The thrill of the TV graveyard is that anything can happen

The Hound orders some chicken. Dennis Taylor pots the black. Ellen DeGeneres organises a Hollywood selfie. These "events" have one thing in common: they were first broadcast on television in this part of the world after midnight. They went out on air when most people were asleep, having taken their chances with anxiety dreams over, say, the Super Bowl or the waking nightmare that is a typical US presidential debate.

The chicken-ordering Hound is a Game of Thrones spoiler. The Hound is a character in US premium cable operator HBO's fantasy epic and in the opening episode of its fourth series he remains alive, well and peckish. On Sunday night/Monday morning, "Home of Thrones" channel Sky Atlantic sensibly plumped for a 2am simulcast with HBO. It was a school night, but why should die-hard fans on this side of the ocean have to wait?

In a globalised television industry, simulcasting gives viewers greater confidence that they can avoid spoilers, while assuring broadcasters that they will not lose eyeballs to piracy as a result of any unnecessary, rookie service errors (the cost of pay-TV subscriptions remains a compelling spur).

Although viewings of time-shifted recordings and Monday's 9pm repeat sent Sky's audience for Game of Thrones comfortably over a million, only 9,000 Sky Atlantic viewers in the UK were sufficiently die-hard to watch at 2am.

The main impact of opting for witching-hour simulcasts, it seems, is that it adds to the buzz. The smallness of the number of people who take up the offer is almost the point. Hardcore fans tend to be the most vocal and they like it when someone comes along, recognises their obsessions and caters for them.

Sky has asked them this question: "Would you, if you could, lose sleep to watch this before mere 'ordinary' Game of Thrones viewers?" They have answered "Yes, and I'll be making sure to let everyone know I'm the bigger fan."

The behaviour of people at the fevered fringes of entertainment consumption can shift the habits of the more casual masses, so that even viewers who stay up to download or stream US-origin content via, ahem, non-official sources have the capacity to inspire curious potential viewers into paying for legal access.

In the normal course of events, post-midnight viewing, even on widely available terrestrial channels, is small beer on this side of the Atlantic. The midnight hour is a commercial concern in the US, however, forming part of the starry late-night chat show block that tends to begin at 11.35pm. In this bridge to the graveyard slot proper, networks compete for the brand-flexible younger viewers deemed to have the disposable incomes advertisers like so much. But business-wise there is no direct equivalent in British and Irish television to Letterman-style weeknight chat and variety.

High viewerships after midnight tend to be exceptions that prove the rule that peak time is so named for a reason. The over-running snooker World Championship black ball final in 1985, which significantly had a surprise victor in Taylor, holds the record for the highest post-midnight audience in this part of the world, with more than 18.5 million viewers. An England group stage match in this summer's football World Cup, one of a handful that kick off at 11pm, will likely fall short this record.

Still, any second-half red cards or penalties will probably feel like an “event” to those who do see them. Late-night viewing often has a weird clubby feeling – facilitated by social media, but predating it – that hangs on the thrill of knowing something others do not. It’s a thrill that can wear off quickly in the case of the foregone-conclusion Oscars, which this year featured a selfie stunt that made for good television as it was unfolding in real time but had grown tedious by breakfast.

Late-night viewers are drowsy but glued and desperate for something unexpected, such as a piss-taker getting through to Psychic Readings Live, perhaps, or the fall of so many Tories in Britain's 1997 general election Labour landslide. The shock of Princess Diana's death that year was accentuated by the fact that the news broke overnight and they forgot to warn us that it was on.

To be fair to Irish politicians debating important pieces of legislation in late-night sessions, they behave like they’re unaware there are cameras in the Dáil most of the time. But much late-night television emits a particular anything-could-happen (because no one is watching) feel that paradoxically makes it hypnotic viewing. Simulcasts and infomercials can’t be the only ways to commercialise insomniacs’ hour.