Right, so, who wants to be a millionaire? Does this ring a bell of a certain TV programme? Is that a sound of scoffing in the offing? Well, put it this way then: who doesn't want to be a millionaire? Apparently, only about three people in the entire television-watching world, given the extraordinary viewing figures for the wildly successful show which was launched in the autumn of 1998 on ITV and has since been sold to some 70 countries.

And that includes us. This week Tyrone Productions, which is owned by the Riverdance duo, John McColgan and Moya Doherty, announced that they had bought the Irish rights to Who Wants To Be A Millionaire` And aren't we well prepared for it: a country which loves to use big numbers in its figures of speech; we, whose national greeting is Cead Mile Failte, and whose gratitude is expressed extravagantly at every opportunity by saying "Thanks a million!", sometimes used with the optional rider, "Big fella!"

Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, often described as the most successful game show ever, really deserves the much-abused moniker of phenomenon. Presented by Chris Tarrant, it piloted in June 1998, and then started its record-breaking romp that autumn. Right from the beginning it was attracting audiences of millions: it now gets 14 million viewers each time it airs, and on Christmas Day, when it ran three shows, it got 20 million.

The show's success in Britain has been due to an inspired combination of its scheduling, format and presenter. Scheduling? It doesn't have a set season. Rival networks never know when it's going to pop up like a post-modern mercenary, and assassinate the ratings for whatever other TV programme is attempting to crawl out of the trenches to do battle on that particular week. It'll run for several nights and then retreat, not to be seen for months.

Format? There's no beginning, middle and end as we've always known them with quiz or game shows. The programme simply rolls over from show to show on consecutive nights, and one programme starts where the last left off. It's the game show equivalent of a cliff-hanging soap, and the canny format guarantees that viewers tune in again the next night.

Presenter? Chris Tarrant, he of the many catch-phrases, all of them now common parlance, among them: Happy? Confident? Final answer? Phone a friend? Ask the audience? 50-50? After all, Magnus Magnusson, grandaddy of the quiz shows, only ever had one catch-phrase, the stately, ponderous "I've started, so I'll finish."

Of course, the fundamental difference between Mastermind and Millionaire is prize money. The million is as yet unwon on the UK show (£500,000 is the current record), but has been won twice in the US, where the show has single-handedly quick-marched ABC from three to one in the US ratings.

Probably Tarrant's sparkliest magic as a presenter is the fact that although the crux of the show is pretty vulgar - contestants motivated solely by the possibility of winning lots and lots and lots of money, watched by millions as they squirm and sweat - he does such a class act that he makes it all appear really quite respectable.

And although Tarrant as presenter never overplays the role, neither does he ever lose an iota of the show's element of Russian Roulette, that raw volatile sense of excitement and risk that transfixes audiences.

A contestant answers a question. "Happy? Confident? Final answer?" says inscrutable Chris, training his questions like headlights on to the contestant-cum-petrified-rabbit in front of him. Contestant couldn't possibly look less happy or confident about that final answer.

You can see him panicking, thinking "Am I going to lose tens of thousands of pounds because I'm not sure after all if the literal translation of cul-de-sac is a) a dead end, b) one-way, c) round and back, or d) bottom of the bag? Even though I thought d) was the right answer!"

"Bottom of the bag," squeaks contestant for the second time, who looks as if, if this keeps up, he'll be needing the bottom of a bag himself quite soon for a private moment.

"You had £16,000," intones Chris with funereal solemnity.

Pause. Contestant has failure and self-loathing thought-bubbles frothing and multiplying over his head.

"And now you have £32,000!!" Cue studio madness. Works every time.

Joan Egan, managing director of Tyrone Productions, won't divulge how much they paid for the Irish rights, but think big money, double it, and that would be somewhere near the figure. They are currently in negotiation with the networks, and also with sponsors, and say the show should have its first airing in September.

The British show pays for itself with the premium phone-lines, but our population base is too small to make this work here, hence the need for sponsors, who are virtually guaranteed a huge audience.

So who'll buy it? Certainly everyone will want it, but who can afford it? RTE seems the obvious bidder, but it has been having very funny times at Donnybrook lately, and what seems obvious to the punter might not seem quite so obvious among the troubled people out there. And what will the show be called?

Obvious answer: Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? Except they can't call it that, since the National Lottery patented the use of the word "millionaire" in 1995. Now, what's not clear is whether they also have the patent on the Irish translation, in which case the show could be called Who Wants To Be A Milliunai? and hey presto! An Irish solution to an Irish problem.

"Gay had made it known early in the year that this was a programme he'd like to present," Joan Egan says. While the official announcement about the presenter has yet to be made, you can bet that million you haven't yet won, that what Gay - the canniest ever Irish broadcaster - likes Gay gets.

Think of his rather surreal exit from the RTE studio after the last Late Late, riding U2's brand-new Harley. Not a vehicle you'd necessarily think of teaming with Gaybo, big, loud, shiny, brash, and with a huge associated cult following. Who Wants To Be A (The Word They Can't Use) will be the Harley Davidson of Gay's broadcasting career, and he is likely to clock up some impressive mileage on it.

Gay might seem a weird choice as presenter for this show, but he has been clever enough to see himself that it's a perfect vehicle for him. Gay has always declared himself to be an entertainer; a man of the people. And just think of all the years he's spent in training for putting contestants at their ease: between removing the shoes from the feet of a generation of would-be Roses of Tralee, and coaxing Pee Flynn on the Late Late into placing Flynn's foot right into his mouth - all in the interests of national entertainment.

And such a showman that he didn't even need to say "Happy? Confident? Final answer?" to Pee to get his final, million pound-moment result.