He probably knew that his sister, the fragrant Mrs Smith, was going to make an appearance on the door at Murrayfield the next day while his pal, Mr Copland, was on door duty, wearing a stupid hat and and a grin and just betting that said Mr C hadn't a scoobie till she produced a son and a husband, both rejoicing in the name of Smith (as if!) and a card with the name "Gillian Smith" on it. Aye, I knew then and I am not bitter. Moi? Bitter? Aye right.
And then, there's my wife, the equally fragrant Mrs Copland, otherwise known as the mither of Graeme, David and Ian. Aye. Her.
And does she not go and lose to Mr Preston aka Mrs J C Barr, once a famous lay-by on the A6, but now a town of some import near the M6. That one. You're getting the picture. And do they not shake hands early? I mean - really! OK, OK, so you're a couple of shots down, but - come on, please and behave yourselves!
Right, so here's the league table...
... and that's with Mrs J C B minus an end that she may well get when the committee next meet. Could it be any tighter?
And looking at the league table, the way I see things - which, I admit, is through a strange, strange, prism - well - I reckon anyone can still win.
See that Mr Harlaw Barr and his sister and his sister-in-law? See the lot of them? Away the lot o' ye and gie's peace!
Oh - and the Olympics curling starts on Monday. But the next C & B game is next Friday. And you just know which is the more important, don't you....?