I've got a new invention. It's a revolving bowl for tired

Hear, O children of wit and wonder, the playful words of Lefty Gomez, the great pitcher of the early game, who said: “I’ve got a new invention. It’s a revolving bowl for tired goldfish.” At first, the saying sounds like nothing more than a jest, a light remark meant to amuse. Yet, within the jest lies a deep truth about the folly of solutions that solve nothing, of inventions that appear clever but serve no real purpose, of humanity’s strange habit of creating answers where no problem truly exists. The revolving bowl is an image of absurdity, but also of wisdom: a reminder that not all that is new is necessary.

The goldfish, small and silent, is already confined to a life of endless circles. It swims in patterns dictated by the walls of its bowl. To invent a revolving bowl for such a creature is to attempt to ease what cannot be eased, to labor at futility. In this way, Gomez’s humor becomes parable. How often do men and women exhaust themselves chasing after the illusion of progress—building devices, making rules, forming plans—when in truth they are only rearranging the same limitations? The bowl spins, yet the fish remains trapped.

History offers many examples of this kind of folly. Consider the later years of the Roman Empire, when emperors, seeking to distract a restless people, poured wealth into ever-grander spectacles—games, festivals, elaborate displays—without addressing the deeper needs of hunger, corruption, and decay. The empire turned the bowl, but the goldfish, its people, remained weary. What was presented as progress was, in truth, motion without change.

Yet there is another layer. Gomez’s remark also reflects the human gift of humor—that ability to laugh at the absurdity of life, to find light in the shadows. Even the most brilliant minds, if they take themselves too seriously, fall into despair. But to see the comedy in our futile inventions, to smile at our endless attempts to ease the weariness of life, is to find resilience. The revolving bowl may be useless, but the laughter it brings is powerful, for laughter itself revives the spirit.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the nature of creativity. For though Gomez framed it as a joke, he revealed a truth: that creativity without discernment is wasted, that invention must serve true need, not imagined problems. And yet, his humor itself served a need greater than the bowl could have—it reminded those who heard him not to cling too tightly to seriousness, to embrace lightheartedness as a form of strength.

The lesson for us is clear: be wary of mistaking activity for progress, or invention for wisdom. Ask yourself always: does this action, this creation, this labor, truly serve life? Or is it only a revolving bowl, spinning in circles, giving the illusion of movement but no true change? Yet also remember that humor has its place, for sometimes a joke holds more truth than a thousand solemn speeches.

Practically, this means cultivating discernment and humility. Before devoting your energy to a task, consider whether it addresses a real need or whether it is only vanity disguised as progress. But also, do not scorn the power of humor. A light word at the right time can soothe the weary more than the most serious counsel. Be willing to laugh at your own revolving bowls, and by doing so, free yourself from despair.

So, O listeners, carry Gomez’s wisdom with you: the revolving bowl for tired goldfish is both a jest and a mirror. It reminds us of our tendency to chase false solutions, but also of our gift to laugh at ourselves. Take it to heart: seek true progress, not empty motion. And when you find yourself circling in futility, smile, laugh, and begin again with clearer eyes. For in humor and discernment lies the path to wisdom, even when spoken in jest by a ballplayer long ago.

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