I can’t quite put my finger on the strange attraction of curling - Susan Morrison

Admittedly, it was only me who thought it was boring, but you get my drift. Curling has never struck me as a sport riven with high tension and drama, even though it’s nicknamed The Roaring Game.

Canadian curling star Marc Kennedy was accused of ‘double touching’  the stone with a finger by rivals Sweden

Everyone who actually plays it seems quite lively. Well, you'd have to be, otherwise you’d freeze to death. There’s a lot of whooping and yelling and people polishing that ice at a furious rate, elbows going like pistons.

Curling would please John Knox, although it would be hard to tell. It's a sport that requires wrapping up well. Flesh is not bared. We leave that for the dilettantes leaping about in white at Wimbledon. Even our officials are well wrapped.

There’s none of that plimsoll, blazer and Panama hat nonsense for the umpires on the curling ice. Big jackets, sensible footwear and thick gloves are recommended for the hardy souls who umpire in sub-zero temperatures.

This is Scotland. We will suffer for our sport, and if you take it up, so will you.

We’ve got proof it’s ours. The oldest curling stone in the world was found when they drained a bog in Dunblane. You can see what’s happened here. The farm boys were out curling and the ice wasn’t as thick as the lads that were playing. One slide, mate, and there goes your stone.

Helpfully, someone thoughtfully inscribed the date on the stone to aid future historians. It reads 1511. It’s up in the rather magnificent Stirling Smith Art Gallery & Museum.

They’ve also got the world’s oldest football in there, another sport we made up and then managed to literally balls up. Yes, I do know we managed to win the last game in a spectacular fashion, but I fear the future.

It’s a sport that lends itself to tartan flasks of hot tea and shortbread fingers, although they may now be handing round the petticoat version.

It's dirty digit time in Olympic curling. The Swedes accused Canada of ‘double-touching’, giving their lump of granite a crafty wee shove with a fly finger to help it along.

Canada, the world's nicest country, lost it like a Premier Division footballer disrupting a dodgy ref’s call. The accused Canadian captain hollered that the Swedes had been “walking around on my peel for the last end, dancing around the house here? How about that? Come on Oskar, just …. off”

Yes. A four letter word unleashed at the end of a barrage that in Scotland would have ended with a phrase along the lines of ‘You. Me. Outside.”

All that was missing was a woman holding Kennedy’s jacket wailing “Leave him, Marc, he’s not worth it.

My heart leapt. Yes, this truly is a Scottish sport. Well, I see Canadians as basically Scottish, but with better nutrition.

These Swedes, y’know, might think themselves as polite but it's not that long ago that a bunch of big blonde guys yomping up the beach at you meant good-bye monastery and ta-ta to the house.

Even though I haven’t a clue what’s going on, I’m Team Canada here.