Our Pills are generally selected for an enticing mixture of risk and reward, but many are going to think that this week’s only scores on one side of that scale. The Jeep Commander was little-loved even when it was new and shiny. The passage of 17 years, 117,000 miles and what – against strong competition – is one of the gnarliest MOT records in Pill history probably won’t have increased the level of affection this one is likely to receive.

Yet there is at least one reason to be cheerful. Most UK-bound Commanders were fitted with a Mercedes V6 diesel which was slightly better at making noise than producing forward progress, but the first buyer of this one ordered it with the much more compelling option of a 5.7-litre Hemi. For £7,995 this is a muscular SUV with room for seven and a brawny V8 up front. There’s got to be something to like there, right?

The noughties were not a great time for Jeep. This was the DaimlerChrysler era, what had been pitched as a merger of corporate equals but which soon turned into a race to the bottom as both Mercedes and Chrysler seemed to be battling to achieve the worst build quality. Yet however shonky some of the turn-of-the-millennium Mercs were, Chrysler won this contest hands-down. In Europe, we were lucky to be spared most of these, but cars like the Dodge Caliber which did make it here were pretty much without merit – and were so poorly received that one desperate dealer offered a ‘buy one, get one free’ deal.

The Caliber, and closely related Jeep Patriot, did indeed have cheapness on their side. But the much bigger Commander did not. The very decision to offer it in Europe seemed an odd one given the combination of bling-heavy design and XL dimensions; it’s not as if the WK generation Grand Cherokee of the same period was exactly lacking road presence. The main difference was that the Commander had three rows of seats, although the rearmost were very cramped. It also had boxy lines that seemed to have been done by somebody in a rush to do something more important. Of these, the strangely wonky narrowing headlights were the Commander’s most interesting and distinctive detail. Also its only interesting and distinctive detail.

Critics were generally unkind. None more so than former Chrysler CEO Sergio Marchionne, whose unaffectionate obituary pulled no punches, describing the Commander as being “unfit for human consumption” and admitting that he didn’t know why anybody bought it. This seems a little harsh: the V8 was certainly much less fun than anything doing 15mpg had any right to be, the Commander consistently imprecise and mushy to drive. But it was decent off-road, sharing its underpinnings with the Grand Cherokee, was awesome at towing and sounded snarly when worked hard.

British sales were slow. Although three-row SUVs were relatively thin on the ground when the Commander reached the UK in 2006, buyers would have to forego the much nicer Volvo XC90 and Land Rover Discovery 3 to end up with the Jeep. Only 1,500 Commanders of all sorts were registered in four years here, fewer than 200 of which were V8s. How Many Left reckons there are only 120 Hemis still taxed with another 20 on SORN.

By the admittedly limited standards of Jeep Commanders, our Pill looks pretty decent from (most) angles. The black paintwork is gleaming and there are no signs of the sort of dings and blemishes you might expect to find on an elderly off-roader. What it does feature is plenty of stickers: HEMI branding on the sides of the bonnet – which seems to have been factory original – plus a full-length set of racing stripes down the centreline of the car; a bold look for a 2.3-tonne SUV. At the rear our Pill has some more obviously non-standard decals including what the database hamsters reckon is the column’s first-ever ‘Powered by Fairy Dust’ and one of a character fighting a falling fuel gauge. The next buyer shouldn’t be surprised if they discover this Jeep previously belonged to a professional comedian.

More alarming is the spare wheel mounting at the rear, or rather the lack of it. It seems to be held on its cradle by two ratchet straps, with a close inspection of the picture offering no evidence of anything else keeping it secured. The grey leather of the interior also seems to have picked up some grubby patina over the years.

Bringing us to the MOT history, and possibly the need to sit down. A test in April was flunked with no fewer than nine major defects, ranging from a non-functioning EML, broken lights, binding brakes to the more alarming admonition ‘Nearside Rear Suspension component mounting prescribed area excessively corroded significantly reducing structural strength, rear subframe corroded and holed.’ That had been repaired alongside everything else well enough to pass a test 12 days later. Further back there is also a mileage discrepancy, the tester in 2015 recording 113,000 miles and then the next pass in 2017 showing just 75,400. This is in the right ballpark for a km-to-miles issue, but worth investigating.

There are some more useful details in the advert text. The dealer selling our Pill says that the previous owner spent £2,000 on it shortly before getting rid, with the mention of welding suggesting this was mostly on fixing the MOT issues. The spend also seems to have included new brake discs and calipers, front hubs and bearings. “The car is lovely and wants for nothing now,” the dealer promises. Which is reassuring, if debatable. Our Pill has also been given an LPG conversion which, if still in full health, should move the fuel bills from tragic to merely comic – 15mpg on gas currently costing about the equivalent of 30mpg on petrol.

Any aged Jeep is a courageous choice for those in search of hassle-free motoring, but our Pill brings another level of bravery: the willingness to associate with such a piece of conspicuous excess. For anyone willing and able to front that, this could be the supreme Commander.