WonderBall (BBC Scotland) **

SCOTLAND, you are a disgrace. Given the chance to make what every station wants, a quiz show of its own, BBC Scotland last night unveiled a programme up to its oxters in what no decent TV test of knowledge needs - niceness. Eugh. WonderBall, not to be confused with Wonderwall, Thunderball or whatever Head the Ball dreamed it into being, was hosted by Catriona Shearer, former Reporting Scotland anchor who fancies a walk on the lighter side of the broadcasting street.

Ms Shearer introduced viewers to three teams of two, all standing. Between this, and The Nine’s standy-uppy desk, someone at Pacific Quay has a downer on folk sitting down. The reason for keeping everyone on their pins soon became clear.

First, Ms S explained the rules. There was a pot containing 15 coloured balls. If one team picked a ball belonging to another team and answered a question correctly, the ball was taken out of play. Last ball remaining would win the jackpot of £2000. Simples, as PM Meerkat May would say. Except it was not. After various additions to the rules in a doomed bid to liven up matters, WonderBall made 3-2-1 look like two plus two.

First week figures revealed 

(Before we go any further, some advice for anyone planning a new quiz show: have nothing to do with balls unless you want to sound like a Carry On film circa 1971, as when Ms Shearer told engaged couple Bruce and Linsey that were going to be playing with pink balls.) With everyone standing behind a bench, how would the balls get to the players? Over to Ms Shearer. “I’m going to wheech the pot down to you Bruce and Lindsey,” she said, sending the receptacle on its way via a hidden rail cut into the desk. When Bruce and Linsey were done, they “wheeched” the pot to the next contestants and so on. Genius. That is why they were all standing: as any wheecher knows, it is hard to get enough oomph in your wheech while sitting.

Bruce and Linsey were lovely, as were Glasgow Yooni student pals Hannah and Asit, and Aberdeen father-daughter combo Kenny and Lesley. When anyone took another team’s ball away they apologised. Not to be outdone, Ms S said she felt “horrible” for making the game harder half way through.

Bruce and Linsey, saving for their wedding. Wee Hannah and Asit, poor students. Kenny, wanting to go on a family cruise with Lesley and the grandchildren. They were so nice I almost phoned up to pledge money. Even if a team had won, they would have probably shared the jackpot with the losers, or given it to charity.

Seriously, what is wrong with this country? Quiz shows today need ice in their hearts. Everything has to be all or nothing. Take Pointless, presided over by Alexander Armstrong and Richard Osman, the Darth Vader and Voldemort of daytime TV. If the final answer is not pointless the Pointless jackpot stays in the pot.

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But what was this on WonderBall? Ms Shearer wandering around with fistfuls of twenties, tempting teams to “sell their balls”. As a result, one losing pair walked away with £500. Anyone would think it was licence fee cash Ms Shearer was hosing around.

With her sparkly top and laughing eyes, Ms S made Carol Smillie look torn-faced, though her one and only attempt at a catchphrase - “Are we backing it or cashing it in? - rolled across the studio in true tumbleweed fashion.

The market for quiz shows is becoming more crowded than that for cereals. Any newcomer needs a unique selling point, and quick. Niceness is not going to cut it, WonderBall. Now, should they replace “wheeching” the pot by teams throwing it at each other, that would be worth watching. I even have a name for it - Dodgeball. But no, you’re just too darn nice, Scotland.

Monday-Thursday, 7pm, and on iPlayer