Imagine you are some virulent anti-communist CIA officer in the 1960s. You spend your days figuring out new torture techniques to murder labor rights activists in Latin America. You go home to a Salisbury Steak and four scotches for dinner. You smoke cigarettes for dessert. You probably croak off sometime around 1993, the vast weight of your life's purpose finally lifted when the Berlin Wall fell. The doctors say you had a cardiac. A life spent in service. To make sure your team won. The great game. The only thing worth playing. The only prize worth winning.
And this is what you won. This is who won.
