pretty much as expected, especially after checking the score on teletext before the game had finished - another pioneering move aimed at wrenching free of rugby's emotional hold.
This rugby test, served cold, was a decent way to end a lovely evening without ruining the dinner. A lopsided game was helped immeasurably, I believe, by referee Craig Joubert who appeared in tune with what was actually happening and the rugby spirit, as opposed to Stu Dickinson the week before.
Roll on the All Blacks versus Canada - it might make a reasonable accompaniment to the Sunday morning porridge.
High
The All Black front rowers. They've created one of the greatest scrums in history.
Low
The All Black lock crisis. Then again, most countries would kill for back-ups of Greg Rawlinson and Ross Filipo's calibre.
