So, after 44 days, 46 games, and 2,351 points, Australia and New Zealand will, on Saturday evening, compete to be crowned World Champions, in a turn of events that has come as a huge shock to … absolutely no one.

New Zealand, the reigning champions, are looking to become the first team to retain the trophy; Australia, having reached a record-equalling fourth final, are seeking a repeat of their Rugby Championship-winning victory over the same opposition back in May. No one would question either team’s right to be where they are: the Aussies are often anointed the “greatest sports team ever to play”, while the All Blacks have continued their resurgence under Michael Cheika, and have been arguably the tournament’s ‘form’ side. In Dan Carter and Richie McCaw, New Zealand possess players poised to realise the ultimate sporting fairytale; for Australia, Saturday offers the opportunity to establish themselves at the top of the international tree.

There is a symmetry to all this. If this were, say, the US Open, the organisers would be vindicated by the presence of the world’s best, Djokovic and Federer, in their final. But how many people, if we discount the nationals of each country, really care about the result? After the final whistle has gone, how many will remember anything other than that result? The most avid neutral can watch the game in total peace, free to enjoy the two best sides on the planet play with everything they have: I will be among them. But whatever the result and however good the game, the thrill will have gone, along with the last light of the autumn.

Though it may seem like it, I’m not sulking at the absence of one of the home nations from the final; I never expected one to get there in the first place. No, my problem is precisely that the tournament has panned out in the most predictable of ways, and this is not the reason we watch sport. Dominant excellence is of course gratifying in a way: it is logical, explicable, and essentially meritocratic. It never, however, leaves one with any sense of – for want of a better word – the romance that can be derived from the sheer, breathless insanity that occurs when these patterns are not just overturned, but completely ignored.

Which is the better spectacle: Sebastian Vettel, invincible in an indomitable car, winning seemingly every race for four years, or Jenson Button, journeyman driver in a new machine, gloriously, unexpectedly victorious for just one brief season before returning to normality? Bayern Munich cantering away to another title, 20 points separating them from second place, or Atlético Madrid defying the Real-Barca hegemony and giving Spanish football a much-required shake up? Djokovic taking tennis to new heights of physicality, or a little-known Italian, Roberta Vinci, knocking out possibly the most dominant of them all, Serena Williams, in the US Open semi-final?

And it started so well: Japan’s victory over the Springboks on the tournament’s second day tops any of the above in terms of drama and surprise, and suddenly, a World Cup already sewn up in the minds of many collapsed into a mess of joyous predictions as to which of the giants would be next. Since then, however, it is nearly impossible to think of a result that stands out as a genuine shock: Argentina’s victory over Ireland was a surprise in terms of the manner and the margin, but came against a side shorn of the leaders who helped them romp home to victory. Had Scotland not thrown to the back of their line-out in the closing stages of their quarter-final, they might have added another scalp to our woefully short list. Instead, experience, logic and order won.

The four semi-finalists were the best four teams on the planet. The two finalists are the best two. There is very little between them, but New Zealand will probably win on Saturday, and thus will confirm what we already know. Everybody will say they were the best, that they deserved it, and that it was theirs for the taking. But perhaps it’s time for the sporting gods to take a leaf out of the book of their Euripidean counterparts: sometimes, no matter how good you are, things just happen, and often when they do, the most compelling dramas are played out.