• Autumn internationals

All Blacks possess a powerful weapon - mystique

The haka adds to the All Blacks' aura and is treated with the solemnity of a religious rite © Getty Images

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Mystique. Hard to get, even harder to keep. Worth an extra man, worth a goal start or a bunch of points or whatever the currency in the game happens to be worth. Sometimes individuals possess mystique: Roger Federer in tennis, Usain Bolt in the sprints, Fu Mingxia in diving.

But when it happens in teams, the phenomenon of mystique becomes truly remarkable. The All Blacks have arrived in the UK to take on a slew of Autumn internationals - starting on Saturday against England at Twickenham - and it is instructive to consider their mystique.

With an individual you know that if you wait long enough, the mystique will run out. Ask Federer: these days he's just a brilliant tennis player. But once he not only bestrode but defined the game he played. Every opponent seemed to start a break-point down. Alas, the days when every one deferred to him are past.

But with a team, mystique comes from continuity. The French football team had mystique of a kind when Zinedine Zidane was playing, but it went with the passing of Zizou. When a team has real mystique, it passes from one generation of players to the next. And that's the All Blacks for you.

When it comes to mystique in rugby it's the All Blacks first and the rest nowhere. It starts with the nickname. It's used more often than the name of the country they represent. Players from other nations school themselves to call them "New Zealand", deliberately trying to break down the mystique. They badly need to remind themselves that the opposition is made up of 15 blokes who bleed when they're pricked and who eat and sleep like the rest of us.

But the mystique of the All Blacks survives such treatment. New Zealand continue to be the rugby team. That was even the case in their down years. They went 24 years between World Cup victories, and if mystique can survive such a lengthy period of comparative mediocrity, it must be strong indeed.

Some of it comes from the kit which, as the name suggests, is all, or in fact mostly, black. It's the only cool rugby kit on the planet. Whatever the prevailing fashion, it conveys a sense of swagger: a shirt that is heavy with meaning but apparently capable of adding strength and speed to every individual who is man enough to wear it properly.

Another aspect of mystique comes from the haka. New Zealand have the right to begin every rugby match with a little dance: a demonstration of spirit and strength and togetherness. It's treated with the solemnity of a religious rite. Opponents are required to show their respect - why not go the whole hog and make them kneel? The haka is a considerable advantage in itself but, better still, it adds to the mystique of the All Blacks.

A further reason for the mystique comes from the fact that New Zealand is the only country in the world in which rugby union is the major sport. True, the population is less than that of London but what's that got to do with anything? Rugby union is a sport of minorities in every country in which it's played, except New Zealand.

What matters is that everybody believes in the absolute specialness of New Zealand. Opponents, administrators, match officials, journos, commentators, pundits: everyone. There is a feeling that if New Zealand are doing it, it must be all right. All rugby teams push the laws as hard as they can. New Zealand always seem to get away with that little bit more. After all, they are setting the standard for the whole sport, are they not?

The most notorious example was the spear-tackling of Brian O'Driscoll in the first minute of the match of the Lions series of 2005. His shoulder was dislocated and he missed the rest of the tour. Targeting the opposition captain is a known tactic in all sports: here the concept was taken a step further. Yet the tacklers, Tana Umaga and Kevin Mealamu, were found to have no case to answer. The International Rugby Board eventually condemned the tackle - four months later. No other team in rugby union would have got away with it.

The phenomenon of team mystique is hard to find. Many teams can own such a thing on a temporary basis, but it seldom lasts more than two or three generations of players: ask the Australia or West Indies cricket teams. But in football, Brazil have a more enduring mystique. The kit helps, but what matters is the feeling that Brazil are football. Their reputation for playing the beautiful game is a good 40 years out of date, but the mystique persists. Everyone else in football is affected by it, so much so that when people witness the top-quality but essentially unromantic football of modern Brazil they seem still to see the swaggering cavaliers of Pele's generation.

You can find mystique in club football. In England, even in periods of decline, Manchester United have something that the other clubs can only envy, and Real Madrid have it across all of Europe. Ferrari maintain an astonishing mystique in motor-racing: so much so that they, the richest team in Formula One, are paid extra for taking part, in the belief that what's good for Ferrari is good for Formula One. You can find mystique in Russian figure-skaters and Chinese divers, a feeling that the game has changed and standards have been raised once these people step up and take part.

Sport is supposed to be about a level playing-field, but it never is. After all, life is not about what we see: it's about what we believe we see. And that's why mystique matters. If you can establish it, hold on to it for all you're worth. It's one of the most powerful weapons in sport.

© ESPN Sports Media Ltd