The Final Jeopardy Answer Everybody Knew

Except Me
​
And I happened to be the one actually on the show

​I've become convinced our brains aren't tape recorders.
They're screenwriters.

Every time we remember something, we edit it a little.
Eventually we forget the truth and remember only the story.

It was a hard question.
The answer was: Who is Franklin Pierce?

For months...no...years after the show aired people came up to me. 
Not people. Men. It was always a guy.

"Jim...I knew the answer. I knew it was Franklin Pierce," they'd say.

I tried to act like a good sport.
Inwardly I was always thinking:
Would a jury be sympathetic if I murder this guy?

The years have mellowed me. A bit.

These guys were doing what I do now.
My brain is slower. So when I hear the Jeopardy answer, I say to myself:
"Oh, I knew that."

That's not the same. People convince themselves that they knew.

Malcolm Gladwell would have a name for this phenomenon. Suggested book title: The Daily Double Fallacy.

The older I get the more I realize everybody is walking around with their own personal documentary in their head.

And somehow we're always the hero.

The Truth Depends On Who is Telling the Story.
And if you tell a story enough times, it becomes truth to you.

That's one of the themes of the novel I'm working on.
Don't worry. The philosophy isn't that deep.
Coming soon.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit.
I love it when a Jeopardy contestant does the: "I've always wanted to say this Alex/Ken. A True Daily Double."
Then gets it wrong.
Still bitter after all these years, I guess.

The Germans have a word for this: schadenfreude. It means getting pleasure from the misfortunes of others.

​Admit it: you do it too.

​By the way: If you know Malcolm Gladwell, please forward this to him. It's a great book idea. Maybe he'll let me write the Foreword.