TIPPING POINT:To a nation that defines itself to the extent New Zealand does by its rugby team, everything is set up perfectly . . . again, writes BRIAN O'CONNOR

AN AUSTRALIAN acquaintance has lived his life by one fundamental dictum: Never trust an Alsatian – or a Kiwi. With a negligible interest in eastern France, the first part has been generally assumed to be about dogs. But there is no doubt about the second. Like most Aussies peering at their chippy cousins across the Tasman Sea, he has a deep-rooted conviction that New Zealanders are a bit unpredictable. No doubt this is a breach of some racial stereotype law. But there is something to it.

It’s a long time ago now but this corner once found itself in a boozer outside Brisbane – purely sheltering from the punishing heat you understand. The company was joined after a while by a towering individual from the “Shakey Isles” who seemed congeniality itself for a while. That is until some maggot did a double-axel back-flip in his head. Kiwi Bloke drained his schooner of beer, burped like he was yakking up half of his oesophagus and without looking around, lobbed the empty glass over his head to fall arbitrarily on whatever, or whoever, was unfortunate enough to be underneath it.

Cue bedlam. I had a bird’s-eye view of it all: as in a flightless bird cowering under a table. There and then, any idle plans to visit the “Pavlova Paradise” to the east were abandoned. With the warm-up games for the Rugby World Cup under way, no doubt there are plenty finalising travel arrangements to head to the other side of the world soon.

I’m sure the welcome will be splendid. But as the cliché goes, when it comes to Kiwis, there is a predictability to their unpredictability.

How perfect a representation of the nation then is the All Black rugby team? For the last four years they have been knocking seven shades of Shinola out of everyone else. On paper they are miles clear of everyone else right now, something hammered home again on Saturday when they easily took care of those pesky Aussies at Eden Park.  Bookmakers make them heavy odds-on favourites to lift the World Cup. If there were points for artistic impression, the All Blacks would have a two-try start in every game.

To a nation that defines itself to the extent New Zealand does by its rugby team, everything is set up perfectly. Just like last time then, and the time before that. And don’t even mention ’95.

Since the first World Cup in ’87, both the upstart Aussies and charmless Springboks have landed the trophy twice. Hell, even the Poms managed it once. You have no idea how much that sticks in the Kiwi craw; almost as much as the accusation that their rugby teams have developed an unfortunate habit of choking when it counts most. And like most digs, it really smarts due to the seam of truth running through it.

Whatever about getting beaten by the Boks in the ’95 final, when much of the team got squirts of such ferocity they could have aimed at the porcelain altar through a Cheerio, it was hard not to assume the dry rots in the last two competitions were of a more cerebral nature.

I mean losing to France at Twickenham eight years ago was unforgivable considering the position New Zealand were in. Leading 24-10 early in the second half, they should have been home and hosed. Okay, the French are unpredictable themselves but they were positively Hunnish compared to the All Blacks that day. The French hadn’t delivered such a blow to Kiwi national pride since sending the Rainbow Warrior for a dive. It’s hard not to presume the hangover of that defeat lay all over the same thing happening four years later in Cardiff. In such a self-consciously macho world, the seed of doubt has been nurtured since then. Can the All Blacks front up when it really counts? So, no pressure then.

And ordinarily there wouldn’t be real pressure, certainly not of the “where’s my next meal coming from” kind. Even in the sporting sense, there remains nothing to compare to John McEnroe’s line about Pat Rafter after the Aussie tennis player was elected Sexiest Man in the World by some magazine survey – “Now that’s pressure!”

Against that, the Rugby World Cup is nothing. It’s not even really a proper World Cup really, more a sort of Commonwealth Cup, with a hint of French and a touch of the Pampas. And that vital sporting ingredient of uncertainty about the final result is spiked by the fact that everybody knows it will be won by one of the three Southern Hemisphere heavyweights. So, who cares really, right?

Well, wrong. New Zealanders care, very much. It matters a helluva lot to a helluva lot of them: in the way hurling matters in Kilkenny, or football does in Brazil, or cricket in India. Certainly the World Cup will matter to no other nation the way it will to the Kiwis.

The contrast to the nouveau trendiness of rugby in this country, with all that bowel-irritable fondling and kissing of those Leinster and Munster shirts, is as stark as that 66-point tally the All Blacks notched against Ireland in New Plymouth last year.

What such collective focus on the bounce of a funny-shaped ball says about the country’s collective psyche is a question for another day, although Barry Humphries once opined that New Zealand is a country of thirty thousand million sheep, three million of which think they’re human.

But be that as it may, there will no more intriguing sporting question posed in 2011 than whether or not the host nation’s team have the mental fortitude to do what their talent should allow them do in their sleep.

It might sound weird in relation to a team rated 4-6 favourites by the bookies, but an All Black victory will be the feelgood story of this year’s World Cup. Dan Carter may appear to be a blessed young man but a bag of rats in a burning meth’ lab will be calmness itself compared to the weight of expectation he and his All Black colleagues will have to endure for the next couple of months.

Despite the odds, everyone realises there is a niggle of doubt about New Zealand’s stickability. Even our own muscle-bound girls will give themselves a shout should they meet up – stick with ’em until the final quarter hour and see what happens.

They know it, the New Zealand nation knows it, and so does their team.

Forget the odds. If the home team can allow themselves to play the way they can, it will be a victory for rare resilience and mental fortitude. The fact you can’t trust them to do it will make success all the sweeter.