Why do Morris Dancers wear bells?
A friend quite rightly tells me it's so they can annoy blind people too.
The purpose of this column is not to malign that very English of folk dance. Instead it's to malign another very English tradition that's graced TV screens for the past two weeks.
You see, until last weekend I'd pegged synchronised swimming as the favourite to take out gold for the most daft Olympic discipline.
To those involved in that glitzy sport, I now apologise unreservedly.
Why?
Because that honour surely has to go to competitive walking, or "pedestrianism" as it was once called, or Flintstonian, as I call it now.
As a sport, even as a pastime, the only thing I can come up with that's more counter-intuitive than competitive walking is eating lino. One can draw parallels to harness racing - a sport where humans inexplicably attempt to slow one of the swiftest animals on the planet. Surely the horses forced to wear harnesses must think we're mad. I can imagine what they're thinking: "Guys, seriously, we can run faster without these."
Watching the Olympic coverage of competitive walking only cemented my long-held criticism.
In fact I'd go so far as to say the discipline contravenes the Olympic motto Citius, Altius, Fortius (faster, higher, stronger). At least in the "faster" category. But before I embark to have it banned from Rio 2016, here's a little history.
The gaiety all started in 1880, apparently, at the meeting of the English Amateur Athletics Association.
A little further back than that, British aristocrats pitted their footmen, who were constrained to walking the same gait as their masters' carriages, against each other.
Yes it has a quaint and vaguely interesting history, but competitive walking is not only an oxymoron, it's about as naturally competitive as Morris Dancing.
While Morris Dancers do indeed look stupid, I'm guessing that's the point. That is, pointless fun.
Brisk walking would of course fall into this category, except some dullard decided to make the art of splayed hip-displacement a competitive endurance sport.
But not only is this an ungainly gait.
As an official discipline, it's also ungovernable.
I watched no more than 30 minutes of coverage, but in that time saw at least four disqualifications from a leading bunch.
You see, one foot must remain grounded at all times. When competitors transgress, they're warned, then disqualified if they repeat the offence a further two times.
A slow-motion replay in one case clearly showed each of the leading pack with both feet off the ground. Those disqualified looked stunned, mortified and inconsolable.
The sport's both untenable and farcical.
I'll hasten to add their persistent transgressions are entirely human, simply an urge to run; it's a race after all, they're like horses trying to rid themselves of their harnesses.
Darwin too would object, I'm sure.
He'd say the evolution of bipedalism (walking on two legs) raised our species' heads so we can better account for distance, access higher fruit, tread deeper water, carry meat over long distances and, most importantly in this column, move faster.
It seems odd that on the world's greatest sporting stage, we continue to showcase the human version of harness racing. It makes no more sense than an Olympic sack race.
Contrast this with Usain Bolt, whose speed isn't governed. His feats and others' endeavours are what we endure opening ceremonies to watch. It's humanity unfettered.
Speaking of bipedal animals, the fastest is the red-kangaroo, with a top speed of 70km/h.
Bolt's a way off, with a top speed of 44.72km/h. Yet still, he holds the 100 metres record with a sizzling 9.58 seconds.
I wonder what Darwin would have to say on our evolving top speed.
On whether anyone will run the 100 metres in under 9 seconds? On how much higher we can jump. On Morris Dancing?
I guess that's my problem with competitive pedestrianism.
The Olympics doubles as a barometer of human progress. Beating records is our way of meeting the motto: Citius, Altius, Fortius.
Mark Story is assistant editor at Hawke's Bay Today.