Wales was the nominal focus of yet another tournament strewn across the Five Nations , and the only host so far to build a new stadium for the purpose. Their reward was a millstone of debt which exists to this day, a tournament whose most memorable matches were semi-finals played at Twickenham and the earliest ever departure by a host.
Optimism generated by a winning run under Kiwi coach Graham Henry - then so popular that it was joked that if he walked down the opposite side of a Welsh road to Gareth Edwards, people would cross en masse to shake hands with him - dwindled into a rerun of 1991.
Samoa continued the eight-yearly cycle of Welsh embarrassment by islanders, then Australia were conclusive winners in the quarter-final. The pre-match march-off by the Band of the Welsh Guards was the only time anyone from Wales went past an Australian.
England went down at the same stage, deluged by Jannie de Beer's drop-goals for South Africa in Paris, five in half an hour matching the all-time record for senior rugby union.
Hispanic replaced North American as the dominant developing nation accent. Spain and Uruguay were debutants, many predicting cricket scores when they played Scotland and South Africa. Instead theirs was the only pool in which nobody scored 50.
The squad training at Peebles Rugby Club represented more than 10 per cent of Uruguay's senior players. They may have been the most media-friendly team in Cup history, answering "when can you come?" to a question about access, and with a coach who handed over to his assistant and walked across to be interviewed when this journo hove in sight. Their captain Diego Ormaechea scored against Spain at Galashiels as the World Cup's only ever 40-something, older even than his union president.
Yet even they were outshone by their southern neighbours Argentina. This was the first of three World Cups in which the Pumas, cast as good enough to ensure a decent game without threatening an upset, played the hosts in the opening match. They fulfilled that role against Wales, but turned over the Samoans in a forgotten gem of a contest at Llanelli, where the bilingual club announcer showed a gift for Spanish pronunciation.
In a tournament of great goal-kicking, nobody made a greater impression than the Pumas Gonzalo Quesada, possessor of a set-up routine so lengthily idiosyncratic that he appeared at one point to have changed his mind about kicking. It was all, he explained, entirely his own contrivance with no input from coaches or imitating of others.
Like Jim Furyk's golf swing or Jimmy Anderson's bowling, it looked odd but was remarkably successful at putting the ball in the right place. We saw plenty of it as Quesada landed 102 points, including 23 in the elimination of Ireland. Argentina fell to France, but not before worrying them, in the quarter-final but resurfaced at the final in the form of the Argentinian radio journalist seated next to me.
After some minutes' chat he produced his phone, dialled a number and announced that we were broadcasting live to the people of Buenos Aires and Cordoba. Quite what they made of the fractured Spanish, and possibly more fractured opinions of "Senor Huw Richards, corresponsal del Financial Times de Londres" is anyone's guess. My opportunistic new friend had less success trying the same tactic on David Campese at half-time, getting only what politician George Brown once called "a total ignoral".
That France were in the final was the consequence of the match everyone remembers. Lucky to be there at all, they overthrew New Zealand in the semi-final at Twickenham. Lomu and the All Blacks had looked unstoppable from their opening defeat of England, Clive Woodward greeting an immense off-stage crash during his post-match press conference as "Jonah getting out of the shower". Seen from Twickenham's upper deck, Lomu's shark's fin hairdo looked peculiarly apt as he scored twice in the semi, inducing evasion rather than resistance as he swerved past French defenders.
Then came the greatest French uprising since 1789. The previously nondescript Christophe Lamaison played like a combination of Barry John, Joan of Arc and God. In half an hour, the All Blacks leaked more points than they had previously ever conceded, except once when they won anyway, in an entire match. The Kiwi press corps looked collectively like men who had been struck by lightning.
That match has overshadowed one which, in its own way, was just as great - the other semi between the powerful Boks and the quick-witted Wallabies, a rugby Frasier v Ali. A banner carried by Boks fans announced that 'Jannie gaan Aussie opfok' (Afrikaans for 'Jannie will mess Aussies up'), and semi-final hero De Beer did his best. He landed one drop, while scrum-half Joost van der Westhuizen used the threat to sublime effect, dummying a pass as De Beer stood poised 35 metres out, then surging whippet-like to within yards of the Aussie line.
De Beer also kicked six goals. One to take the game to extra time would, had the Boks won, have been remembered as one of the great goalkicks - 45 metres out, wide to the right, amid wind and rain and knowing that a miss meant elimination. But eventually the Boks were opfokked by their own weapon, a low-skidding drop-goal by Wallaby outside-half Stephen Larkham, who said he had never previously dropped one.
The final was an anti-climax. France had exceeded their limits in the semi, and had little left. Australia won easily. It was also the day of Australia's referendum on the monarchy. John Eales, who received the trophy from the Queen, had voted (unavailingly) against her. It was a bad day all round for republics.