At every carnival or fair I have ever been, always there was a vendor stand with plastic ducks of many colors floating aimlessly in a shallow ring of water. ‘Round and ‘round they go, only to go ‘round and ‘round some more. It’s a classic game of chance in the simplest form. Pick up an encircling duck of your choice and win whatever shoddy prize happens to be written on its underbelly. The thought of the game, because of its lack of complications, used to make me smile as I passed by. The prizes themselves were limited in range. An unlucky plucking would be rewarded with a glow-in-the-dark sticker, and yet even with the best blind selection you’d walk away with maybe a moderately-sized, pink, stuffed whatever. The most common prize was a goldfish. The goldfish would swim ‘round and ‘round in a pint-sized plastic bag, swim ‘round and ‘round, but before he can even be transferred to a gallon-sized bowl he’s belly-up with dead written all over him.