Excerpt from “Domino on Your Radio: Unlikely Tales From an Introvert on the Air.”

This is from a chapter titled “The Great Greyhound Adventure.”

Let me tell you something about radio station contests that might surprise you.

I learned years ago that only 8% of your listeners will ever in their lifetime participate in a radio contest. That includes the people who play once—then never again—and the people who play every single contest, every single day. Add them all up and it’s about 8%.

Which means, when you flip it around, over 90% of listeners will never, ever play one of your radio games. That, to me, is astounding.

And yet, radio stations continue to pour money and marketing efforts into one contest after another. Not nearly as many big prizes as they used to, that’s for sure. But hardly a week goes by that you don’t get inundated with messages about how you can win this or that. Some prizes are very nice, including trips and/or cash rewards, while others are just nice, like concert tickets or dinners out.

Why do stations have contests if so few people take part?

It’s a good question. The answer is: Someone decided long ago that the 8% who play the games are likely the same people who would agree to participate in radio listening surveys.

In other words, the contest players are (perhaps) more likely to influence the ratings. Therefore, radio stations cater to them. (I have a chapter coming up later on the nonsense of radio ratings.)

What I decided for myself long ago was to not think of them as contests so much as avenues for connecting with the people who don’t take part. Satisfy the contest folks while entertaining the spectators. I’m not sure how other radio geeks handle it, but that’s my personal stance on contests.

I’ve hosted a particular feature on the morning show for over 30 years. It’s called The Mindbender, and it has truly transcended the realm of a radio contest. Sure, it involves calling in and answering a lifestyle/culture-type question, such as:

The average woman has nine pairs of shoes with this in common.

Answer: She never wears them.

But the reason it’s the most popular radio contest in the world (a tagline I attached to it with no corresponding data whatsoever—sue me) is because it really doesn’t matter if you call in to play or not. Everyone can play along, even just sitting alone in the car. I took what could’ve been a dumb contest and turned it into a conversation. Sometimes a long, drawn out conversation—I’ve had Mindbenders that lasted 90 minutes before getting a winner—but the entire segment allows people to think about life in a fun way they don’t get anywhere else.

The Mindbender is a blast. And over the decades I’ve done it, it has completely dominated the ratings in Denver radio. Nothing else even comes close. It is truly a ratings and revenue juggernaut, enjoyed by millions over the course of three decades.

One of the most memorable contests I’ve ever hosted during my career, however, involved just one person.

And when it was over, she declared she would never—as long as she lived—listen again.

Here’s what happened.

It was 1994, and someone in our promotions department suggested we give away a trip to Las Vegas. You know, one of those glittering prizes with three nights in Sin City and fun and excitement and perhaps a few naughty transgressions. No judgment here.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized this contest would really only make the winner happy, while everyone else would just go about their day. How could I make the contest interesting to the people who didn’t get a trip to Vegas? What would keep them interested, even after we had a winner?

So this is what I came up with.

I don’t remember the actual methodology of the contest itself—that’s not important—but the grand prize winner and a guest would fly off with our delightful producer, Lee Ann, who would act as our correspondent while escorting the winner to Vegas.

But there was more. Much more. And the winner HAD to agree to the rules before they could take the trip. No backing out.

(That’s important, so remember it.)

Lee Ann and the winner would fly from Denver to Las Vegas, where they would immediately hop in a cab—this was pre-Uber—and head to a casino. They would not check in to a room. The winner, with their luggage, would march straight over to the game of their choice, where Lee Ann would give them $1,000 to gamble.

On one bet.

Yes, they would get one single $1,000 chip to wager any way they wanted. They could put it on one roll of the dice, they could play one hand of blackjack, they could play one hand of poker, or maybe gamble it on roulette. Their choice.

If they won, they would take the $1,000 and any winnings, plus another $1,000 in cash from the radio station, and enjoy the rest of the weekend on our dime. They’d get a nice hotel room, all their food and beverages, tickets to a show, and the big stash of cash to play with. Then, when the weekend was over, they would fly home. As the Beatles once sang, a splendid time was guaranteed for all.

Ah, but if they lost that one bet . . .

To me, this was the beauty of the promotion.

If they lost the bet, they would not check in to a room. They would immediately pick up their bag, turn around, walk back out of the casino, and hop in another cab.

