Bobblehead dolls once died vicious deaths, strictly for amusement.
This was two decades ago, in the long and dry summers before Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire arrived to rescue the Oakland A's from mediocrity. The A's would promote an upcoming series with a scoreboard video that showed two bobblehead dolls smiling and nodding, side by side, one doll dressed in an Oakland uniform and the other in the uniform of, say, the Detroit Tigers.
Destruction followed: The Tiger doll would be pushed off a ledge, or a bowling ball would crash onto its head, or an elephant would stomp and crush it. The Tiger doll would be blown to smithereens, one way or another, while the Oakland doll just stood there, cheeks full of innocence, still smiling, still nodding.
The fans who roared with laughter at the A's antics back then would probably be screaming today: Don't blow up those dolls! They're worth good money!
The first sports memorabilia craze of the new century is decidedly old-fashioned.
Bobblehead dolls, those lovable seven-inch statues with bouncing heads and perpetual smiles, are no longer artifacts from the days before artificial turf, night games at Wrigley Field and expansion teams named after snakes. The dolls are the hottest giveaway items at sporting events this year, for some fans a bigger attraction than the games themselves.
The Dodgers have given away Tom Lasorda and Kirk Gibson dolls this season, with Fernando Valenzuela dolls on deck Sunday, and the Angels have given away Tim Salmon and Garret Anderson dolls, but the craze has broadened beyond its baseball heritage. Within a recent six-day span, you could have gotten a doll from the Avengers (a generic football player, complete with helmet and face mask), a doll from Hollywood Park (jockey Chris McCarron) and two dolls from the Sparks (DeLisha Milton and Coach Michael Cooper).
The craze is not limited to sports, or humans. President Bush has a doll. Country singer John Anderson has a doll. Charlie Brown and Oscar the Grouch have dolls, as do mascots both collegiate (the Stanford Tree) and corporate (the Spam Man, with arms and legs sticking out of a can of the fabled lunch meat). Philippe's, the legendary downtown Los Angeles sandwich emporium that is the antithesis of trendiness, nonetheless sells bobblehead waiter dolls for $9.95.
