I Lost on Jeopardy, Baby! (Well, Near It)
Note: Written March, 2002
I’m halfway through my drive to Washington DC when it hits me how crazy this is.
I’m trying to make it in time for an audition that could lead to an appearance on the game show “Jeopardy!.” For this opportunity I had driven six hours back to my home in Raleigh NC from the other end of the state the night before, arriving at 12:30 am, with just enough time to see my wife and babies in the dark, get a few hours of sleep, then head north to DC.
So… I’ll be taking a day off from work, then driving another five hours, just for the opportunity to take a 30-minute test that might get me on the list of contestants who might be called to appear on Jeopardy. If I qualify, I win the privilege of paying for a plane ticket to LA to wait for a chance to appear on a show where I might or might not win any actual money.
No matter. There’s that expression about dreams and wings. There’s that other one about raisins in the sun. I have to put on my wings to reach my dreams; if I don’t, my raisins will wither. Besides, I’ve been practicing at least once a week watching the show while our twin 1.9 year olds scream in encouragement. It’s not completely unreasonable: my sister Mary has an acquaintance who, twenty-some years ago, was runner-up in Jeopardy’s Tournament of Champions. And if someone I’m related to once kinda knew somebody who could do it, who’s to say I couldn’t?
I arrive at the Omni (Latin prefix meaning “every” or “all” – I’m ready if they ask me that!) Shoreham dressed to kill (or be killed; the neighborhood was sketchy) and looking for signs that proclaim the gravity of this audition: “The Omni Shoreham Welcomes Leslie Boney, Future Jeopardy Champion.” OK, maybe not, but how about at least “Jeopardy, this way”?
All we wanted was to meet (the godfather, Alex Trebek) and compete (for the chance to be a Jeopardy champion). We would have settled for a cardboard cutout. (Image generated by Sora)
Nothing. No signs anywhere. I wait in line to talk to the concierge. He takes one look at me and gestures: “Down the hall to the right, then right.”
He knows why I am there! Can he smell my pungent IQ and see my teeming (Old English- produce offspring – could be on the test) earning potential from 15 feet away?
Down the hall, then right. A monochromatic sea of fellow geeks are already milling about, dressed in outfits ranging from eighteen-inch tees to four-inch heels. I try to find out more about my competition. There’s a coke-bottle-glassed guy who’s driven up from Alabama – this is his fourth try to get on the show. The permed bottle-bodied blonde is down from Connecticut – her second try. They aren’t impressed by my newbie status or my trip up from NC.
A 50-something man stands outside of the ballroom where the hazing will happen while we wait. He doesn’t introduce himself. He is there to stall us. “Hey, lissen up. I’ve woiked for 36 different gameshows, and I know whatya thinking right now.”
(I’m not sure he does: “I should have stayed in Murphy?” “What country are the Aral Mountains in?” “Wouldn’t it be more fun if I drove a couple of miles down the road to the MCI center (the acronym stands for Microwave Communications Inc – that could be on the quiz) and watched the NC State (one of the three vertices of the Research Triangle – could be on the quiz) Wolfpack play their NCAA tournament game?” How much money would I have to win in the game to justify taking a day off from work, driving to DC, then paying for a plane ticket and hotel in LA?” That’s what I was thinking.)
Here's what he thinks I’m thinking: “You’re thinking what’s Alex Trebek really like and will I get to meet him? The answer is, not today, but maybe you will someday soon – if you get the right answer on 35 out of the 50 questions we’re going to give you.”
“We do have a special surprise for you, though.” A hush falls. “And HERE SHE IS – CHERYL FARRELL OF THE CLUE CREW!!!!” A 5’2” genial 40-something woman parts our sea of wannabe’s, then gives a queenly wave before disappearing inside the ballroom. Murmur. Murmur. “It’s Cheryl Farrell!” “Whoa, I didn’t know she would be here!” “Cool!”
The four members of the “Clue Crew” travel the country taping video hints that are then played on the show. I know Cheryl. I like Cheryl. But Cheryl is standing between me and my dream — my mind has shifted into game mode: All I have to do is get 35/50 questions right and I’m in!
The doors open and we flood in to a ballroom set up with a projector in front. We pick up forms and sit, filling every other chair (“so you won’t be tempted to look at your neighbor’s paper”). Bring on the test!
Early on, a very encouraging sign. I am sitting in one of four seats with a piece of white masking tape on the back. I win a Jeopardy® cap. It gives me a headache after 15 seconds. I keep it on anyway. It could be an omen (from the Latin osmen, I think, meaning “augury”- could be on the quiz).
We get some final answers to our questions.
· How often will the questions come? (Every eight seconds.)
· What subjects will be covered? (Everything.)
· Should we guess if we aren’t sure? (Yes; wrong answers don’t count against you.)
We are reassured – several times – that just because most of us will not move on, we should remember we are not losers (Ha! I think. Anyone who can’t get 35/50 right can try to convince themselves of that; we winners will be showing them “the shape of an ‘L’ on our foreheads”! (from “All Star,” by Smashmouth, in Shrek — any of that could be on the quiz!))
But at this point the people up front could be saying anything. We all know why we are there and, after a while, it becomes clear that nobody is paying attention to any of the instructions anymore. “Well, I guess you’re ready for the test?” Uh, yeah.
They hand everybody answer sheets and blue ballpoint Jeopardy® pens. The lights dim. Alex Trebek is (virtually) here; he welcomes us here via videotape. The game begins.
If I was looking for an indication of how the game was going to go, the first question would have told me everything I needed to know.
· “He was the second president of Liberia.” The second?! By some crazy stroke of luck, I know the current president. That should count for something, right? (it doesn’t)
· This celestial body was the one the element helium was named for? Is hell a celestial body?
