But the premise of the article was fascinating, as is the book, called The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F---.

"In my life," he explained in the first column, "I have given a f--- about many people and many things. I have also not given a f--- about many people and many things. And those f---s I have not given have made all the difference."

Get it? His broad premise is that f---s are a finite resource, to be harboured carefully.

(As I sit writing in this rather chi-chi cafe, I am, I note, far and away the worst-dressed man here, in T-shirt and old footy shorts and I also have an absurd red rag around my head, which makes the odd person sniff unpleasantly in my direction. I don't give a f---. I like being scungy in chi-chi cafes, just as I like that absurd red rag. I don't give a f--- that you don't, and the only thing I really give a f--- about right now, is to do justice to this column.)

And so back to you, Mark.

"The point is," he explained to Fairfax's Sarah Berry this week, while on a visit to Sydney to STEAL SALES FROM LOCAL AUTHORS, "most of us struggle throughout our lives by giving too many f---s in situations where f---s do not deserve to be given."

Which brings us, of course, to Australian sport. Applying the Mansonian analysis, everything starts to come clear!

We see good sportspeople go bad, because they just don't give a f--- about the things they should, and good sports people become great because they only give a f--- about the things that actually count.

In the first category, we can put Josh Dugan and Blake Ferguson, as the most classic examples. Of course they understood that they shouldn't have gone out to get pissed, a few days before a State of Origin. But they just couldn't give a f---, OK? And we all saw the results.

Nick Kygrios and training hard? How many times does he have to tell us? He just doesn't give a f---! He realises he should give one, everyone tells him he should give one, but right in the very core of his being, there is that salient fact, and there is no getting around it: he just doesn't - and so he doesn't get remotely close to fulfilling his potential.

Ditto, Bernie Tomic and playing hard. Why should he? Didn't he also tell us that, a dozen times? He's 24 years old, he's worth 10 times more than you are, drives a Lamborghini and has houses all over the world, so why should he give a f--- about fighting to the last breath of the last point of the match? He's going to lose anyway, and though he'll be criticised for tanking, what part of "I don't give a f---" don't we understand? He's told us and told us and told us. He's told us so many times, I no longer give a f--- when he disgraces himself and am living a happier life, I tell you!

Another obvious one of the genre is Jarryd Hayne. Fabulously gifted, with powers way above and beyond those of mortal men, he probably has the potential, still, to be the finest player in the NRL competition. But you know what?

I just don't think he gives a f--- for his club, the Titans, and still less, his team.

A few weeks back when the Titans were playing Parramatta in Sydney, Hayne was injured, and in Sydney that evening. But he didn't turn up to the game. He just didn't give a f---, you see.

Compare that to Johnathan Thurston, who has been injured since Origin and unable to play with the Cowboys. But have a look at him in every game they've played since. There he is in the coach's box, riding every play, talking to the coach, making suggestions, cheering when they score, grimacing when the opponents do. This is a bloke who gives one of the biggest f---s ever for his team, and it's why he'll be an Immortal and Hayne will be the bloke who shoulda and coulda, but didn't.

Apply the Manson slide rule to where Thurston and Hayne allocated their f---s given, and you instantly know who to invest in.

Now look at someone in the sports world who has worked out how to severely ration the f---s he gives, so as to only give them to what counts. Eddie Jones and the English rugby team spring to mind. A few years ago, Eddie would bury himself in every statistic imaginable from every game his team would play. He gave so many f---s about so many stats, he had to put 10 men on to keep track. Then he worked it out. There were only two f---s he needed to give, and he could do it himself.

The first one was, how long it took a player who tackled someone to get back in the defensive line.

The second one was, how long it took a player who was tackled to get back in the attacking line.

Only two f---s given on statistics. So many left over for other important stuff! He prospered accordingly and the English rugby team has barely lost a match since.

Sometimes, clearly, there will be disputes as to who even has the right to give a f---, and on what.

Des Hasler thought he had a contract with Canterbury giving him security of tenure for the next two years. But the Bulldogs board just don't give a f---, OK Des? There's a bus leaving in 10 minutes, be under it. In all likelihood, it will be the courts that will work out just who should have given the right amount of f---s, to whom.

You get the drift, either way. It is a whole new way of looking at the world and I congratulate Manson on his genius and even his, sniff, book.

Meantime, you think this column is a load of codswallop and it is two minutes of your life you'll never get back again?

I'll give you a couple of seconds. What, precisely, do you think I don't give ...?

Twitter: @Peter_Fitz