In a macabre sort of way, the dogfight at Eden Park did become intriguing viewing. But as one observer noted: "I hope England don't win the tournament. They are so boring to watch."
What exacerbated the tedium - and this has been omnipresent throughout this World Cup - was that at just about every stoppage in play, someone needed treatment. It was a good thing it wasn't like this in real life. World War II would still be going on.
England manager Martin Johnson's appraisal that his young team had done well to scrap their way out of a hole was understandable. But surely, either England change their philosophy for the better and add some dynamism to their play or the sooner someone puts them out of their misery, the better.
Their only real weapon of any note had seemed to be Jonny Wilkinson's kicking. Yet at this World Cup, Wilkinson is a shadow of his former self as a goalkicker. He landed only three out of nine attempts on Saturday, but those three, two penalties and a drop goal, somehow kept England in touch.
England and Scotland have been fighting wars of attrition for centuries and it seems little has changed. For 76 minutes of this match, England were sterile, plodding, one-paced and full of errors. Even when they did begin to stir in the second half, albeit only intermittently, they still looked laboured.
Part of that was down to the success of Scotland's tactics. They set out to throw a blanket over anything in white and for a long time it worked. England were smothered, but not least by the blinkers they seem to wear every time they play at this tournament.
They will only expand their game - and thereby become a greater threat - if they are willing to embrace a broader attacking mentality. Who dares wins? Right now, there is no evidence of that.
As for this coming weekend's quarter-final, England and France once fought a war that lasted 100 years so the ancient tradition of boring each other into submission goes far back in their histories.
Perhaps Saturday night was preparation for the coming meeting of the two 'Le Crunch' combatants. But on the evidence of this weekend, ticket-holders for that quarter-final would be well advised to bring a good book and perhaps a couple of Sudoku puzzles if they want some entertainment during the 80 minutes.
If England were just as dull as ditch water, France had about as much potency as a bottle of their famed spring water. The pass thrown by centre Aurelien Rougerie in what could loosely be described as a French attack was reminiscent of a man chucking away a half-finished Gauloise on a Paris street.
About as hopeless, in fact, as Julien Bonnaire's pathetic attempt at a tackle as Tonga scored a try.
Certain basic requirements are essential if France are to make a match of it. I know it's a radical thought, but No 1 priority would be choosing their best and strongest team, not some creation of coach Marc Lievremont's fantasy or one delivered to him one night by a witch on a broomstick.
But then, having said all this, we can probably anticipate a feast of running rugby, a seven-try spectacular and a match to live in the memory forever.
Because never forget this: no one does sheer bloody mindedness and rank unpredictability better than the French and the English.
