Scottish football’s problems are about people in masks? Don’t make me laugh.

Only last week, John Swinney told us that Scotland had to confront its real problems. Sectarianism, he said, was one of them. It required serious thought, serious leadership and a serious response from the political class.

High stakes stuff. Those were his words and for a moment we may have all allowed ourselves a moment’s pause. “Yeah. This guy gets it.”

Now, barely days later, we appear to have made remarkable progress. Because it turns out the problem is not centuries of tribalism, cultural hostility or the toxic rhetoric that sometimes surrounds this fixture. Nope.

The real problem, apparently, is naughty young men wearing ski masks.

The First Minister has observed that people attending football matches in ski masks do not have a legitimate reason for doing so. Particularly not in mild weather. Particularly not when the rest of the crowd seems capable of attending perfectly well without disguising themselves like characters from a heist movie.

This is, on the surface, a perfectly sensible observation. But if we are now diagnosing the deepest social problems in Scottish football by reference to winter sports equipment, then it seems only fair that those of us in the cheap seats offer a few explanations of our own.

After all, there may be many entirely legitimate reasons for wearing a ski mask at Celtic Park or Ibrox. Let’s take the weather, for example.

Scotland is famous for its unpredictable climate. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes here knows that conditions can change in an instant. One moment the sun is shining. The next moment a gale force wind is howling in from the Atlantic and sleet is flying sideways across the penalty box.

A responsible supporter prepares for such contingencies. A scarf might not be enough. A woolly hat could prove inadequate in the face of sudden meteorological catastrophe. A ski mask, however, provides full facial protection should an unexpected blizzard descend upon the stadium in the 73rd minute.

It is, in essence, sensible planning.

Then there is the matter of health.

Football matches involve a great deal of shouting. Tempers flare. Opinions about referees, opposing players and television pundits are expressed at considerable volume. A ski mask offers a useful buffer against the harmful effects of having someone bellow directly into your face from a distance of six inches.

Think of it as a kind of public health measure. A soft barrier between heated debate and exposed skin. In an age where we are all more conscious of airborne particles, it would be irresponsible not to consider such precautions.

Next we come to privacy.

Modern football stadiums are full of cameras. Broadcast cameras. Security cameras. Smartphones capturing every moment for social media. Within minutes, an image from the crowd can circulate across the internet.

For supporters who value their anonymity, the ski mask is therefore a simple matter of personal data protection. Some people close their curtains at home. Others adjust their privacy settings online.

A few prefer a balaclava on the terraces. This is not concealment. It is digital hygiene.

There is also the question of fashion.

Football culture has always had its own distinctive styles. The terrace look evolves over time. What was once the preserve of casual jackets and designer trainers may now be entering a bold new phase of full facial coverage.

Perhaps the ski mask is simply the next step in terrace chic. A minimalist aesthetic. A daring statement piece. What begins on the terraces today could easily appear in the high street tomorrow. Milan has nothing on the Glasgow football scene.

There is public health too, especially in cases where Ibrox games are live on the television. How many times have we wished for “trigger warnings” to flash up on screen whenever the camera cuts to a particularly gruesome specimen amongst the Ibrox fan-base? This may offer TV viewers a safety mechanism.

Mask them all, I say, and spare us any more close-ups of faces that would make your dog sick.

Finally, we should consider the matter of collective identity.

Football supporters often talk about the power of the crowd. The sense that thousands of individuals can merge into a single voice when the team needs them most. Wearing identical face coverings may simply be a way of emphasising that unity. The individual disappears. The collective emerges. One mass of supporters moving, singing and celebrating as a single entity.

It is not disguise. It is solidarity.

Now, some people reading these explanations will remain unconvinced. They will insist that people attending football matches in ski masks are not primarily motivated by sudden snowstorms, respiratory health, privacy concerns, sparing TV viewers, cutting edge fashion trends or expressions of collective identity.

They may suspect the explanation is rather more straightforward.

But that would require us to treat the current diagnosis of Scottish football’s problems as though it were serious.

Last week we were told that the nation needed to confront deep rooted sectarianism. A complex cultural problem that has shaped our game for generations. A week later that must surely have been resolved since it no longer appears at the centre of the discussion.

It turns out the real danger to Scottish football is not hatred, history or politics.

It is what some fans chose to wear on their faces.

And if that is the level of analysis we are working with – since it appears that the real issues aren’t being taken seriously at all – then forgive me if my own engagement with the point is less than serious itself. This is what they’ve reduced me to.