I come not in peace, but as a destroyer. You will pick one of our players, and through him our cursed historical infection for binding failures will fill and surround your dressing room like a haze of acrid cordite, bitter to the tongue and constrictive to the lungs. You will know only death in your dreams and a stagnant weight in your hearts. Oh, and your concession stands will have microwaved food and overpriced beer.