When I was a boy growing up in Voronezh, near the ruddy banks of the Voronezh River, we all played chess. Winner gets to eat. Loser starves. We had no idea then that everyone would starve, sooner or later. We were told in pamphlets that the fertile soil of our great country would provide for us all, if the Westerners would just stop interfering with our internal affairs. So, we played chess, and tilled the soil. Eventually, we buried our parents, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters, in that same soil. We were all buried there. Under the soil of Russia.