New Zealand are not just the world's leading rugby nation. They also "own" the game. They do so because people are prepared to buy into the All Black myth. And on Saturday night, the New Zealanders beat France so completely that it seemed that myth and reality were finally reconciled. This is a useful advantage to take into the knockout stages of the Rugby World Cup.
Against France, the All Blacks really looked like they were playing a game that no one else in the world was capable of understanding, much less truly excelling at. What's more, the story of their success wasn't about exceptional individuals, despite demonstrations of startling ability from Dan Carter and Julian Savea.
No, here was the New Zealand rugby team fully realised -- the brand as star. The All Black corporate identity was what stayed in the memory after a performance that was within hailing distance of sporting perfection. For the record, the final score was New Zealand 63, France 13.
But then there has never been a suggestion that France "own" the game. New Zealand have been able to do that across the years. It dates back to their tour of the United Kingdom, France and North America in 1905-6, in which they played 35 times and lost just once, and for the first time were called All Blacks.
The distinctive team uniform is a brilliant piece of branding. Their nickname is used almost as often as the name of nation but, these days, coaches are inclined to make their teams talk only about "New Zealand" in an attempt to deny the opposition their mystique. Nice idea, but that horse bolted a long time ago.
New Zealand get special privileges, like the right to perform a morale-boosting war dance before their matches -- as do a number of the Pacific nations. I once asked readers what dance their teams should do if they were allowed to perform a counter-haka; the best suggestion was that England do the hokey-cokey, or perhaps a spot of Morris dancing. But that wouldn't be accepted because you have to "respect" the haka.
There is a feeling in rugby that if New Zealand do it, it must be right. Their work around the fringes of the game's laws appears to get more sympathy from referees than similar efforts by other nations. One classic example is the spear tackle on Brian O'Driscoll, the British & Irish Lions captain, that was performed in 2005 by the New Zealand captain, Tana Umaga, with the assistance of Keven Mealamu. Between them they dislocated O'Driscoll's shoulder and ended his participation in the tour. The Lions lost their best player and New Zealand went unpunished, but they still deny that there was anything untoward going on.
But that's because they "own" the game. That has an effect on opponents, administrators, referees, supporters, pundits and journalists. New Zealand are not just better than everyone else, they're also more important. Being New Zealand is what other nations aspire to.
And when they come up with performances like Saturday night's, it all seems real and necessary. The mythology is refurbished -- and we who watch sport are deeply taken with the idea of the very special team, a team that goes on and on, changing personnel, changing managers and coaches, but forever imposing a long tradition of excellence on the world.
It crops up in other sports, though seldom to the same extent. Brazil somehow still have it in football. It seemed the game really was theirs when they won three World Cups between 1958 and 1970; English readers may well spot the year they missed out.
The notion of sublimely skilled Brazilians playing the jogo bonito that they learned on Copacabana Beach still resonates across the world, and it's nonsense. The Brazilian national team haven't played like that for four decades and beach football is, in Brazil as anywhere else, a soft game for dilettantes. Brazilians learn football in tough leagues on hard pitches. Likewise, the idea that Pele was capable of spiteful tackles is seen as a kind of blasphemy, but it's the truth.
Real Madrid -- the All Whites, if you like, and note that a distinctive kit really helps in creating a mystique -- had a similar kind of dominance in European club football, winning the first five European Cups between 1956 and 1960. Football is a much bigger game than rugby, and domination is harder to sustain, but Real Madrid still have mystique. They may not own the game anymore, but they are substantial shareholders.
Manchester United managed the same thing under Sir Alex Ferguson, at least in the UK. But they failed to make that work consistently in Europe and failed to take it beyond Ferguson's retirement, which goes to show how hard it is to sustain dominance in that sport.
Australia have managed it on and off in cricket. They held a moral and statistical dominance over the game from 1989 to 2005, notably under the captaincy of Steve Waugh, who was a great exploiter of the brand. He was mad about the "baggy green," the distinctive cap Australians wear. He consciously worked on mystique, for example, by refusing to permit his batsmen to use a runner and never calling for a nightwatchman because such things "showed weakness."
The New York Yankees possess the same sort of mystique in baseball, putting together successive World Series wins in 1936-39, 1949-54 and 1998-2000 -- 27 all told. They established themselves as a team that had a right to win. They too have distinctive kit, playing in pinstripes.
Dallas Cowboys -- who divisively dubbed themselves "America's Team" -- made a bold bid to do the same thing but were thwarted by the benign socialism of the NFL. In this system, the first draft pick goes to the team that finished last and all merchandising revenues are shared equally, so it is increasingly difficult to establish a lasting hegemony.
But New Zealand have done so in rugby, and they go and on, a great black shark in the comparatively small pond of international rugby. In Cardiff, they put on a performance to make believers of us all.