So, two groups of Russians and a group of Spaniards walk into a bar—stop me if you’ve heard this one … Sitting on one end is first Russian contingent, from CSKA Moscow, calmly sipping on warm vodka. They’ve had four, and they’ve yet to slur a word. They might have six or eight more before it’s all over, and if you ask them for their keys, they’ll shoot you a How dare you? glance before walking out when they damn well please and