Chuck Darrow goes inside auditions for 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire'

IF I had a dollar for every time I watched "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" and thought to myself, "I could so kill this game," I probably would be a millionaire.

While I get that this is not a particularly realistic way to achieve that financial status, I remained convinced that I could succeed on the venerable trivia game show, which airs locally weekdays at 12:30 p.m. on 6ABC.

Actually, I did try out about 10 years ago, with the intention of writing a story for the newspaper I worked for at the time. I schlepped to Manhattan and took the 30-question written quiz that is the preliminary step toward contestant-hood.

Although for decades my motto has been, "If it's meaningless, irrelevant or trivial, I probably know it," I did not do well enough to continue on the tryout process. You can be sure it was quite a blow to the ego.

So, when I hit the ballroom at Trump Taj Mahal, in Atlantic City, last Saturday to try again during the show's daylong contestant search, vanity was driving me almost as much as greed and the quest for a fun story.

While I would have liked to audition in complete anonymity, that was unrealistic. How would I explain the photographer who trailed me, seeming to snap my every move during the hour-and-a-quarter I was auditioning? But I insisted on no special favors.

This potential "Millionaire" wanted to be self-made.

At about five minutes to noon, I and about 90 others - a significant number of whom seemed old enough to remember classic quiz shows like "21" and "Tic-Tac-Dough" - were ushered into a Taj ballroom, where 10 rows of tables, 20 chairs to a row, had been set up.

There was some goofing around at first - mostly involving some members of our group showing off their dancing "skills" at the urging of "Millionaire" staffers.

Then that small corps of fresh-faced, highly energetic 20-somethings made sure that the envelopes containing 30 multiple-choice questions and Scantron answer sheets (similar to those used for standardized academic tests) were distributed.

Next came the ground rules - primarily, do not take pictures of or discuss the test details.

As we got the signal to start the 10-minute quiz, I looked down at the first question - and it immediately gave me cramps. It had to do with what would be considered a "niche" sport, so I took a wild guess. As with college SATs, an unanswered question is counted as a wrong answer.

Much later I realized that if I had given it a little more thought, I could have deduced the correct answer.

My dreams of "Millionaire"-hood seemed to vanish like so much smoke up a chimney. Especially when I had to guess on the second question, too.

But then things turned around, and I rolled through the next 25 or so questions with ease.

I finished with 2 1/2 minutes to spare.

After the time was called to stop, we waited for the announcement of the ID numbers (no names, please) of those who equaled or surpassed the secret number of correct answers that separated next-rounders from rejects.

My designation, "83," was about the 10th out of 19 numbers called.

Vindication!!

We moved to a smaller, adjacent ballroom where we filled out questionnaires about ourselves - such things as what we do for fun and ways in which our upbringing was "unique." (I was stumped, so I wrote: "My parents didn't murder me.")

Next, I was interviewed by a young production assistant named Mandy, who took my picture and asked me a few personal questions.

Determining that I might have the right personality to be a contestant (they look for animated, energetic types), Mandy sent me to another room where her not-much-older boss, supervising producer Liz Harris, greeted me from behind a digital video recorder propped on a tripod.

First we played a three-question round of "Millionaire." I missed a rap-music question but scored on those involving 20th-century literature and a famous American artist. Then came yet another Q-and-A about me, this time on video.

As Mandy already had, Harris asked me what I'd do with the million-dollar grand prize. I responded: "I'd spend most of it on women, booze and gambling, then probably waste the rest."

Flippant, maybe even stupid response, you're probably thinking. But I was betting the wisecrack would enhance my chances of being on the game show.

Did it? Don't know. Yet.

Harris told me that my video would be reviewed, and, if I was deemed acceptable (puhleeeeeze!), I would get an email within two weeks from the producers.

That, she continued, would guarantee me pretty much nothing. It seems that the best I can hope for is to be added to the potential contestants pool. Which means I could wait for as much as two years - or even the rest of my life - to be summoned before the TV cameras.

But, hey, it's better to be a potential "Millionaire" contestant than not have a chance at all.

And that's my final answer.

Blog: philly.com/Casinotes