Red Or Black: go on, guys – chuck in the towel and give us all a giggle

WOULDN’T it have been lovely if, half way through the latest edition of Red Or Black (sorry, I can’t be doing with the question mark in the title), presenters Ant & Dec had suddenly turned to one another and gone: “D’you know what, this is just getting worse, isn’t it? Shall we go home?”

What a brilliant, career-defining moment that would have been. Throwing in the towel, live on air, less than halfway through this ridiculous, over-hyped, ratings-shedding gameshow, they’d have sent their credibility soaring. They’d have returned to their dressing rooms to find their mobiles buzzing with a billion offers of work, although maybe not that many from Simon Cowell…

I have to confess, I only caught the final stages of the latest show. This may have had something to do with my wife going: “I know it’s your job, but if you force me to sit through so much as a millisecond of that crap ever again, my darling, I shall *** off your ***** with a rusty ******.”

I saw enough, however, to be able to predict what was going to happen at the end. I knew the guy was going to lose the million. Or, rather, fail to win it, which I appreciate isn’t exactly the same thing.

Which proves what exactly? It proves that we can all make wild 50-50 guesses, based on nothing but a hunch, and then tell ourselves how jolly clever we are when they happen to prove correct. Big deal.

One or two people have suggested I was a bit too harsh in my scathing criticism of the opening night’s programme. Only a bit, mind you. They agreed with almost everything I wrote (be honest, for once it was hard not to) but suggested that the climax – where it’s down to just one punter against the pointlessly huge roulette wheel, and where correctly predicting the colour of the slot into which the giant ball will come to rest will secure them one million – was actually quite exciting.

I can’t say I share the sentiment. For me, the only excitement by then is knowing that this nonsense is nearly over for another night. Not so much a question of excitement, then, as one of sheer relief.

And before you point out what one guy on Twitter rather bluntly suggested to me the other night, namely that I’m perfectly capable of switching over to another channel if this programme offends me so much, let me just say this:

I’m not. As a generally rather laid-back kind of bloke, it’s been ages since I’ve got myself quite so cross about a television programme and I have to say I’m throughly enjoying it. Besides, Mrs Ward, although she did stick to her threat last night, was kind enough to use a local anesthetic.

Finally, one thing I’d suggest to the producers, just as a gag for the final night’s contest, would be to introduce a funny twist to the closing moment. As the big ball comes to rest for the last time, ideally with the punter missing out on the million, the cameras should pan down to show a grinning Simon Cowell lying beneath the roulette wheel, clutching a giant magnet.

Go on, guys, I dare you.

We’d all know it was just a joke.

Well, I would. And let’s face it, I’ll probably be the only one still watching by then.

* Read Mike Ward every day in the Daily Star and every weekend in the Daily Express Saturday magazine.