Remember those childhood sick days when mom would set you up on the couch with ginger ale, saltines, and the television remote? There was something magical about being home on a weekday, wrapped in your favorite blanket, drifting in and out of sleep while daytime television played its familiar parade of shows. For those of us growing up in the 1970s, nothing made a sore throat or upset stomach more bearable than the colorful sets, distinctive buzzers, and enthusiastic hosts of daytime game shows. These weren’t just programs; they were comfort food for the soul when we needed it most, creating a special bond between viewer and show that lives on in our memories decades later.
1. The Price Is Right
The Price Is Right with Bob Barker premiered in 1972, bringing the excitement of “Come on down!” into our living rooms with its perfect blend of pricing games, spinning wheels, and regular folks winning big prizes. The distinctive theme music, Bob’s microphone-thin hosting stick, and the rainbow-colored Big Wheel created a visual language that remains instantly recognizable even today. Nothing was more exciting than watching contestants lose their minds over winning a brand new car or cringing when someone overbid by just one dollar. The trivia doesn’t end with the game show, because Mental Floss has over a dozen thrilling facts about the program.
Those sick days spent watching people guess the price of dishwashers and vacation packages somehow made our own problems seem smaller and more temporary. My mother would time my medicine doses around Showcase Showdowns, promising I could stay awake to see if the final contestant would win both showcases – a moment of pure television magic that could momentarily make you forget your fever.
2. Match Game
Match Game ruled afternoons with its irreverent humor, celebrity panel, and fill-in-the-blank questions that often pushed the envelope of 1970s television standards with thinly veiled adult humor. Gene Rayburn’s extra-long microphone and playful banter with panelists like Brett Somers, Charles Nelson Reilly, and Richard Dawson created a party atmosphere that felt like peeking into a grown-up world. The simple premise – contestants trying to match celebrities’ answers to questions like “Dumb Dora was so dumb…” – somehow never got old, especially when the celebrities were clearly enjoying inside jokes. As recounted on Nostalgia Central, this show took a bit to get its momentum, but then it became a television icon.
The show’s distinctive orange and blue set, accompanied by that hummable theme song, created a reliable sanctuary during sick days when everything else felt unpredictable. I remember my grandmother bringing me tomato soup and grilled cheese while watching Brett and Charles bicker like an old married couple – comfort food paired perfectly with comfort television.
3. The $10,000 Pyramid
The $10,000 Pyramid (which later increased its prize money as inflation demanded) featured a simple yet addictive word-association game that paired celebrities with regular contestants in a race against the clock. Dick Clark’s unflappable hosting style provided the perfect foundation for the genuine excitement that built during the Winner’s Circle, where clues like “Things that are flat” would send contestants into either triumphant celebration or agonizing defeat. The show’s genius was in its simplicity – anyone could play along from home, making it an interactive experience before interactive television existed. Its shorter-titled Pyramid turned 50, and TVInsider celebrated by recounting everyone who hosted it.
Each category reveal created a mini-drama that could make you temporarily forget your stuffy nose or sore throat as you shouted answers at the screen. My father, normally not a game show enthusiast, would often pause when walking through the living room during Pyramid, inevitably getting drawn into guessing along with surprising intensity.
4. Let’s Make a Deal
Let’s Make a Deal with Monty Hall transformed ordinary people in outlandish costumes into decision-makers facing the ultimate question: take the known prize or risk it all for what’s behind the curtain. The colorful trading floor atmosphere, filled with contestants dressed as everything from Vikings to giant bananas hoping to get noticed, created a carnival-like energy that was impossible to resist. The suspense of the final deals, where contestants might trade a perfectly good refrigerator for whatever was in Box #2, created genuine suspense that could make a sick kid forget their ailments.
The distinctive “zonk” prizes – like a live donkey or a room full of hay – taught us early lessons about gambling and knowing when to walk away. When I had chicken pox in second grade, my mother still recalls how I insisted on wearing a makeshift costume while watching from the couch, convinced somehow that Monty might spot me through the television.
5. Family Feud
Family Feud burst onto the scene in 1976 with Richard Dawson’s smooth hosting style and questionable habit of kissing every female contestant, creating a show that pit two extended families against each other in a battle to guess popular survey responses. The face-offs at the podium, the distinctive buzzer sounds, and the pressure of avoiding three strikes made each round a miniature drama. The simple concept – “We surveyed 100 people, top five answers on the board” – somehow never got old, especially when families gave outrageously wrong answers.
The “Fast Money” round at the end created two minutes of pure tension that could make you hold your breath despite your congestion. My cousins and I would play our own version during family gatherings, always arguing over who got to be Richard Dawson and kiss everyone’s hand.
6. Hollywood Squares
Hollywood Squares elevated the simple game of tic-tac-toe by filling the squares with celebrities who answered trivia questions with frequent zingers and double entendres that often went over our young heads. Host Peter Marshall masterfully kept things moving while center square Paul Lynde delivered sardonic one-liners that had the audience roaring and contestants deciding whether to trust his answers. The multi-level set with celebrities arranged in their squares created a visual that stood out from every other game show, making it instantly recognizable even when flipping channels.
