The most remarkable fact about the last ever transmission of Channel 4's Under the Moon was the statistic that the format had stretched to some 90 shows over a two-year period. To have remained blissfully unaware as to the existence of Under the Moon is, perhaps, to be reassured that you are whistling through a well-rounded life, with all the signs for an optimistic future still intact.
Essentially, Under the Moon thrived on cosy semi-celebrity couch talk, with proceedings hurried along by a maniacally chirpy presenter named Danny Kelly, an ample, reed-voiced chap with an unnerving smile and a disposition which suggested that though he probably belonged in many places, television was not one of them.
Danny was touchingly self-deprecating about the axing of his show but the humour was laced with desperation and, watching him prattle on through the witching hour, it was not all that hard to imagine him embarking on an axeing mission of a more gruesome nature after he finished entertaining the denizens of the sporting netherworld.
To celebrate closedown, he had a number of his favourite guests (Sharon Davies, Phil Tufnell, a Scandinavian weather girl shamelessly exploiting the niche so brilliantly created by Ulrika, some git from FHM magazine, Alan McInnally) and together they fielded phone-in questions from insomniacs across the country.
Now, back in the fledgling days of Under the Moon (which Danny briefly co-presented with a monstrosity in black named Tim Clark), it seemed that the only callers who ever disturbed the show were sozzled sex-line types who inadvertently hit a few wrong digits.
It quickly became evident that the sale of Sparky Hughes or the latest outburst from Beefy was the last thing on their minds. But things have evolved and Danny made contact with regular sorts, such as Jane from Blackpool.
"You've lost weight," she shrieked delightedly at Danny after watching a flashback to earlier shows. Danny smiled, disarmed, before listening to her views on Graham Kelly.
Onwards the show trundled towards inevitable termination and funnily enough, between Danny's incessant chatter and Phil Tufnell's laddish guffaws, by eliminating the FHM toad and some of the more innane calls, it was possible to intuitively grasp the concept of a decent programme. Danny undeniably knows (knew?) his sports - they being soccer and cricket - and asked pretty decent questions some of the time.
Trouble was, he generally just rattled on without ever pausing to hear the answer. For instance at the start of the last show, he almost stumbled into a fascinating conversation with Sharon Davies about Petra Schneider but quickly backed away towards the `zany' approach favoured by the think-tank behind Under the Moon.
Danny made light of his baby's demise, ironically inferring that its ending would send "shockwaves all over the world," leading to "universal grieving," which was unfortunate phrasing given that it was aired just hours after the beginning of Bill and Tony's bogus fireworks adventure over the Middle East.
But diplomacy has never been high on the agenda of Under the Moon. Over the course of the show, we heard the Mexicans described as "dirty bastards" and (possibly as a sop to FHM's Ed Needham) were treated to, as Danny described them, "a gaggle of gorgeous cheerleaders."
There were highs too - a story from a guy who claimed to have sold Jocky Wilson a life-insurance policy at a service station on a motorway, and the constant question mark which hung over the issue of Phil Tufnell's sobriety - but as the moment of truth came closer, it was impossible not to afford the occasion some poignancy.
As Danny manfully made light of his job prospects and spoke fondly to "everybody out there" who had supported him, you suddenly realised that he had bestowed some sort of service on the country, that he filled a need and sated those who trawled the late night sporting underworld when the mainstream outlets had shut up shop.
And as he waved good-bye, quivering, it was hard not to wonder if we will ever see his likes again.
Of course, "hopefully not" was the obvious answer to that one but the chances are otherwise. Danny, see, is one of television's movers, one of the breed who work on (the faultless) theory that if Jim Rosenthal can do it, so can anyone. Danny will, in time, ferret and squirm his way towards some other sporting purgatory.
Indeed, it was not hard to imagine him surviving quite comfortably in Sky Sports' coverage of the Mosconi Pool Cup, the internationally renowned Bethnal Green tournament between Europe and the USA.
On Thursday evening, the home continent was represented by Steve Davis (why, Steve, why?) and a young Italian lad called Fabio Pettroni, who, you felt, had watched The Colour of Money once too often (and once is too often).
Although the commentator assented that Fabio was "tryin' his guts out," he was worried for his temperament, which was teetering on the erratic.
"We've seen it with Di Canio" warned the commentator ominously and it was no coincidence that the referee took a step back from the table.
Fabio's nerves were possibly heightened by the presence of a lady friend named Francesca in the audience. Not since Ronaldo's partner decided to watch a bit of soccer has there been such a fuss over a face in the crowd.
"An' Fabio's cockin' the eye towards Francesca," noted the commentator at one point. Not surprisingly, Fabio duffed the shot, prompting a scarcely discernible grimace from Steve Davis.
Things didn't get any better from there and to be honest, a cameo appearance from Danny Kelly would have been welcome. Watch the Masconi Cup for long enough and you almost start to miss him, which cannot be a very hopeful sign.
