I Would Give Anything To Be Able To Eat A Beyblade

Next week, I’m going to be 31 years old. My back hurts, I’m worrying about savings, and I’m only just recovering from never winning a 30 Under 30 Award. I have big boy worries like bills and blood sugar and insurance, but there’s one thing I do need to get off my chest.

I want to eat a Beyblade.

When my local game shop started selling Beyblade, I leapt in with both feet. Since then I’ve amassed a respectable collection of Beyblades (I refuse to call them ‘beys’), and have been playing in local tournaments. I haven’t won yet, but it’s been nice to try out something new and indulge in a bit of nostalgia.

The Forbidden Fruit

The only problem is nostalgia isn’t the only thing I want to indulge in. As they sit on my desk, clear plastic gleaming in the sunlight, my mouth begins to water. The base lizard part of my brain sees the bright colours and smooth textures and immediately decides I need to scoff the whole thing down like a gremlin.

Naturally, some look more delicious than others. Right now the one most at risk of being doused in chocolate sauce and served on a platter is my Wand Wizard, a bright yellow Beyblade that combines opaque and clear plastics to make a delightful, gummy-bear-looking treat. The yellow ones in general tend to look more sumptuous than the rest. My lizard brain wants it to be a zesty hit of lemon.

Steel Samurai should also be worried, though. The blade itself is mostly the opaque plastic that I’m convinced is a crunchy centre, but underneath lies one of the tastiest looking ratchets you’ll ever see. Clear red and blue plastic; the wonderful pairing of cherry and its best friend, the humble blackcurrant.

Unfortunately, I don’t own any green Beyblades, for if I did they would have been devoured long before play. I’m sure a Helm Knight or even Luke Skywalker would be sour apple; a tart bite that floods your mouth with moisture.

I don’t know what I’m going to do; they’re staring at me, and I don’t know how long I can stop myself from at least giving one a little nibble. It’s laundry pods all over again – those bursting sacks of carcinogens may have led me astray in the past, but I thought I was over it. I thought I was done eating things purely because they look bright and colourful, but here I am working out the best way to serve a spinning top.

Even the metal itself looks sumptuous. Maybe this is a sign I’m woefully anaemic, but the shining edges to the blades look like they’d have a moreish snap to them. A candy coating on the gooey, fruity centre. So ornate in their design, they tastefully surround the colour, like the shell of an oyster, telling you ‘No, no! You may enjoy my delectable middle, but only after you have sampled the crunchy shell first.’

Tips For Serving Your Beyblade

Maybe you could cater to your next tournament by providing a bowl of assorted ratchets, like they were crisps. Or a nice dip for the blades – thousand island or guacamole, I presume. Tear the ripcords from the launchers like you would the tail from a king prawn. As I descend more and more into what can more accurately be described as pica, I have become the Nigella Lawson of battling tops.

No, Scythe Incendio, you naughty little minx. I can’t eat you now, dinnertime is hours away yet and I don’t want to ruin my appetite. I can’t have my Dranbuster until I’ve finished my Horn Rhino – which goes much too far on the metal coating for my palette. It should be a harmony of flavours and textures, not a cannonball of metal and the merest sliver of colour in the middle.

The friends you invited to your Beyblade dinner party. They’re so hungry.

I’m fully committed now. I have invited guests, and together we shall dine. A starter course of BX-series Beyblades, before proceeding to the main course of UX. Maybe we’ll even enjoy a little CX aperitif, though those are still in short supply, even for the most ravenous of gastronauts as myself.

As my intestines become blocked and the blade pierces my stomach, I am happy. I am content. I ate the Beyblade, and it was worth it.

Beyblade X

For Ages

8 years and up

Batteries Required

No

Assembly Required

Product dependent.

Brand

Beyblade

Dimensions

Product dependent.