© Celine Sparks, 2023
I like them with just ordinary people on them.
I’ve been watching game shows every day of the summer since kindergarten. They used to truly rule the daytime airwaves in a dual monarchy with soap operas.
I don’t know what drives us to watch these things, but I know we never grow out of it. This is illustrated by the fact that at the assisted living facility, at 6:29 p.m., people will abandon a bingo card with 24 chips on it, and sprint down the hall like Mario Andretti in a walker race. The hall that took them forty-two minutes to walk down to the common area, now takes 16.3 seconds on the return trip.
The managers are going to have to take a Sharpie to the part of the brochure that says “quiet living in a peaceful environment” because in quadraphonic stereo from four hallways that merge into the central desk station, you can hear the words, “Wheel … Of … Fortune” in a volume that didn’t exactly break the sound barrier, but did put a good, solid crack in it. And voices that, moments ago, were too frail to say, “Pass the Metamucil” are now yelling out:
“Guess a C!”
“Mining on a luxury cruise!”
“That’s dining!”
“DINING ON A LUXURY CRUISE!!”
“I said it first!”
It’s 6:30 in America. Say what you will, Metamucil or no Metamucil, these people are regular.
I’m not making fun of them, because it’s really no different in our family room most nights. We have some pretty important dinner rules around here.
Don’t talk when Pat Sajak is talking.
Never walk in front of the screen for any reason, even if someone spills a drink and you’re trying to retrieve a towel.
If you can’t solve the whole puzzle, don’t say the one word you do know (usually beach).
The Dad in our family shouts out “Food Processor” every single night in the final puzzle, no matter how many words or letters it is, even if the category is “Famous Banjo Players.”
If someone hasn’t critiqued Vanna’s dress by the time we’re fifteen minutes in, check our pulse. Our bodies have obviously been taken over by aliens.
That’s how it goes. It’s even worse when Jeopardy comes on. So you can imagine the hubbub when we found out game shows are making a comeback on primetime network TV. I mean they’re bringing back the old, old game shows like Password; Lingo; 20,000 Dollar Pyramid; and Let’s Dress Up Like Grapes and Make a Goat Eat Hay Behind the Curtain.
All the greats are there. But here’s the catch. The players are celebrities. Ish. I’ve heard of a few of them. Or at least their faces look slightly familiar. Okay, well I’ve heard a similar name, and one of them looks like the librarian at the high school – I mean, if the librarian had dreadlocks on one side, thigh-high lime boots, and a mini skirt.
Pretty sure the real celebrities can’t come because they’re busy being celebrities – you know, starring in movies and stuff, so they feature ones that are temporarily out of work. (Man, Brett Summers must have had a really long, dry spell in the seventies and eighties.)
But we’re game. We don’t care who the contestants are as long as we can yell answers from the couch faster than the person next to us. But what we’ve found out is, we’re suddenly really, really good at this. Like before, on regular non-celebrity-just-ordinary-people Jeopardy, we were snapping our fingers and saying, “Oh, I’ve got this” to questions about a plant disease native to a country we’ve never really heard of. But now – Now, they ask things like which Peanuts character carries a blanket, and then throw in that his name starts with L and rhymes with minus. The celebrities stand there laughing at each other until someone buzzes in and says, “Mitochondria?” It’s kind of entertaining, but I’m pretty sure if Mark Goodson and Bill Todman were still alive, this would have finished them off.
I’m okay with it. People still buy vowels and make it a true daily double. There’s just something about watching a game show that never once mentions Lee Press-On Nails that doesn’t seem quite right to me.
Whatever happened to that?
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