I WENT TO A SHOWING OF “THE PRICE IS Right,â€Â once. IT was one of the strangest, most miserable experiences of my life.

Spring break of 2007, a friend of mine scored tickets to the show, one of Bob Barker’s last. Of course, in those days, having tickets wasn’t enough to reserve a seat in the studio — we had to show up early and be close enough in line to the front. We pulled up outside of CBS studios around one in the morning, staking our spots.

For me, this gesture seemed extreme enough, as far as trying to get on the show. And yet, as we began unrolling our sleeping bags, it became immediately apparent that my friends and I were on the low end of enthusiastic.

Virtually every other group had people with matching shirts. We occasionally would hear the shouts and cheers of people further up in line than we were.

People who had made up chants. People who had made up songs. People who had brought signs. All about “The Price is Right.â€Â

I never would have taken them seriously enough to give a spot on the show as a contestant.

By the time daylight rolled around and crowd screeners had begun interviewing the audience for possible contestants, the general silliness of these people was at its peak.

I wondered then, and still do now, what motivation there was for this contingent of the crowd to act like caricatures of real people.

Toward the end of the show’s filming, the final contestant was announced — a man I recognized from the crowd who had been precisely one of these people.

Inevitably, he made it onto the stage, pumping his fists as though he̢۪d just won the Super Bowl.

And then he did a cartwheel. And then he went home with tons of prizes.

I was wrong, and he was right. He had exactly what it took to succeed.