Perhaps Wall St. only comes down to nothing much more than a late-development of eager childrens’ games, played on the schoolyard playground while the teachers eat lunch (while a designated teacher attends the players in the playground.)
“Buck, Buck, Buck” (originally “Bucca, Bucca, Bucca” in Latin, an ancient Roman boys’ game) in which one boy plays the donkey, while the others mount him, one after another, until he collapses under their accumulated weight. The first one to mount him then takes his place, ad repetitam, each then demonstrating sheer endurance for the sake of the boy-pack, with no special honor accruing therefrom to anyone. Think: novice/intern brokers.
“King/Queen of the Mountain” in which all the children struggle to mount the (what is perceived as) highest point in the schoolyard (snow/sand-pile, wall, fence) by running up it or climbing it. They are often broken up by the one attending teacher who mistakes the strenuous contest for a mere melee, when of course, it is actually an elimination-derby with the premise that some one child must gain the height & be (figuratively) crowned King/Queen of the 'mountain.'. For how long they remain on top is determined by the ferocity of the disgruntled contestants, who seek to (figuratively) dethrone the (temporary) King/Queen by any single-child stratagem possible.The height of the 'mountain' is largely aperceptual. Think: experienced brokers.
“I’ve got a Secret!” in which one child purports to have a secret, & others sidle up to them, one by one, to be told it, secretly. Whether the secret-teller tells the same secret to each child is unspecified. What's certain is that the secret becomes distorted by each child who hears it, who then tells it to the others, who then distort it even further, to the degree that a distant/distorted version of the original secret is the last version retold, at which point that becomes the new secret, & the game repeats. Think: analysts.
You may now adduce any other relevant schoolyard playground games - as you best remember them. – Bill Costley