Work
* Pronunciation: \ˈwərk\
* Etymology: Middle English werk, work, from Old English werc, weorc; akin to Old High German werc work, Greek ergon, Avestan varəzem activity
1 : activity in which one exerts strength or faculties to do or perform something: a : sustained physical or mental effort to overcome obstacles and achieve an objective or result b : the labor, task, or duty that is one’s accustomed means of livelihood c : a specific task, duty, function, or assignment often being a part or phase of some larger activity d: that which gets in the way of other things one enjoys doing.
Definition ‘d’ applies here.
Hope you are all well, and have been during the past five weeks. Quite the hiatus.
Here’s a job that would be a whole lot easier: I don’t know how the crass and ridiculous TV game show “Deal or No Deal” (or “Do Deal or Don’t Deal”, as I prefer to call it) works in other countries; but in the UK version a cash offer is made after about three boxes have been opened, with the usual faux drama and “dramatic” — although I would say ponderous — pauses. The offer is emphasised, though, by a satisfyingly solid and solitary beat of a bass drum.
I want to be that drummer.
Inevitably, all sorts of superstitions, numerology and, let’s face it, stupidity have become attached to this show, with every contestant touchingly clinging to some “significant” set of numbers — birthdays, anniversaries, dog ages, that sort of thing — as if the universe, or even the producers, cared one jot.
Like the pandemic of an irritating but relatively harmless rash, this show has rapidly spread, and in various guises its boxes or briefcases now seem to be flapping open on-air in 192 countries around the world. This irrationality is common to all.
Here’s an example. Simon, keeper of Box 17, is asked by the contestant (Lori) if he has a “feeling” about what money his box contains. Instead of holding this question up to the ridcule it so richly deserves (“I haven’t got a bleedin’ clue, Lori; for I am invested neither with X-Ray vision nor clairvoyance. You credulous idiot”), he reponds thus:
Simon: “I don’t know if it’s a high number or a low one. It’s difficult to judge.”
Lori (nodding sagely): “Mmm. Yeah”.
Difficult to judge? Difficult to judge? Difficult to judge? It’s a sealed box, y’moron. Where does judgement come in precisely?
The presenter, Noel Edmonds (for it is he), chimes in:
Noel: “Are you going with Simon?”
Lori: “Yeah, Simon. Don’t let me down!”
Simon lifts his lid and reveals £250,000. Chagrin and unnecessary apologies all round. And a drum beat.
Lori, now looking for the 1p, turns to Des: “Des, you say you have it almost every three games…”
Des: “Yeah, that’s right”.
Because that’s how probabilities work, of course.
Just when I start to despair of humanity, I give up instead.
As you say, you get similar displays when people choose ‘lucky’ numbers for the National Lottery, simultaneously wanting to believe that the winning number is entirely chosen at random, yet… isn’t.
There was an interesting example of people’s perception of probability in an episode of the drama series Cracker (whose central character is a police psychologist). A murder suspect claims he has completely lost his memory, not just of his identity but of everyday events he might be expected to know about. Cracker uses a cunning plan to determine if he’s lying. He gives him five questions about recent or current affairs reported in the media, each with three possible answers, only one being correct and the other two incorrect. The suspect answers them all incorrectly, saying he has no idea, and has selected them at random. Cracker is triumphant. “Do you know what the odds of getting them all wrong by chance are?” he asks. “Millions to one!”
The odds are, needless to say, considerably better. The odds of getting all wrong are 2^5 in 3^5, which is to say roughly 1 in 7.6, which is barely more unlikely than throwing a one with a die. In fact the man is innocent, and has lost his memory, but I wonder how many people watching the programme thought “Yep, he’s right. Millions to one. Hang the bastard!”
Well, the US version is even better. Instead of future contestants, the boxes are held by leggy models. Always classier than us lot, the Yanks.
Actually the American one is also great because it’s hosted by Canadian comedian Howie Mandell, a man who has a phobia of germs that prevents him from touching other human beings. It’s great watching him squirm when a contestant is told they’ve won half a million dollars and they start hugging him.
Yaaaaaay! You’re back!
“Difficult to judge? Difficult to judge? It’s a sealed box, y’moron. Where does judgement come in precisely?”
I imagined this in a Basil Fawlty voice (John Cleese, for the Americans/philistines).
Well done sir. A pox on these shows!
A goldfish broth post!
I can’t believe people watch this kind of show. I mean, sure, they would tune in for your drum playing, but really…
This is even worse than the ‘reality’ television programs.
I can honestly say I’ve never watched one episode of Deal or No Deal but I can tell you that our presenter – Andrew O’Keefe – was filmed drunk and slurring in a gutter one night and it was posted on Youtube. He still has his job.
I. Freaking. Hate this show.
Welcome back!
For a mindless bit of tubular pap, this show appears to have made an impact. According to Wikipedia it’s available in eleventy billion countries under a variety of names. A sampling:
Albania – Kutia
Armenia – Dil Kam No Dil
Germany – Deal or No Deal – Die Show der Glücksspirale
Mauritius – To Pran to pas Pran?
Romania – Da sau nu / Accepti sau nu (2 different shows)
Sri lanka – Gando, no Gando
Zimbabwe – Saka Kana Aa Saka
Wikipedia also points out that Deal or no Deal helped relaunch Noel Edmonds’ career. And we’re happy that it also relaunched yours, G Henry. Welcome back.