THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, December 1, 1995 TAG: 9512010073
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY RAMIN FATEHI, HIGH SCHOOL CORRESPONDENT
LENGTH: Long : 139 lines
How many game show viewers actually try out for their favorite game show? Lots of us sit on our couches and exclaim, ``This stuff is easy. If I go on (insert favorite game show here), I would tear it up!''
I've said that to myself often enough, and something finally motivated me to take action. Following through on that vague desire that nags many an armchair contestant, I tried out for the ``Jeopardy'' Teen Tournament. I hadn't bargained that getting to the test would be as hard as taking the test itself.
Twice a year, the ``Jeopardy'' producers solicit postcards from potential Teen and College Tournament contestants and select 1,200 teenagers and 1,200 college students randomly. These lucky people then travel to one of four regional sites - Houston, Chicago, New York or Los Angeles - to take the qualifying test.
I tried out for ``Jeopardy'' four years ago, but at 13, I fell to the written examination. I planned idly to try again. This is the last year I am eligible as a teen. I sent in my postcard, harboring a hope.
Sometime in September, a letter with ``Jeopardy'' splashed in blue across the top informed me that I was a candidate for the Teen Tournament. My testing center was New York City. Since Manhattan is a hike from Hampton Roads, my parents combined my examination with a brief visit to family in New Jersey. I decided to keep a journal of the events before and during my tryout.
Friday, Oct. 27, 5 p.m.
My parents, my brother and I depart from Virginia Beach. If we make good time, we will arrive at my uncle's house in Ridgewood, N.J., before midnight. We're all hunkering down for a long car trip.
Saturday, Oct. 28, 2:18 a.m.
My prediction regarding our time of arrival in Ridgewood would have been on target, but I had not taken into account mechanical failure at 11 p.m. outside of Jersey City. My father's incisive analysis of the car's malady, evidenced by plumes of smoke from under the hood: ``I think something has gone wrong.''
Jersey City is every bit the Club Med that its name connotes. In the face of our breakdown, we encounter unhelpful gas station attendants, apathetic police officers and marginally helpful highway personnel. After nearly blowing our car's engine looking for help, we locate a towing service and manage to get to a garage. Unfortunately, it cannot be fixed until Saturday morning.
This ungodly hour finds me in the Radisson Hotel in Newark, N.J. We have been forced to stop 100 miles short of our destination, but only half an hour from New York City. I have no idea how I'm going to get to the test tomorrow at 10 a.m., but that isn't my first worry. I need to get whatever sleep I can to be fresh for the tryouts.
Saturday, Oct. 28, 9:20 a.m.
Our car, of course, is in the shop. My parents decide that, in the interest of time, we should split up. They'll wait for the car and I'll go to Manhattan by cab. Thanks to some hair-whitening driving by my cabbie, who makes the Downtown Tunnel at rush hour look serene, I make the 30-minute drive to the Dorset Hotel, site of the tryouts, in 20. I give thanks for being alive and enter the lobby.
Dark wood paneling covered with portraits of stern Victorians gives this aging hotel the somber and heavy feel of a man-of-war in dry-dock. The contestants, arriving in twos or threes with their families, stand or sit quietly reading, fidgeting or catnapping. I now begin to worry that perhaps my method of preparation for the show, commonly known as ``nothing,'' will not serve me well. Too late to worry about it now. Trying to still my butterflies, I strike up a conversation with my neighbor, who identifies himself as Tim Fegin.
A senior from Annapolis, Md., poised and confident in a maroon baseball cap, Tim, to my relief, also subscribes to the ``nothing'' school of preparation. He simply has watched the show so much that he decided to try out. I inquire about his plans if he wins the $25,000 grand prize.
``I want to see some money first,'' he replies, smiling noncommittally.
Leaving Tim, I find a pair of guys chatting quietly in a corner. Eric Pachenko of St. Joseph's school in Metuchen, N.J., and Adam Woods from St. Pius Academy in Pottstown, N.J., both sophomores, have come to the tryouts together. These two have planned slightly more than Tim or I have. Studying together, they have played mock games (with buzzers), watched old shows and followed Eric's parents' suggestion: ``Study! Study!''
Despite their preparation, Adam and Eric worry about being bested by seniors with more general knowledge. They also suggest that, after you pass the written test, the judges are looking for personality. ``It's not what you know; it's how you act,'' declares Adam.
Saturday, Oct. 28, 10:10 a.m.
The test begins a bit late. A brown-haired, businesslike woman in her 30s ushers us into a ballroom filled with tables and television monitors. All 85 of us sit down. The woman introduces herself as Barbara and begins by taking a show of hands to find out whence people have come. Most applicants are from New Jersey or New York, but appreciable numbers are from New England and the mid-Atlantic states. Barbara then tells us the ground rules.
The test begins with 50 fill-in-the blank questions worth $800 to $1,000 in adult Double Jeopardy. There is no cutoff score for the exam. Those who pass the test go on to an oral examination.
After receiving the instructions, Barbara's assistant turns on a videotape, and the monitors spring to life. As Alex drones an introduction, I prepare for the questions. To my surprise, most only require general knowledge and are not tricks. I feel hopeful, but not optimistic.
Shortly thereafter, Barbara returns to the room. She calls out five names and, to my surprise, mine is one of them. Interestingly, Tim also makes the cut. As the other 80 people file out of the room disappointedly, we go to the front to await the next segment.
In this section of the test, we five engage in a mock game of ``Jeopardy,'' without point values or set categories. Then we present a one-minute monologue. Barbara and her assistant moderate the game and judge our monologues.
We all move quickly through questions about William Wordsworth and the Articles of Confederation, putting on our best game-show contestant persona. After that, we complete a monologue on the topic of our choice without too much trouble. The budding Nick Leeson, who discusses his stock portfolio earnings, especially holds everyone's interest. Barbara takes our pictures and sends us on our way.
Afterward, I catch up with Tim and another of the finalists, Carmen Abrazado, a senior at Stuyvesant High School in Manhattan. According to our unscientific calculations, about 100 of 1,200 applicants had made it to the second round of testing. Of these, 15 will compete in the Teen Tournament.
Tim and I are both excited about making it this far, but Carmen is much more blase'. This was also her second attempt at making the Teen Tournament, and since her mother had been on the show, she feels less pressure to do it herself.
Carmen also mentions that she is more worried about college applications and her science project for the Westinghouse Talent Search than about making it on ``Jeopardy.'' Tim mentions his preoccupation with the upcoming hockey season.
The decision will be made by the end of December. It would be nice to make the show, but it will not be a disaster if I don't.
As we three went our separate ways, I felt the same lack of concern for my prospects as Carmen and Tim did about theirs. I had yet to fill out my college applications, and I needed to keep up with my school work. Game shows are fun, but they must take a back seat to life's bigger problems, like whether I would have to hitchhike back to Virginia . . . MEMO: Ramin Fatehi is a senior at Norfolk Academy. ILLUSTRATION: STAFF PHOTO ILLUSTRATION
Color photo
When he is not playing Jeopardy, Ramin Fatehi is a senior at Norfolk
Academy.
by CNB