· “The Volga River empties into this sea.” No, not geography! I don’t know, but I bet it’s in Russia somewhere. What’s the name of the blue property on the Monopoly board?
I swear to myself the game on TV has never been this hard. Am I going to go 0 for 50?
No, I am not!
[cue inspiring music from “Rocky”]
I score with the name of the guy Lou Gehrig replaced (Wally Pipp – I useta collect baseball cards), the South American city the girl from Ipanema was from (Buenos Aires – loved that song) and the island furthest south in South America (Hornos – I read some novel about explorers).
[“Rocky” music theme swells in my head]
But the questions are piling up every eight seconds and even in my categories – the ones I always get right when watching on TV – the setting and the speed make them much harder than they are when I am relaxing at home:
· This rap star and basketball players was NBA MVP in 2001. Shaquille O’Neal or Allen Iverson? I take a guess.
· This South Carolina city was the site of the first battle of the Civil War. Was Fort Sumter actually a city? And when did the “Civil War” actually start – then, or later on when the Confederacy was formed? I dunno.
· Richard Armitage is Deputy Secretary of State to this Secretary of State. Well that’s confusing. Why not just ask who the Secretary of State is? Do I still have time to get to the MCI Center in time for the second half of the game?
When it is over, I feel stunned, violated.
I was wrong about the quiz: It doesn’t take 30 minutes. After 6 minutes and 40 seconds, it is over, and a room full of 150 shell-shocked nerds sit in gobsmacked (British in origin – astounded – why didn’t they ask me that?!) silence. What was that? The game they play on TV isn’t that hard. Who are they kidding?
I desperately count through my “sure bet” answers and my “maybe’s,” my “wild guesses” and my “no clues.” If I guessed right on all the ones I suspect maybe I kinda sorta think I knew, I might have 35 – maybe 36!
We turn in our papers. I sulk. To ease the anxiety while our papers are graded, Cheryl comes back. “I know you are worried about the results, but let me just tell you, in my mind, you’re all winners.” (Heard that before.) “Well I bet you have a lot of questions.”
That’s Cheryl (far right) with her fellow members of the Clue Crew. They all got closer to Alex Trebek than I did.
Surprisingly, now that we don’t have a test hanging over our heads, we do. Turns out the members of the “The Clue Crew” have pretty interesting lives. They travel all over the country, taping short videos of themselves sticking their heads in dolphin’s mouths, ringing the Liberty Bell, standing atop the Grand Canyon – while asking questions that will appear on a future Jeopardy show. Carol travels eight months out of every year. How many people tried out to be on the Clue Crew? 5000- for four spots. What set her audition apart? She made up words to the Jeopardy theme song, then sand them on her audition videotape. What did she do before the Clue Crew? Sold something obscure. How did he convince her husband, 11-year-old and 5-year-old she should take this new job that put her on the road for eight months a year? She hedges on that one, but seems to be happy with her decision.
Things degenerate a bit from there. Questions drag, so Cheryl helps out. “You’re probably curious how we select the celebrities for Celebrity Jeopardy? Well we call them on the phone and ask them if they would like to be on Jeopardy. If they say yes, they’re on.” Well there’s some inside scoop! Wow! “Let’s see what else? Well, we really want to know what you think about Alex Trebek shaving his moustache.” Mixed reaction. Then the bottle-bodied beach blonde from Bama says she thinks it makes him look younger and more distinguished. I want to tell her there’s no point in upsucking – hey girl, the test is already over!
Cheryl gives up. She gets it: after ten minutes we all just want to know – do we stay or do we go? (I hear that song in my head. It was by The Clash — unfortunately also not on the quiz, dammit)
The Jersey guy who did the warmup act comes back: “And now the names of those eligible to stay for the next stage: Kevin Jones.” Are they going alphabetically? “Jennie Borstein.” Not alphabetical. Yes! I’m still alive. “Sammy Kittrell. Joan Sullivan. Rick Webber.” We settle in for a long wait. It will be worth it when our names are announced. “And Phil Williams. Thank you. The rest of you can go.”
Nobody goes. 144 shocked geeks sit in devastated silence.
“Thanks for coming.” Still no movement.
“We’re going to move on to the next portion of the audition now.” Without me?
“YOU CAN GO NOW!” Surely there are more than six names.
“PLEASE LEAVE QUICKLY SO WE CAN MOVE ON.” Wait don’t we get an appeal? What about lovely parting gifts?
“Please feel free to keep your Jeopardy® pens as our appreciation for trying out.” Well, that makes it worthwhile.
I also got a hat. Did I mention that?
We shuffle out. What can we say? The answer sheets don’t lie. But how do we tell our colleagues, our friends, our children, our spouses, our hamsters? We make up excuses, of course. The questions were stupid. They were way too hard. My Jeopardy® hat was giving me a headache. I wouldn’t have had time to go out to LA anyway. Did Alex Trebek ever solve world hunger?
Alex Trebek was (temporarily) dead to me, in all stages of hair growth, after the audition. I didn’t even have an opinion about his facial hair.
And who would even want to be the kind of geek who knew all the answers to all those questions?
Except that all of us wanted to be just the kind of geeks who knew just those kind of answers. And all of us would have flown at our own expense to LA in a New York minute… if we had made it.
And we still could. I know now that there’ve only been twenty-two Liberian presidents. I could learn those in April. Learn astronomy in May. Russian rivers in June. By this time next year, I could kill this thing! I’ve only got to get 35/50…
Notes:
Jeopardy wiki: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeopardy!
Cheryl Farrell worked on Jeopardy for 7 years: https://jeopardyhistory.fandom.com/wiki/Cheryl_Farrell
Weird Al “I Lost on Jeopardy, Baby”: https://youtu.be/BvUZijEuNDQ?si=ZchSFNlns087kjyZ