Who wouldn’t want a Magic 8 Ball?

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 14/11/2018 (2805 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I have some shocking news for all you modern parents out there — there are only 41 shopping days left until Christmas.

And all of you nurturing, helicopter parents know exactly what that means, don’t you?

It means you need to drop whatever you are holding — unless it is a really expensive cup of Starbucks coffee — and head to the nearest mall to buy your kids some absurdly expensive gifts for Christmas, otherwise they will slam the door to their rooms and shriek at the top of their little lungs: “YOU’VE RUINED MY (BAD WORD) LIFE!!!”

If you are a modern dad, you can, of course, ignore that shopping advice, because science has proven that guys of our gender do not bother to get off the couch until Dec. 24, when we spring into action en masse and drive to the nearest gas station in hopes our loved ones will appreciate the gift of a novelty air freshener to hang in their car.

But the rest of you modern parents — yes, I’m looking at you, mom — are most likely sweating bullets right now because you don’t have a clue what to buy for the kids this year.

Well, fortunately, Uncle Doug has the perfect gift suggestion for your TV-watching, video-game-obsessed offspring, by which I mean… the Magic 8 Ball.

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking: “Huh? Are you talking about that goofy water-filled plastic orb that was made to resemble an oversized eight-ball and you could ask it yes or no questions, shake it up, flip it over, and the answers — in the form of affirmative, negative or non-committal statements printed in raised letters — would be revealed when a little 20-sided die floated up and pressed against a circular plastic window? Is that what you’re talking about?”

Ha ha ha! Yes, that is exactly what Uncle Doug is talking about, because last week, the nice folks at the National Toy Hall of Fame in Rochester, N.Y, inducted the Magic 8 Ball into its ranks of classic toys.

They also inducted pinball, which is a game that consumed the world’s quarters before video games were invented, and Uno, which is some kind of card game for folks who don’t believe Crazy Eights is crazy enough.

But it was their decision to pay tribute to the Magic 8 Ball that resonated with me, because I have owned one of these stupid fortune-telling toys since I was a kid.

Officials at the toy hall of fame told The Associated Press the 8 Ball was a finalist seven times before their judges finally decided to honour a hunk of plastic that was invented in 1946 and (you will find this hard to believe) ranks among the most popular toys of the 20th century.

Here’s what the hall of fame’s curator, Michelle Parnett-Dwyer, had to say about this toy: “Millions of people have purchased a Magic 8 Ball in the past seven decades and its wide appeal and quirky nature have helped it maintain popularity.”

I am not proud of this, but for years, I based most of my major life decisions on advice I obtained from my Magic 8 Ball. What is even scarier is that I am pretty sure U.S. President Donald Trump is relying on one of these toys to help him make poor decisions that affect most of the free world, as we can see from the following conversation I have just made up:

Trump: “Oh, Magic 8 Ball, should I invade Canada and confiscate all their poutine because I think Justin Trudeau is a little weasel?”

Magic 8 Ball: “All signs point to yes.”

Trump: “Is it obvious to the rest of the world that I look like a large pumpkin with a hairstyle that resembles a deceased woodland creature?”

Magic 8 Ball: “You may rely on it.”

The really sad thing is that the advice Trump gets from his plastic 8 Ball is going to be at least as reliable as any advice he gets from his team of crackerjack, obsequious White House advisers.

I was thrilled when the 8 Ball was inducted into the toy hall of fame, although not as excited as I was in 2008 when they honoured the stick (“Hey, you can poke things with it.”) or in 2005 when they inducted the cardboard box (“Gee, kids, you can stuff your little brother inside one and bury him in the backyard.”)

As a crusading journalist, however, I have to admit that I was deeply upset that, once again, the judging panel snubbed what I consider my favourite toy of all time, by which I mean Tudor Electric Football.

Electric football was one of the 12 finalists this year, but failed to make the cut, along with such other rejects as Tickle Me Elmo, the sled, tic-tac-toe and the Fisher-Price Corn Popper.

I don’t wish to sound overly judgmental, but this is a (bad word) travesty. I can still recall how excited I was on Christmas morning back in the 1960s, when I was just 11, and I unwrapped an electric football game.

What I am talking about here is a piece of sheet metal the size of a breakfast tray made to resemble a football field and, when you plugged it in and flipped a switch — “BUZZZZZZZZZZ!!!” — the playing surface vibrated wildly.

Me and my football-obsessed little pals would take about half an hour to carefully arrange little plastic football players on the field in elaborate formations, then flip the switch and watch with glee as they would vibrate in random directions, or spin in circles, or just topple over and twitch in agony — pretty much anything except whatever it was they were supposed to do.

So I am thrilled the Magic 8 Ball is part of the Class of 2018, but saddened electric football has been shunted to the showers (“ZZZZAP! Ouch!”) yet again.

In years to come, I pray the hall of fame will honour some of my other favourite classic toys, especially bubble wrap, because there is nothing in the world quite as satisfying as that “Pop! Pop! Pop!” sound. And, even if you run with it, you can’t put someone’s eye out.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca