FOR the first time in 24 years, there’s a fair chance no coffee tables will be smashed, no shotguns will be discharged in anger, and I won’t be nastier than usual to complete strangers.
Last Sunday was the culmination of the best part of a year’s worth of nerves, thinly-disguised panic, and a lack of faith in the All Blacks.
Had someone said to me six weeks ago that we would be in with a show of winning the Rugby World Cup without Dan Carter (or Colin Slade), with our captain running on one foot, and Piri Weepu playing halfback, I would have laughed. Or cried.
Now (and would everyone please touch wood) we are on the verge of winning the trophy that has eluded arguably better All Black teams for so long.
I have been critical of various aspects of this entire carnival over the last four years.  I’ve been dubious of the coaches, the players (note to coaches: Jimmy Cowan is better than Andy Ellis), the potential cost to us taxpayers of running a tournament that may not show a return on or off the field, the anal-retentives of the IRB...and so on.
Now that my rose-tinted glasses are firmly on, I can see the positives too.  I now have a six year old who has gone from being indifferent about rugby to being a fanatic.  He stayed up on Sunday to a) sing the national anthem and b) do the haka.  I have a previously fanatical 10 year old who now realises that there are other rugby teams to support than the All Blacks.
While the economic benefits may be dubious (until the final till receipts are counted), the social benefits have been quite noticeable.  My kids now know more about geography, culture and history of other countries (well, the ones taking part in the RWC, anyway) than they did before.  You know that when kids are playing touch in the backyard and one says he wants to be Argentina (rather than both of them fighting over who is going to be the All Blacks) then there has been an impact.
There’s a kind of ethereal glow around everyone this week - even those who don’t like rugby.  It’s an anticipation we haven’t had since the 1995 final.
I was going to play Devil’s Advocate and say the only fly in the ointment is France this weekend.  But in the spirit of remaining relentlessly positive, I firmly believe we are going to beat them like bad dogs.  Please touch wood again.
So while this week is going to be one of rugby fans floating about imagining Richie McCaw hoisting the Rugby World Cup on Sunday, there is also another benefit that life will return to normal afterwards.
Television news will be news again.  We won’t be subjected to silly news stories about moustaches.  My liver will start to regenerate.  And we will have the Rugby World Cup.  Touch wood.