Here's a confession: I have a lot of trouble supporting my own body weight while watching most rugby matches.
Halfway through - halfway through the first five minutes that is - it dawns yet again that a couple of hours in a rapidly disappearing life are being lost to something that JK Rowling on wild drugs from the 1960s couldn't dream up.
We are watching the World Cup of incomprehensibility. Instead of giving the World Cup winner a trophy named after the rugby inventor who never existed, they should hand over an envelope full of lottery tickets.
There are political party manifestos which make more sense than rugby. The best part of the game, the one which has improved immeasurably over the years, is the lineout. The rest of it leaves me needing a concussion test.
Lineouts have become a breath taking, high flying contest requiring hookers who can propel the ball with the accuracy of a world class basketballer. The heights achieved by the jumpers and lifters are amazing, and look even more so when you attend a game as opposed to watching on TV. The tactics, the subterfuge, the reactions are great, and it all happens in clear view.
Have you ever noticed that lineouts are where the refs are not flayed by the media, fans, coaches, players and in the case of Jonathan Kaplan, another ref? That's because everybody - including referees - can see what is going on in lineouts. But the rest of the game is as easy to grasp as ice cream off hot concrete.
A football-loving mate reckoned he had gone all rugby over the past three years and still couldn't understand 60 per cent of the penalty rulings. That's bold, claiming to understand 40 per cent of rugby penalty rulings.
No one understands scrums either, where guys with no necks have no scruples. Front rowers don't bother punching each other any more, because they are busy sucker punching the ref. If front rowers looked looked like Quade Cooper, they would be smart Alecs. But guys who have to wear tents for shirts get away with murder public image wise.
On to rucks and mauls, which look like something Greco-Roman wrestlers would do on Mad Monday.
"Hey Georgios, the Olympics are over, let's go drink some beer and imitate a worm farm."
Trying to frame rules for rucks and mauls is like trying to organise Italian politics. Yet players who are trapped beyond saving by the fire department are soundly admonished for not rolling away. Others who are smashed in the back by human comets get pinged for not supporting their own body weight. Even players who do appear to be supporting their own body weight get pinged for not supporting their own bodyweight.
Rucks and mauls are the wild west of sport. Yet there are rules for entry that would make a refugee head straight back home. And while Nigel Owens and co. are busy working out how supportive a 130kg muscle man really is of his own structure and getting a handle on the angles, there are 10 other players offside behind his back.
There's been a bit of hoo-ha about refereeing appointments for the World Cup quarter-finals. Yeah, like it actually matters. Nifty Nigel is being portrayed as a saint. By Monday he might have the whole of a mighty nation - okay, the whole of New Zealand - on his back over his failure to issue the 27th penalty of the game. Here's the tip: it's Nigel Owens who might not be able to support the weight on Monday.
One of my biggest bugbears is the quick tap penalty. On the face of it, this is an attempt to make rugby exciting. In reality, it is a sham.
It starts with the referee making yet another incomprehensible penalty ruling. A "cheeky" halfback takes a quick tap, and heads straight for a big forward who has got no hope in hell of retreating or getting out of the way and makes a half-hearted tackle. The ref gives another penalty, issues a yellow card to the crestfallen forward, and the game is skewed for the next 10 minutes on a ruling that was dodgy in the first place.
Yes, rugby is mildly organised chaos, with more rules and sub clauses than the terms and conditions in an Apple agreement, played by blokes who make an art form out of cheating. At the final whistle, with the lottery having failed to deliver, beaten coaches and fans blame the ref. Go figure that one out.