The combination of simple gameplay and celebrity wit created a show that adults and sick kids could equally enjoy, operating on different levels. I remember my teenage sister explaining Paul Lynde’s jokes to me years later, revealing layers of humor I’d completely missed while focused on the X’s and O’s.
7. Password
Password paired celebrities with contestants in a word-association game that demonstrated how the simplest concepts often make the best television, particularly with host Allen Ludden’s gentle but firm control of the proceedings. The hushed concentration as players gave one-word clues, trying to get their partners to guess the password, created moments of genuine connection between celebrities and regular folks. The set, with its illuminated password board and face-to-face seating arrangement, emphasized the intimate nature of the game – this wasn’t about spectacle but about communication.
The beauty of Password was how it could make you feel like an active participant, whispering your own clues from under your blanket fort on the couch. My grandmother, who spoke English as a second language, particularly loved this show because it helped her vocabulary while being entertaining – we would watch together during my sick days, bonding over words.
8. The Joker’s Wild
The Joker’s Wild combined trivia with gambling elements, featuring a giant slot machine that determined question categories and point values while host Jack Barry presided with an authority that made every spin feel consequential. The distinctive sound of the slot machine tumbling, the anticipation of whether a joker would appear, and the risk-reward decisions of whether to spin again created genuine excitement. The categories appeared on large playing cards, creating a visual motif that carried throughout the show’s design.
The natural gambling element made it slightly naughty-feeling for kids, like we were participating in an adult activity just by watching. During a memorable bout with strep throat, I recall my father bringing home a toy slot machine that we filled with trivia questions written on note cards – a homemade version that entertained me for hours between episodes.
9. Concentration
Concentration challenged contestants’ memories as they matched prizes on a giant game board, gradually revealing a rebus puzzle that had to be solved to win. Host Bob Clayton (and later Alex Trebek) guided players through the memory game with a gentleness that made it feel like an educational experience disguised as entertainment. The dramatic moment when a contestant would suddenly understand the picture puzzle and race to solve it created surprise endings that kept viewers guessing.
The home playability factor was off the charts – we would create our own memory matching games using playing cards during commercial breaks. During one particularly long bout with bronchitis, my mother surprised me with the board game version, which we played between episodes while I recovered.
10. Tattletales
Tattletales brought celebrity couples to television to reveal how well they knew each other’s habits, opinions, and quirks, creating both romantic moments and playful arguments that humanized famous people. Host Bert Convy navigated the revealing questions with charm, while the audience sections (named “Red,” “Yellow,” and “Blue”) cheered for their assigned celebrity couples. The appeal was voyeuristic but wholesome – a glimpse into the private lives of public figures that made them seem more relatable.
The show succeeded because it featured genuine relationships rather than gameplay gimmicks – when couples disagreed about who really did the dishes or who snored loudest, the authenticity was undeniable. I distinctly remember my parents watching with me during a sick day, laughing together at couples’ disagreements while exchanging knowing glances about their own potential answers.
11. Card Sharks
Card Sharks combined simple high-low card game mechanics with survey questions about human behavior, creating suspense with every turn of an oversized playing card. Host Jim Perry’s enthusiastic “Higher! Lower!” calls encouraged audience participation, while contestants made life-changing money simply by guessing whether the next card would be higher or lower than the previous one. The massive cards being turned over by attractive models created a Vegas-like atmosphere that felt glamorous despite the simple premise.
The survey questions like “We asked 100 married men, have you ever forgotten your wedding anniversary?” provided social insights wrapped in entertainment. During a week-long bout with the flu, my uncle taught me actual card counting techniques while we watched, inadvertently giving me mathematics lessons disguised as game show strategy.
12. Sale of the Century
Sale of the Century added shopping elements to the quiz show format, offering contestants the chance to buy prizes at ridiculous discounts if they answered enough questions correctly. Host Joe Garagiola (and later Jim Perry) presided over lightning rounds of trivia interspersed with “Instant Bargains” – tempting merchandise offered at fraction of retail prices. The set resembled an upscale department store, with glamorous models presenting items that contestants had to decide whether to purchase or pass on, sacrificing potential lead points for immediate rewards.
The shopping strategy created a level of tension beyond mere trivia – should contestants build their lead or grab that stereo system for just $15? My most vivid memory involves watching during a snow day rather than illness, when my father explained inflation to me using the show’s bargain prices as examples.
These daytime game shows offered more than just entertainment during those under-the-weather days – they provided structure, companionship, and the reassurance that some things remained constant even when we felt terrible. The hosts became familiar friends, the music signaled specific emotions, and the rhythmic predictability of formats created a soothing backdrop for healing. While today’s streaming services offer endless choices, there was something special about the shared experience of these limited options – knowing that across America, other sick kids were also watching Bob Barker remind us to have our pets spayed or neutered. These weren’t just shows; they were gentle caretakers who helped us pass the hours until we felt well enough to return to school, leaving colorful memories that no modern binge-watch could ever replace.
