Duck Duck Grey Duck: Minnesota's Hill to Die On

Here's a simple test to determine if someone is from Minnesota: Ask them what game children play sitting in a circle, tapping heads, before running around being chased. If they say "Duck Duck Goose," they're from literally anywhere else on Earth. If they say "Duck Duck Grey Duck" — and then get a little defensive about it — you've found a Minnesotan.

This isn't a minor regional pronunciation difference, like "pop" versus "soda" or whether you call it a "casserole" or "hotdish." This is a fundamental disagreement about the rules of a children's game, and Minnesotans are absolutely certain they're right. The rest of the country — all 49 other states, most of Canada, and the entire English-speaking world — plays it differently. Minnesota does not care.

The Rules, For the Uninitiated

In the version played everywhere else, children sit in a circle. One child walks around tapping heads and saying "duck, duck, duck..." until they tap someone's head and say "goose!" The goose jumps up and chases them. The game is simple. The rules are self-evident. A goose is not a duck. Done.

In Minnesota, the child walks around saying "duck, duck, duck..." but they can say anything: "blue duck, red duck, purple duck, striped duck, polka-dot duck..." until finally choosing someone and declaring them "grey duck." The grey duck chases them.

"It's duck, duck, gray duck. You're all wrong."

— Tim Walz, Governor of Minnesota

This argument — that the Minnesota version adds cognitive complexity to a game played by four-year-olds — is delivered with complete sincerity. Minnesotans genuinely believe they've improved upon a children's game through mental rigor.

Where Did This Come From?

The honest answer is: nobody knows for certain. But the leading theory involves the massive Scandinavian immigration to Minnesota in the late 1800s and early 1900s. In Sweden, there's a similar game called "Anka Anka Gås" (Duck Duck Goose), but there's also a traditional game involving color-naming.

The Swedish theory suggests that immigrant children merged two games — a chase game and a color-identification game — into Duck Duck Grey Duck. The "grey" specifically may come from the Swedish word "grå" (grey), which sounds similar and was a color commonly used in naming games.

There's also the Norwegian connection. Norway had similar circle games, and Minnesota received more Norwegian immigrants per capita than almost anywhere else in America. The 1910 census showed that foreign-born Norwegians and Swedes, plus their first-generation American children, made up nearly 30% of Minnesota's population. When your schools are that heavily Scandinavian, the playground games are going to reflect it.

Whatever the exact origin, the game became embedded in Minnesota's cultural DNA. By the mid-20th century, it was simply what you played. Children in Duluth and Rochester and Mankato had no idea the rest of America was doing it differently. They grew up, had children, taught them Duck Duck Grey Duck, and the tradition continued.

The Discovery That Others Existed

For generations, most Minnesotans simply didn't know. The game was the game. It wasn't until increased mobility — college students leaving the state, the internet connecting people across regions — that Minnesotans began encountering the horrifying reality that the rest of the world played Duck Duck Goose.

The reactions fall into predictable stages. First: disbelief. Then: the assumption that the other person is wrong or messing with them. Then: a defensive insistence that Grey Duck is correct and everyone else has been playing it wrong this whole time. Finally: a sort of defiant regional pride that yes, Minnesota does it differently, and that's actually superior.

"I went to college in Wisconsin and played Duck Duck Goose at a party and I genuinely thought they were hazing me. I was 19 years old and learning for the first time that my entire childhood game was apparently fake."

— Reddit user from Minneapolis, r/minnesota

The internet has only intensified this. Reddit threads about Duck Duck Grey Duck routinely attract thousands of comments, with Minnesotans defending their version against the entire country. Local news stations run segments about it. Sports teams reference it. It has become a marker of Minnesota identity in a way that transcends the actual game.

The Arguments

Minnesotans have developed remarkably sophisticated defenses of their version. The primary argument is cognitive: Duck Duck Grey Duck requires children to listen carefully, since "grey duck" sounds similar to all the other color-ducks, while "goose" is an obviously different word that any half-conscious child will notice.

The counter-argument — that children are playing a circle game at recess, not training for Navy SEAL selection — has not gained traction in Minnesota.

A secondary argument involves creativity: the Minnesota version lets the "it" child be creative with their duck descriptions. This, Minnesotans argue, encourages imagination and language development. The counter-argument — that "striped duck" and "polka-dot duck" aren't exactly Shakespeare — is dismissed as missing the point.

There's also the heritage argument. Duck Duck Grey Duck connects Minnesotans to their Scandinavian roots, even if those roots are now several generations removed. In a state that celebrates lutefisk dinners and lefse festivals, this counts for something.

The Rest of the World

Duck Duck Goose, for its part, has ancient roots. Similar circle-chase games exist in virtually every culture. The Swedes have their Anka Anka Gås. The Germans have Plumpsack. In Ghana, children play a version called Antoakyire. The basic format — children in a circle, one selecting a chaser — appears to be a human universal.

But nobody else plays Duck Duck Grey Duck. Academics who study children's games have noted Minnesota's version as a genuine regional variant — not just a pronunciation difference, but a fundamentally different rule set. It's survived over a century despite nationwide media, standardized education, and the homogenizing forces of American culture.

Other states have regional quirks, but few are this committed to them. You can find pockets of "Duck Duck Goose" players in Minnesota — transplants, rebels, contrarians — but they're treated as cultural outsiders. Duck Duck Grey Duck isn't just a game. It's a loyalty test.

Modern Significance

In an era when regional differences are fading — when you can get the same coffee and watch the same shows anywhere in America — Duck Duck Grey Duck has become a symbol of Minnesota distinctiveness. It's silly, but it's theirs.

Politicians have invoked it. Local businesses have built marketing campaigns around it. Minnesota sports teams reference it. When the Minnesota Vikings need to prove their local credentials, Duck Duck Grey Duck comes up. It's a shibboleth — a password that proves you're really from here.

"There are two types of people: those who played Duck Duck Grey Duck, and those who played it wrong."

— Common Minnesota saying, Unofficial state motto

The game has even become a minor tourist attraction. Visitors to Minnesota sometimes ask about it, having seen the memes and the arguments online. Locals are happy to explain, at length, why their version is superior. The explanation usually takes longer than any actual game of Duck Duck Grey Duck.

The Truth Nobody Wants to Hear

Here's the thing: both versions work fine. Children have been happily playing both for generations. Neither version produces smarter kids or better citizens. The elaborate arguments about cognitive complexity are retrofitted justifications for something people learned before they could tie their shoes.

But that's not really the point, is it? Duck Duck Grey Duck persists because it's a way for Minnesotans to be different. In a state that's stereotyped as nice, modest, and slightly boring, this one weird insistence — this hill they've chosen to die on — gives them character. It's a harmless eccentricity that marks belonging.

And honestly? There's something admirable about five million people collectively deciding that the rest of the world is wrong about a children's game and refusing to back down. It's stubborn. It's irrational. It's very, very Minnesota.

So the next time you're in Minneapolis and someone mentions Duck Duck Grey Duck, don't argue. Don't point out that 49 other states disagree. Just nod, appreciate the commitment, and maybe ask what color duck you are. They've been waiting their whole lives for someone to play along.