It was around last March that the first World Cup shudder went around the globe. The All Blacks, who had been excused Super 14 duty and sent off instead to a secret location and placed on a strict diet of muscles (sic), were reportedly 10kg a man heavier. Something like that.

Everyone else went into a frenzy of body-building. And reported within four days that they were now 10-and-a-bit kilos per man heavier.

Weights as published in the match programme account for some of the most inventive fiction in the limited field of sports literature. In my day, people trimmed down, out of embarrassment. Now they bulk up, in order not to be an 18st lightweight.

To be honest, they all look bloody enormous to me. But no different than they were, say, last February, just before the All Blacks leaked their poundage to the world. If they look bigger it is because their shirts are tighter.

The one exception is Scotland. When they ran out at Murrayfield for their warm-up game against Ireland B in August it was clear they were simply more gargantuan they had been at the same venue in March.

It was not just the shirts. Whether in trad blue or faddy, fuzzy grey, the Scots are the Michelin men of rugby. Perhaps they have replaced body armour - all that padding sewn into shirts and supposedly proscribed now - with inflatable arm-bands. The rugby players of Glasgow have bulked up and the children of the city are drowning because all their swimming aids have been pinched.

The point is that Scotland are big items now. And have been pushed around by absolutely nobody at this World Cup. Not even by the All Blacks. True, Scotland lost, and they were rather shoved all over the place at the scrum, and at Murrayfield... But it was only their B team, and they went down by only 40 points. (This is all relative.)

More relevant is that they are through to the quarter-finals, which is more than any of the other Celtic nations can say. The Scots are the quiet achievers of France/(Scotland, Wales) 2007.

They are not the best entertainers on earth. The pack, with Jason White's biceps ripping the way clear, have won enough ball for Chris Paterson - and Dan Parks - to kick their goals with unerring accuracy. It lacks a certain something, but, hell, what wouldn't Ireland or Wales have given for a little simple efficiency?

The trouble is that Scotland remain at this World Cup a poor man's Argentina: gruesome pack, limited game-plan, but clear-sighted objectives. Possession, bang, chase, tackle, pressure, penalty. And tick-tick goes the scoreboard in threes.

It was good enough to beat Italy in the final pool game. That was undoubtedly the most significant game in the short history of professional rugby in Scoltand. They came through, if not with flying colours, then with their own brand of ruthless determination. Coach Frank Hadden is recognised already as one of the Shrewd Ones of the World Cup.

The double trouble is that Argentina are today's opponents. This is like meeting like. But Parks, for all his new single-mindedness, is no Juan Martin Hernandez. The Pumas outside-half, who can barely get a game in that position for Stade Francais, is just sensational. Only he can make a pig-ugly game of catch and kick look like sex on legs. Parks sort of keeps it plain.

For all their new muscle, Scotland are not as set-piece gnarled as their opponents. This will be about supply and command. If Hernandez has too much of the ball, Scotland will be on their way out of the World Cup, turned and harried in the manner that saw Argentina surge out of Pool D for Death, alive and very much kicking.

This is not to say this is a lost cause. To be quiet and efficient has its attractions at this World Cup. Growth of confidence is much more important than the development of some unlikely miracle-tactic. Scotland are on something of a high.

I was going to repeat, 'the trouble is...' But if it's confidence you want, you don't have to look much further than Argentina. They reckon destiny is with them. All that beef-eating since birth will tell. Theirs is muscle that has been in place for a long time, and now is the moment to flex it. The arrivistes of the gym world might not win this particular arm-wrestle.