But not to the airport. Oh, no.

They would take the cab to the Las Vegas bus station, where they would promptly get on a Greyhound bus for the roughly 16-hour drive back to Denver.

All of this decided by a single $1,000 bet. It would truly be gambling.

You probably see where this is going because I told you the winner hated my guts when everything was over. Her boyfriend wasn’t thrilled, either.

She won the contest on my radio show and was elated. She thanked us and, on the appointed day, she and her boyfriend met Lee Ann at the airport with their carry-on bags. The prize winner was bubbly and excited. We talked to her by phone on the show just before the three of them boarded the flight. We wished her well.

That’s a quick flight, by the way. They landed before my show ended and jumped in the cab to the casino. We’d found one that was happy to play along and would allow Lee Ann to do play-by-play on the phone, live on the radio.

Now, think about this for a moment. Put yourself in this woman’s shoes—because that’s what EVERY listener did. What game would you choose? Would you play one hand of blackjack? Would you play a hand of poker? Take your chances betting on red or black with roulette? What would it be?

You can see the beauty of this contest, right? Only one woman won, but every listener just had to know what happened. Would she win and then get treated to a lavish, free weekend in Vegas?

Or would she lose and have to take a stinky bus ride back to the Mile High City?  I mean, you couldn’t NOT listen.

She chose blackjack.

All right, you and I could debate this all day long. Afterward, we had tons of people tell us she should’ve gone with one roll of the dice at the craps table. Others quoted the odds of all the other games of chance. But it doesn’t matter. She loved blackjack, it was the game she was most comfortable with, and she felt good about her choice.

LA (that was my nickname for Lee Ann) stood next to her at the blackjack table and handed her a single chip worth $1,000—which, in itself, is a cool visual for the listeners to imagine. According to LA, the woman was still giddy and thankful for the opportunity.

We all wished her well, she put the chip on the table, and they dealt the cards.

She got 15. The dealer had a face card showing. To this day, I remember Lee Ann murmuring these details into the phone. Although she couldn’t actually say the words, the tone of her voice said, “Oh, shit.”

Because if you know blackjack, you know this sucks. If you don’t know blackjack—well, now you know this sucks. She could’ve sat on her 15 and hoped the dealer wouldn’t beat her, but the odds tell you that you’ve got to hit it. She did.

And got a face card.

She busted.

Game over.

I couldn’t see or hear our tens of thousands of listeners at that moment, but I imagined a gigantic, collective “Oh my God!” being shouted around the entire Denver metro area. Later, people told me they sat in the car outside their office, waiting to hear how it turned out before they went into work. Others told us they stopped working and turned up the radio at their desk. People had to know if she was going to win or not.

And I have no doubt it was the number one topic of conversation around an awful lot of offices that morning. “Did you hear that lady lose the blackjack bet? Now she has to ride a Greyhound bus back to Denver!”

It’s been nearly 30 years since this happened and I still remember the buzz. And, to be completely transparent with you, this was the best outcome I could hope for. Sure, I felt bad for the woman and her guest on some level, but in terms of pure radio entertainment, it was hard to top this.

If she’d won, thousands of listeners would’ve shrugged, turned off their radios, and probably never uttered a peep about it to anyone. Yeah, someone won a trip to Vegas, and now they’re going to have a fun weekend while the rest of us go back to work. Yawn.

But for the sheer drama, nothing could beat her losing that bet and having to ride a bus home. Sucked for her. Radio gold for everyone else. If that sounds cold, well, I guess it is. It’s also the cold, hard truth. You think Reality TV would have any ratings at all if there was no drama?

Here’s what I expected to happen afterward and here’s what actually happened.

I expected this woman to feel the sting for a bit and to perhaps mourn the lost weekend that could’ve been—but then to laugh and say, “Well, let’s go catch the bus, Lee Ann.”

That didn’t happen.

What LA told me later was that the woman said, “Dom’s not really going to make me do this, right? You’re really just gonna let me stay here all weekend, right? It’s just a joke.”

No, Lee Ann told her. The rules are the rules. The ones you agreed to.

“But it’s just a joke,” the woman insisted. “There’s no way you’re gonna make me ride that bus.”

We made her ride the bus.

You might say, “That’s mean. You should’ve let her stay.”

