The car sat on a large lazy-susan, A montage of shots followed showing the prizes on display.
Gameshow Hour Begins
Five o’clock every weekday afternoon, jazzy music filled our loungeroom from our analogue television set.
A typical afternoon saw Mum and I lazing in front of it on recliners. At twelve-years my wild blond hair was tamed in a long plait and and my lenses were thick as coke bottles.
My twenty-eight-year-old mother sported highlights and a Princess Diana perm. and possession the remote control. That’s Mum. She gripped the remote control like her life depended on it.
Wheel of Fortune
Game show hour started with John “Burgo” Burgess introducing the game, his assistant, Adriana Xenides, and the contestants.
A large colourful wheel appeared, littered with “Lose-a-turns”, “Bankrupts”, “Top-Dollars” and numbers representing money. We hushed as Round One began.
Mum and I diligently studied the first clue, hidden behind an arrangement of empty blocks and guessed letters along with the contestants who took turns.
When right, Adriana turned the blocks around, revealing the places where the correctly guessed letter appeared. When wrong, a buzzer sounded.
“You stupid bitch! Why would you pick X?”
The round progressed, Adriana revealed more letters and Mum’s commentary grew more animated.
“You stupid bitch!” Mum berated a flustered contestant, who clearly regretted throwing her top dollar spin away on her random choice. “Why would you pick X?”
We both shook our heads.
Mum’s shouting continued, as the screen flicked to the next contestant.
“See? Told ya,” Mum said.
“What an idiot,” I said, quick to join mum’s bandwagon.
When Adriana revealed more letters, I guessed the clue.
The long-running afternoon ritual lasted two more rounds before the final “bonus” round.
“I‘m gonna go on this show… And I’m going to win win it.”
Not for the first time or the last, I announced, “I’m gonna go on this show one day, Mum, and I’m going to win it!”
“You probably bloody will too.”
Family Feud
Next, Rob Brough ran onto another game show set and announced the opposing family-teams of four, who would battle it out on Family Feud.
Our family would’ve made the scene look more like a Jerry Springer episode, ending with security carrying someone out.
The team leaders stood either side of Rob, awaiting his question and the chance to buzz in with the correct response.
“Name something you would do in the shower!”
“Wash your hair!” Mum called.
Sing!” I shouted.
“Idiot!” Mum shouted at the screen, when the first contestant struck out.
“Who dances in the shower?” I responded.
Attempts to boogie in the shower would not end well for anyone.
“Hey mum, we should go on this show,” I suggested as the show broke for the commercials. “I think we’d win!”
Mum howled. “With our family? Who would we ask, your brothers? Your sister? Mine?” I understood her point.
Our family would’ve made the scene look more like a Jerry Springer episode, ending with security carrying someone out.
With that I let the idea go. Gameshows came and went as television went digital. I never auditioned for Wheel of Fortune.
“The Chase” Audition
Over the years I filled my brain with useless facts. My chance to dust them off came almost thirty years later when I auditioned for The Chase.
To my surprise, I blitzed the phone-call round and progressed to the next round.
I was a canon, firing more correct answers than I thought I knew.
I studied harder than all my school and university exams combined.
I arrived in Melbourne early on audition day. I walked into a conference room with at least twenty others and sat (and bombed) a multiple-choice test in front of a panel of producers.
The verbal “Final Chase” round was my chance to shine.
In a line of hopefuls, I was a canon, firing more correct answers than I thought I knew walked out sure I would get a call-back.
“Thank you everyone, we will be in contact,” a producer said.
Seven years later, in mum’s cozy loungeroom Tipping Point played on a large flat screen.
Tipping Point
“We have a rider.”
This game was the perfect combination of general knowledge, skill and chance. Counter-drops worth fifty British pounds each. The most desired were doubles and mystery prizes. The lucky moved from, the top platform to the next and pushed a pile into a waiting trough.
Mum clutched the remote control and berated contestants with the same fervor she had thirty years ago.
There’s a little grey in mum’s pixie-cut highlights now, and mine is shorter but still wild.
With bated breaths we watched the male contestant hover, hands poised over a button as if about to perform Coronary Pulmonary Resuscitation rather than activate the counter-drop.
“Now!” we yelled., Half a second later, he pumped the button.
“Fuck! Idiot! Too late!” Mum said. “It’s gonna’ ride now, watch!”
“Listen to us,” I said, “yelling at these people like they can actually hear us!”
Momentarily silent, we watched Mum’s prediction play out.
“We have a rider,” the host, Ben Shepard announced. Not a single counter dropped into the trough.
“See? Told ya,” Mum said. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yep,” I said.
Evidently the way Mum and I interact with TV gameshows has not changed a bit.