Which doesn't explain, at all, why I tear up so much over Sporting Moments.

Sports movies with touching endings? Crying. Remember the Titans? Sobbing.

And last night, watching the 7.30 Report piece on the Romania v Namibia clash in a Rugby World Cup pool match being played tonight in Launceston, a town kindly described as "rugby-curious"?

Absolutely bawling.

See, Tasmania's really AFL heartland. The fact that any of their players have to head north to Melbourne to have any kind of representative hopes is not an issue. Rugby's a northern game -- Queensland, New South Wales, and the ACT. Melbourne's recently taken to rugby league, and they're mildly bemused by the penalty-heavy game that is rugby union, but it hasn't stopped Melburnians filling Telstra Stadium to watch huge grudge matches like, er, Wales v Canada.

But the Tasmanians are frankly clueless, which is why it's so brilliant that they've taken as their own two of the most minnow-like of rugby minnows who made the cut for the World Cup -- no mean feat in itself, considering that they had to fight their way through 100-odd nations to get here.

And the Launcastrians (or whatever the residents of Launceston like to be called) have done more than simply buy tickets. They've put on sausage sizzles and other entertainment -- and, frankly, nourishment --for teams who are earning $35 a day, and who have quit their jobs to come to the World Cup, just like the good people of Perth took the Georgian team in their arms and bought them many beers. And the Mayor of Launceston -- bless her -- has evolved a scheme to increase support for the teams. If your birthday falls on an even-numbered day, you support Namibia. If, like me, you'd on an odd-numbered day, you support Romania.

We've all gone a little bit World Cup crazy. I love rugby, and I've loved it since long before the first Grammar-Downlands schoolboy clashed I watched longingly from the sidelines. It goes all the way back to pre-dawn Saturday morning starts in midwinter, when Cricket and, later, Bug, were playing for the Under Six team.

The Under Sixes weren't allowed to wear shoes, and the grass in Toowoomba gets a little frosty in winter. Not to mention windy -- and Gold Park, where they played, got its share of gale-force wind, straight from Antarctica to our door, through some freak of meteorology bypassing those three pesky states in between. Somehow the bloke selling ice-cold soft drink did a roaring trade, although I'm not quite sure how. So these little, little kids in shorts and bare feet would be running around in near freezing weather, a bit fuzzy on the rules of the game and their function on the field, and occasionally stopping to make a daisy chain with a kid from the other team, but they all love rugby to this day.

Dad, Cricket and I have been celebrating our ancient Scots heritage by singing "Oh Flower of Scotland" ad nauseum and talking of nothing but the World Cup. Cricket's girlfriend -- happy fifth anniversary, kids -- was forced to learn the words to all three verses before she was allowed to come to the Scotland-USA match with Dad and I, and she was upset when they only sang the first and the last.

I love the atmosphere the World Cup has brought to this country. It's one really big, really long party, with the big-heartedness, openness and love of the underdog that Australia's famous for. Living here, you sometimes forget it exists as you see the same stony faces on the bus every day. But then you see huge crowds cheering for teams from countries most of them couldn't find on a map, and half of Brisbane turning out in kilts to support Scotland, and your friends on a quest for the teams' preferred watering-holes so they can buy a bloke from Uruguay a drink.

I've tried to explain to people who don't get it that the World Cup's about more than just rugby. It's about this feeling of togetherness we're starting to develop. The good-humoured heckling of the lone US supporter with the misfortune to have a seat in a stand full of blue and white. The camaraderie on overfull buses and trains, and in our pubs and our streets. The way this game has been able to break down barriers and get people talking.

I don't think I've ever felt more patriotic. In fact, I generally have a hard time feeling patriotic at all, but the generosity of this country when they're put to it really gets to me. Maybe we have a national tendency to get carried away in celebrations and end up buying beer for the whole country. Maybe we're going to turn around in December, get our bank statements, look at the big Tongan flag in the living room, throw our Canadian jerseys in the wash and regret this. But I don't think so.