Byline: Jon Masson
I've always wanted to travel to Australia, probably ever since exchanging letters as a youth with a pen pal named Malcolm.
However, not even a $1million first prize would lead me to attempt to be a 'Survivor' in the Australian Outback. I'd rather listen to a Bee Gees album and think about 'Stayin' Alive,' than actually have to prove I can do it.
The thought of hanging around with a bunch of people I don't know with an enormous television audience scrutinizing my every word, move or bodily function is unappealing enough. But the real issue is more personal. I'm just not an outdoorsman, adventurer or handyman.
Indiana Jon never ventured into 'Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.' When Jim was outside wrestling the anaconda, I was inside sipping non-alcoholic mint juleps with Marlin.
I consider roughing it to be staying at a hotel with no bell service. Or swimming pool. Or little chocolates placed on my pillow.
I'm lost in the wilderness if I don't earn points for my hotel visit. Or if there's no bar of soap with tiny bits of peppermint and oatmeal. Or -- heaven help us -- the cable package is inadequate.
Now don't start believing that I'm some soft, gentle soul who won't dirty his hands, speak his mind or face death-defying challenges. I've done all that and more, and some of the action-adventures didn't come with happy endings.
I once backpacked in the Arizona heat, trudging up a path deemed 'moderate' by a trail book. Moderate if you're a mountain goat. Only lemon drops and the theme from 'Rocky' maintained my spirits until reaching the group's camp spot, where the ground was lumpy and the plumbing fixtures were nonexistent. Fortunately, my snoring kept any wild animals at bay.
I've changed a flat tire on a rental car just off a jam-packed Dallas freeway. OK, so someone else did the heavy lifting. But I could tell which tire was flat.
I've had to sprint -- OK, I walked pretty fast and almost kept up with a woman who was eight months pregnant -- across the airport terminal in Pittsburgh only to have the door at the gate slammed in my face just as the plane was pushed back (and then proceeded to sit on the tarmac for 20 minutes).
I've grappled with a gator, using only my bare hands. OK, I lifted a batter-fried alligator strip off an appetizer plate and found it a bit chewy. But it did taste just like chicken.
I admit I am not the host of my own weekly fishing or hunting show on TV. I can't make a radio out of a coconut. And, unlike the 'Iron Chef,' I don't know how to turn cuttlefish into a six-course meal.
But I have climbed onto a bicycle and taken on 10,023-foot Haleakala, a volcano on the island of Maui. All right, so the ride was all downhill and breakfast was served.
OK, maybe to me, being in 'Jeopardy!' means making sure my answers are in the form of a question instead of eating rice and bugs while backstabbing my comrades in some remote location that doesn't have a concierge level.
Maybe I'm not a 'Survivor' in the truest TV ratings sense of the word. Maybe I'm not sport enough to win their game.
But let's round up Colby and Elisabeth and see if they can make it through a birthday party for our 4-year-old and her friends. Then, we'll see who survives.
