You can poke fun at the team selections and the eligibility criteria, too.
Just look at Mark Calderwood, a Scot when he was fumbling around on the wing for a struggling Wigan side but suddenly, and conveniently, very much English when he found some form at the end of the season.
Or Australia's Anthony Tupou, who actually trained with Tonga in the morning before being summoned, with almost imperial arrogance, back into the Kangaroo camp after lunch.
And then there's the draw, or rather the carefully constructed, near-failsafe system, that should give Australia, New Zealand and England all-but guaranteed places in the semi finals - all they've got to do is beat Papua New Guinea - leaving the tournament's minnows to scrap among themselves for the final place in the last four.
Actually, I don't think the word 'draw' has ever been used so inappropriately.
So, yes, there are aspects of the competition that make you shift awkwardly in your seat if you try to defend them.
But you know what? I don't actually care.

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Because with a little over 48 hours to go before England take on the Kumuls in Townsville, I am, almost in spite of my reservations, really looking forward to it.
I am looking forward to seeing whether Tony Smith's radical selection can deliver the goods, as they did so supremely against the Kiwis last autumn, on foreign soil.
I am also relishing the chance to see the game's superstars: the Billy Slaters, the Israel Folaus, the Jamie Peacocks, the Benji Marshalls, in action over the next month.
And I'm looking forward to seeing how Scott Grix's Ireland manage to smuggle Graham Holroyd out of the way in defence against the thundering behemoths of Tonga and Samoa.
I don't want to miss those matches, and you shouldn't either.
Even the Sydney papers, who spend their time pretending that rugby league begins and ends at the borders of Queensland and New South Wales, seem to have woken up to the prospect of something good happening in their own backyard.
No one in their right mind can argue that rugby league is a truly global sport.
It never has been and, possibly, never will be. Even in another 100 years.
And that means a World Cup is always going to be something of a contrived affair.
But even the most hardened critics would agree it is also a game that rarely fails to deliver a compelling spectacle on the field.
So, for the next few weeks, cast aside cynicism and reservation, put the blinkers on and enjoy it for its own sake.
It's going to be great.

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