Until midday on Wednesday, this was going to be a very different take on the John Sergeant phenomenon. I was going to try to find a figure comparable to Sergeant in sport, one who keeps coming back for more, even though he is beaten every time. My first thought was Eddie “The Eagle” Edwards, the former Olympic ski jumper, loved and admired but always last. It's a tough search, though, because sport tends not to breed heroes who are “losers” by its very nature.

We don't hear about the tennis players who get beaten every week in the first round on the tour but fly off immediately to the next venue for more of the same, or the golfers who rarely make the cut, or the boxer whose record reads two wins and ten losses. There aren't enough column inches to praise the losers, although there would be no sport at all if they didn't turn up in the first place.

Occasionally, though, a figure such as Edwards comes along and we appreciate his spirit, his attempt to take on the world in a sport in which we have no heritage, a sport that is about as difficult to take the first leap in as any I can imagine. Then there was Eric “The Eel” Moussambani, Equatorial Guinea's answer to Michael Phelps, in the Sydney Olympics in 2000. Moussambani was not a good swimmer, not by Olympic standards; he was so bad that all we could do was love him. He splashed home alone to win a heat of the 100metres freestyle, and that was about it, but he became an overnight sensation. Malabo, the country's capital, producing a swimming champion was about as realistic an aspiration as Great Britain producing a gold medal-winning ski jumper.

And so we come to Sergeant, who was about as incongruous in a dancing competition as the aforementioned athletes were in their events. Strictly Come Dancing prides itself on gathering a wide range of celebrities to dance with some of the best Latin American and ballroom dancers in the world. In series six, Sergeant ticked the box for older men; seems to be one every series and they rarely go more than three rounds. But Sergeant had something very different from the word go, and I don't mean Kristina Rihanoff, his Marilyn Monroe-esque partner.

Clearly he wasn't the most acrobatic or flexible of dancers but he had a subtle grace and some sense of timing as he toddled around the floor. But none of the dancing positives mattered because he was consistently recording the worst scores every week and finishing bottom of the judges' table, only to be rescued by the public when the phone lines opened. They loved his sarcasm and the twinkle in his eye that said, “This is all a bit ridiculous.” He was the only contestant who didn't look like he was taking it very seriously, like it hadn't consumed him, and I say that as one whose life was taken over by the SCD bug.

The hoo-ha I was caught up in last year was similar, if on a smaller scale, to Sergeant, only I was on the other side of the fence, booted off after three weeks in spite of reasonably high scores and finishing near the top of the leaderboard. It was a soul-destroying experience, I didn't think I was better than any individual or harbour grudges against those who were left - my own husband, Kenny, for example - but I was loving it all so much and suddenly it was gone. But it wasn't up to me or James Jordan, my professional partner, whose eviction with Cherie Lunghi, the actress, last week has sparked this maelstrom of emotion and outrage.

SCD is an entertainment show and its content is largely down to the voting public. But even before Sergeant gave himself marching orders, I had worked out it's not actually a dancing competition. Who are we kidding? Even the very best of the best celebrities couldn't hold a candle to the professional dancers. The professionals make us look a million times better than we are and if you really want a laugh or Sergeant-esque entertainment, try putting two celebs together.

I can hear you now: “You silly woman, didn't you realise that?” Well, no, because being a member of the cast is like joining a warm, cosy cult whose uniform is sequins and whose mantra is Sinatra. There's no time frame to when cult membership is realised, but at some point about three weeks after you start training you are sucked in. Only I don't think Sergeant was ever sucked in. He read the newspaper in training, never appeared to break into a sweat and seemed to drink tea a lot.

If it was purely a “dancing competition”, as the judges have been keen to try to persuade us this week, there would not be a celebrity in the show. Everything I am saying goes against my natural inclinations as a sportswoman: train hard, give your all and victory can be yours. And if I did it again I would train just as hard, but I am under no illusions - I still wouldn't get any farther than week four. Some say that Sergeant's longevity and ability to galvanise support reflects the mood of the nation, we are all feeling a bit anti-establishment, so revolting against the judges feels good. Maybe if the economy was on the up, Sergeant would have been on his way out in week one.

If every “contestant” had approached the show like Sergeant, it would be a farce, but that's the point - there was only one John Sergeant and enough people loved him to keep him there every week. They loved him because they thought, “That would be me”, in the same way they looked at Eddie and Eric and thought, “Oh dear, poor chaps.”

There's one integral difference, though: Eric and Eddie never quit, they fought to the bitter end. More than his lack of physical prowess, it is in quitting that Sergeant showed us he never really was a competitor; a game-player maybe, but not a competitor. And if you voted for him, you have a right to feel a bit let down that he has deserted you. And if you are him, I know you are feeling a bit down right now.