A vindication of sorts. And goats.

There's a classic maths problem which I'm going to recount here, briefly, on the the basis that it may not be known to you all, despite the fact it will be utterly familiar to many of you - allow me a little latitude, please.

The situation is thus: You have been presented with three boxes. Inside one of the boxes is a fabulous prize (I'm not going to tell you what it is, but the knowledge that it is indeed fabulous should suffice) whereas the contents of the other two boxes can be safely assumed to be less fabulous. Naturally, you're terribly excited at the prospect of winning this (fabulous) prize, but you're somewhat vexed to find out that there are rules involved. Fortunately, the rules are rather simple: All you have to do is to choose a box. So you gaze down upon the three boxes before you and the knowledge that you have only have a one in three chance of winning starts gnawing at the very core of your being. You examine the boxes, but there are no clues to be had - all appear identical. Wracked by indecision, a single bead of sweat begins to trickle slowly down your forehead. You wipe it away listlessly. Which to choose you wonder. More moments pass. Soon you can stand the suspense no longer and fatefully point at the box nearest you. "This one," you announce to all, "I'll take this one." The wave of relief you feel at finally having made a decision doesn't last very long. "So you want that one," your mysterious opposite number (whom I haven't decided to imbue with any characteristics beyond a disembodied voiced - I'm in a lazy sort of a mood). "Are you certain? Are you sure? With so much riding on it, can you be certain you've made the right choice? Perhaps you might feel differently, were I to reveal... this!" And with that unseen gesture, the contents of one of the other boxes is laid bare before you, and you see, with perhaps a glimmer of relief, that it's contents are not fabulous. But your elusive companion is not yet done with his taunting. Having shown you the empty box, he now offers you your last choice. Keep what you have, or else change your mind and instead take the final box.

And this gist of the problem is this: Are you better off keeping what you have, or should you make that fateful final switch? Don't worry, I'm not about to launch into an explanation of the solution (although I can explain it well enough to convince myself), but I will tell you that the correct answer, as far as probability is concerned, is to make the switch.

Now what I really wanted to write about was the fact that this problem is generally known as the Monty Hall problem, after the eponymous host of an American game show from many years ago. However, I've always thought of it as the problem of Marilyn And Her Amazing Probability Defying Goats. Now see, the way you're now looking at me is the way people generally look at me, everytime I bring this up. You see, I had no idea why I thought of it like this. It's been the better part of a decade since I first came across this problem, and the details of that encounter have long been muddied in the mists of time. I could have been making it all up, admittedly, but somewhere out there I was convinced I would find an explanation that would account for Marilyn. And her goats.

And then today I discovered this. It seems that the problem was discussed in a newspaper column, written by Marilyn Vos Savant, and the framing of the question included... goats! It even stems from 1991, which is approximately the right time-frame.

And that's that really. All I have left to say on the subject is: Haha! See, I'm not mad!! I told you all, but you wouldn't believe me, would you! But I was right all along, wasn't I? Haha! Mad, they said! Haha. Mad, mad as a hatter. But who's laughing now? Hahaha! Hey, put that straightjacket down. Didn't you hear me? I'm sane, I said, sane! Oi, gerofff....