I don’t think so. We made sure she knew the consequences. She agreed, more than once, before she ever left Denver. If we’d let her stay in Vegas, we would’ve just gutted the whole premise of the contest and—this is important—nobody would ever believe any of our promotions ever again. What would be the point of the contest? Just another winner going to Las Vegas? Ho-hum.

Anyway.

LA at least bought them a late breakfast, then took them to the bus station where they boarded a Greyhound for Denver. And yes, I also felt bad that LA had to suffer that consequence—but she, too, had agreed before volunteering to take the trip. She was in the seat behind them.

When I spoke to LA two days later, she told me the woman was beyond pissed off and had vowed to never listen to my show again. And would tell all her friends what a horrible person I was.

Sigh.

Was I a horrible person?

Did I sacrifice a woman’s comfort for a ratings ploy?

Well—yeah. But I’m in the ratings business. And if she’d won that bet, I would’ve followed through with my promise of an extra $1,000 and a glorious weekend, all expenses paid. It’s called gambling, ya know?

When I think about this classic contest, I’m reminded of Mr. Spock’s famous line in the movie, “The Wrath of Khan.” He tells Kirk: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one.”

In this case, the “many” were the thousands of listeners who found the whole thing incredibly entertaining.

When you watch someone in a dunk tank at a carnival, they’ve agreed to sit on that platform while people throw softballs at the big target, hoping to splash the poor victim into the tank. It’s not for the victim’s entertainment; it’s for the entertainment of everyone standing there, witnessing the spectacle. If the softball hit the target and the person stayed dry, no one would ever watch again. No, they need to go down, and hard. That’s the payoff.

My contest winner was metaphorically sitting on that dunk tank platform and, from the perspective of almost every single listener—especially the ones who’d tried to win and didn’t—she needed to get dunked.

I was disappointed she got angry about it, and I tried reaching out to her when they got back to town. But she ignored my calls, and that was that.

In the nearly 30 years since I did that contest, I’ve never repeated it. For one thing, I admit I was taken aback by the woman’s anger. It’s something I hadn’t counted on, although, in hindsight, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised.

But I also believe strongly in the concept of “Just let it be good.” After scoring a hit with this particular contest, I didn’t want to milk it any more. It was good, so just let it be good—and find other fun contests to do.

And that’s exactly what I did. A contest called Bladder Busters, which I’ll cover in a later chapter—and something that got shut down by the lawyers.

I did the Pound-a-Thon, which also got nixed later by the legal beagles.

The thing is, a good radio show finds the fun drama that people don’t quite expect. No one in the history of radio had ever flown a contest winner to Vegas and made them take a 16-hour bus ride home. No one. But I did.

With apologies to the contest winner and her boyfriend, it was pretty freaking epic.

And what about you? If you chuckled at all when you simply read about it, does that make you a bad person?

I don’t think so. The whole premise was a fun gamble, and what more fitting place than Vegas to watch gambling drama unfold?

Not all NASCAR fans watch the endless left turns hoping someone will crash, but an awful lot sure do. When we watch downhill skiers fly through those gates at anywhere from 60 to 90 miles per hour, we’re not hoping they’ll bite it, but if they do, we don’t look away. That’s part of the intrigue of the sport.

Personally, I’m not a fan of bullfighting. But I gotta believe they fill those arenas with people who hold out hope the bull will get sweet revenge for all the others who’ve been sacrificed. Same with the running of the bulls in Pamplona.

Is it because we’re just happy it’s not us getting trampled by an angry bull? Are we relieved we didn’t crash on the slopes of Vail?

And was the bus ride from Vegas somehow funny because someone else won the prize that could’ve been ours? Why do we watch, wide-eyed, to these spectacles? What part of our psyche is turned on by what The Wide World of Sports once labeled “the agony of defeat”?

The American Psychological Association issued a report that says we learn more from negative experiences—including just watching them—than we do from positive ones. One doctor claimed this “negative bias” stimulates our brains far more than a happy event. And, importantly, he said we become “incubated emotionally,” which helps us learn coping mechanisms.

Even Aristotle said we get satisfaction from watching others go through drama, where we can work out our own emotions about it in a safe way.

I’m sure all of this is true.

For me and my listeners, the Great Greyhound Adventure was a “better you than me” moment.