JOHN VOSKUHL | Opinion Zero (What are my chances on 'Jeopardy!'?)

Everyone who ought to know tells me that the Utah man who has racked up more winnings on "Jeopardy!" than a Las Vegas whale is a nice guy. (Who is Ken Jennings?)
And yet, I have a quest: Get on "Jeopardy!," the answer-and-question quiz show, and beat Jennings, who has won more than $1.3 million.
Why? Believe it or not, it's not about the money. It's something more personal, that I cannot easily describe. Hey, I'm a trivia freak. When it comes to things that aren't trivial, I don't always have the answers. But I do have a story. This is it:
On Aug. 31, I join a line of about 800 that snakes through the parking lot of the Glenn Auto Mall in Lexington, and I immediately feel inadequate. We are all about to take a 10-question quiz to determine whether we're "Jeopardy!" material. So, how many of these people are smarter than me? (I mean, of course, smarter than I.)
Hmm. A lot of the men have unusual facial hair -- they must know things I don't. Yikes! The guy behind me is reading The Economist?! And there's a woman with a book; she must be an intellectual. What's the title? If I can just crane my neck ... Whew! "Secrets of the Code: The Unauthorized Guide to the Mysteries Behind the Da Vinci Code." What a relief!
The quiz
Then I'm in the dealership's showroom, which is arranged with four tables for the quiz. A jovial doorman directs me to a seat.
I sit. I'm handed a blue sheet of paper. The instructions say I do not have to phrase my answer in the form of a question. I hear a voice say I'll have five minutes to finish.
And, as I pick up a pen, a fog comes over me -- on little cat feet. (Who is Carl Sandburg?) With a quickening sense of doom, I fill in the blanks.
The good people at "Jeopardy!" have asked me not to reveal the questions on the quiz, but I can reveal this: I stunk up the joint.
A smiling woman takes my form and scans it for about three seconds. She looks at me and smiles. It's a gentle smile. I feel a smile of my own forming -- but it's not a happy smile.
"You're very close," she says. "But you didn't pass. I'm sorry."
My quest is over, dead in its infancy. I start to leave but then see before me the grinning visage of ... Ken Jennings. I get back in line.
Is that allowed? I don't know. Is that good sportsmanship? I'm not sure.
But I snake back through and this time I get a yellow sheet of paper. The questions are different, and to my taste, much easier.
Second round
This time, the Jeopardite tells me I've passed. She gives me a letter inviting me to another round of testing.
The next day, I and about 40 others show up at the Hyatt Regency for a 50-question test. We get eight seconds to answer each. It's rigorous.
When we finish, Dr. Brian Nolan, who serves as the chief medical officer for the Kentucky National Guard and who pulled recent duty in Iraq, turns to me.
"I think it's easier being shot at," he jokes, recalling a famous quote about how "nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result." (Who is Winston Churchill?)
Then, we're interviewed to figure out how interesting we are. I feel inadequate again. I'm up against a woman who delivered doughnuts to the front lines of the Vietnam War as a "Donut Dolly," and a guy who does nude modeling for art classes, among others.
All I can offer is my college-age hobby of collecting ketchup packets from various restaurants and the fact that I'm on an "Ahab-like quest to take down Moby Jennings."
"He's really a nice guy, you know," responds Maggie Speak, the contestant coordinator. She pauses, then she notes that the show tapes several weeks in advance and adds: "What are you going to do if he's already lost?"
In the data bank
I answer that the money would be plenty of incentive -- but that's really a lie. Speak tells our group that for the next year, we'll be in the data banks of "Jeopardy!," and may be called for some future taping in Los Angeles. (The chosen ones will be responsible for paying their own way out there, you know. What is "chintzy"?) It's far more likely that we won't be chosen for the 400-some slots that are available each year.
And when the year's over, so is our eligibility. If we haven't appeared on the show, we're welcome to take the test again.
So my quest may never reach fruition. But I'm not that upset. After all the relentless questioning, I finally came to a little self-knowledge. (Who is Socrates?)
XVoskuhl is an assistant managing editor at the Lexington Herald-Leader in Lexington, Ky.