The Game of Global Domination

The Game of Global Domination

Holding fronts on the northern Australian border, merely a canon and a horseman against an all-surrounding military in the southwestern Asian provinces, the Napoleonic commander has, again, the selection of either the white flag or the white die. But every military dictator must have some theory of Stoic, unrelenting stratagem; rather that that flag be stained red, even made the national pennant, before they would make surrender their emblem. Though having daunting advantages, his opponent takes cubed weaponry into perspiring palms, eyes flickering to and fro with indecision, “I’m attacking Indonesia!” His strategies have thinned the adversaries and condemned the remnants to eastern islands, but no echelon can excuse the final and unpredictable element of declaring war: risk.

Intellectuals attempt pre-determining outcome by their tactics. He is pressing the island even now. But this attitude is evidenced even from the beginning. This player had, no doubt, extraordinary meditation on every territorial selection, and every placement of infantry. The rulebook was at arms-length for the duration of the game, lest he forfeit some allowance of infantries, or to assure the others of some procedure or qualification (advantageous, no doubt, to his scheming). Yes, he has at last lain down his cards: scheme, deceit, and silence are his royal flush. His poker face has improved the plan; a strategist is nothing more than one who can grin on the inside. But, ah! Hold those grins and jubilations. There is a more hideous rival yet: risk. And all your masks and your prudence bleed and perish at its hands.

The dominate player rolls the rubies, the defendant the pearls. A yahtzee of sixes; how ironic, what luck—and how unfortunate for the stout, attacking victims. Though these armed forces fight their finest (6), they fight in unknown lands, and the adversary’s munitions strongest violence (6) exceeds them. Following, a dice cannonball wallops down a cannon and lacerates a horse’s flesh. Napoleon no longer retreats and takes refuge. And Risk exercises authority.

The defendant smirks, sneering. Home soil. Impenetrable. Having begun the game with this continent, these Australian provinces, he holds them, unyielding, like the bridegroom clasps the white gown. It is his love. It is the ring on his finger. It is his precious. But the minerals of which that ring, that pledge, consist cannot be wielded for benefit. Risk—by its grace, you keep what you have; and with its sovereignty it takes away from those who would not acknowledge it, merciless. Woe unto you! There is one greater than you, resolving outcomes.

At the beginning of the turn, the man with the petite army relieves his façade, and unhesitatingly reaches for his weapons. He has, at least, weakened one territory, and seeks to capitalize. Roll—ones and a two. The victim of last battle proves, now, to be something of the victor, though through a mercenary army: Risk, the Sparta of this war.

Australia has but a horse left. Asia’s weak region has a similar army mass. And to Australia I ask: will you attack, or will you surrender? Will you take Risk into your hands—in faith?

In contrition, doubt, but the hope of a mustard seed, he takes the die, or perhaps his death, into his hands. Roll—climactic. The horses stand opposite each other. And they begin to kick, the jousting sticks are raised, and the punishment is dealt swift.

Australia receives a card for its defeats. The cannon symbol on the bottom—a set is attained. Relieved, the victor accredits his cards, and his armies are replenished. And the continuum of battle is given another link so abruptly, though the process to peace was at last so close to conclusion. The war wages on. There is no end to warfare.

Risk: it’s the name of the game. It is the game. And, lo, it is the victor of every game played on its creation. Its providence has never weathered. The strategist or the lucky may occupy every territory at the end of the game. But global domination has always belonged to Something unseen.