Could I make it on a game show?

One of my future New Year’s resolutions is to compete on a game show.

And I would love more than anything to compete on either Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune. My family and I watched them both religiously, so the idea of standing behind a contestant’s podium feels especially meaningful.

Of the two, my first choice would be Jeopardy. 

Jeopardy feels like the Olympics for smart people. And Alex Trebek wasn’t just a host. He was the final boss of intellect.

Even though he’s not the host anymore, Ken Jennings as host brings a legendary presence to the show, and I think meeting him would be memorable.

As a child, the Jeopardy Daily Double siren terrified me and sent me into meltdowns.

My family teased me but also bragged about the time eight-year-old me beat the contestants.

One of the clues read, “This type of rock forms from the transformation of existing ones.”

Contestant: “What is igneous?”

Alex and me: “No.”

Me: “METAMORPHIC! What is METAMORPHIC?”

Seconds go by… nobody else tries… beep beep beep.

Alex: “That would be metamorphic.”

Momma: “Wow, you got that, Brie? You are so smart.”

I was labeled gifted in school thanks to my strong memory for random facts that impressed peers and teachers.

In fourth grade, we earned candy for correct trivia at the end of the day. I rivaled trick-or-treaters with my hauls.

But that curiosity didn’t fade as I grew up. That stayed with me into adulthood, right? I had to find out. Was I cut out for the Jeopardy stage?

Thankfully, Jeopardy has practice tests.

The test started well with U.S. History and Science. Then came “Opera in the 1700s” and “Obscure World Seas.” My childhood confidence was built on shaky ground.

I took the adult test and scored 18/30—probably not enough to qualify.

The college test was worse: 13/30.

As a teen, I might have auditioned with a 22/30.

Being “the smart kid” didn’t serve me well.

Between fourth-grade candy trivia and filing taxes, I realized adulthood doesn’t hand out Skittles for knowing Delaware’s state bird. So, absorbing random facts naturally fell by the wayside.

But there is hope in all of this. I find myself playing the game while watching it.

Currently, I’m watching Ken Jennings’ original run. I’m nowhere near his level, but I find myself answering a bunch of questions right. I consistently pull second place.

To secure my spot, I need to study more and survive auditions. This is my dream.

Why do I want this so much? It’s not just about proving I’m still the kid who knew “metamorphic.”

I want to prove to myself that my curiosity still lives on, even under deadlines and bills. At heart, I’m still the girl yelling answers at the television.

I’m still going to apply, and if I don’t make the cut, I’ll try out for Wheel of Fortune.

If Jeopardy demands encyclopedic knowledge of 18th-century composers, Wheel of Fortune asks that I know my consonants and remain calm under bright lights.

I can buy a vowel. Apparently, I cannot confidently remember any rivers besides the Nile.

On a side note, Jack Bagley, who writes our “Did You Know” column, would be excellent at Jeopardy.