Martin Bayfield calls the World’s Strongest Man “the most famous trophy in strength athletics” and we’re not about to argue. For one thing, the former England rugby union lock forward stands 6ft 10in in his Christmas socks and “pick your fights carefully” is as good a motto as any. For another, we can’t think of another log-chucking, barrel-hoisting, truck-tugging festival that is getting an hour on Five every night this week. Not one.

Plenty of time, then, to pay annual homage to the spirit that, since the dawn of time, has driven mankind (especially the bit of it in Poland) to strap on some knee-pads, harness itself to the front of a fully laden heavy goods vehicle and see how far it can drag it.

Plenty of time, too, for enlightenment to come to anyone who still thinks that a Fingal’s Finger is the long, thin one in a presentation tin of shortbread. It isn’t. It’s one of a series of metal telegraph poles that these giants among men must flip over in sequence.

That said, this year Bayfield promised us “the Fingal’s Fingers with a twist” — which sounded exciting, although, on reflection, does anyone really want a twisted finger?

It turned out that there was a further 20 kilograms of weight on the final pole, boosting it from 300kg all the way up to 320kg. Now, doubtless WSM aficionados of long standing were gurgling with pleasure, squirming on the carpet and requiring a hasty fanning with the Christmas double issue of the Radio Times at this saucy new spin on the old challenge.

Yet it was equally possible to sense a disquieting sensationalism creeping into the competition. The last of the Atlas Stones (big rocks that must be positioned on plinths at head height) is “heavier than it has ever been” in 2008. And the Dead Lift is, according to Bayfield, “one of the most brutal we have ever had”. What will it take before this reckless upping of the ante is halted? Does someone have to burst? Nobody wants to see that over the festive period.

As in previous years, the Fingal’s Fingers proved to be an unhappy hunting ground for Mark Felix, the British interest in heat one. As Colin Bryce, the WSM analyst, put it: “I don’t think he wanted to know about that fifth finger.” Would that all of us could have said the same for ourselves around the shortbread tin.

But that’s “the Strongests” all over. It’s a trial of physique, obviously, and yet much of it is in the head. (Handy tip: the head is generally the middle one of the three spherical objects at the top of the athlete’s body and the one that isn’t, by and large, a shoulder.) This year the contest is in West Virginia, rather disappointingly, one surmises, for Bayfield, who, for his crucial, introductory colour pieces, generally gets to hang around in shorts somewhere either hot, exotic or both, but who is now spending a lot of time standing around in an open-cast coalmine.

The location produced a political incident, too, when Derek “The Pounder” Poundstone was, in the superb words of Nick Halling, the commentator, “cynical on the Viking Log”. With his place in the final safe, Poundstone stopped after a comfortable 12 repetitions to ensure that the points for winning the heat would go to Jason Bergmann, a fellow American. This piece of underhand teamwork helped to ensure the elimination of Felix.

So much for the special relationship. The plasterer from Blackburn, Lancashire, was hopping with fury — or at least he would have been if he hadn’t been flat out in the medical tent at the time, having a torn bicep muscle seen to. The gamesmanship was no less shocking for the knowledge that, when he’s not seeing how many times he can lift a cart full of beer barrels, Poundstone is a policeman in Connecticut. You would expect better at “the Strongests” from a man of the law.

Incidentally, the big American claimed that police work restricts his time for training, although surely, with a little imagination, the two could be combined. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to sit in the back of the car while I tow it to the station using my teeth” — that kind of thing.

The Pounder was also eloquent about why the contest calls to him. “It doesn’t get more extreme than picking up a car or throwing a 50lb keg over a wall,” he said. Well put. Yet some people argue that all this effort could be more usefully harnessed. They may have a point. On the other hand, if you ever need a sack of cement and a beer keg posted in quick succession through your landing window, these are your guys.