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Over nearly four decades on earth, while living in half a dozen cities and two countries, whether employed or not, happy or not, sober or not, I have never -- not ever -- punched someone.

Have you?

Vova laughs at me. Of course Vova has punched someone. Vova lives in Moscow, on the edge of Russia's capital. He says he has been punching people for years, says he loves punching people, says it is part of his identity. He thinks I am an alien, basically, and that a man without scars on his hands is no man at all.

Vova is 19.

By any measure, Vova has a comfortable life. His mother is a flight attendant, and so his room in the family's apartment has pictures and posters from the places he has traveled. He is studying to be a graphic designer, and he loves surfing. He also has an affinity for poetry (including Pushkin and Yesenin, who wrote about, among other things, hooligans in the early 1900s). Vova enjoys literature, particularly the writings of famed German novelist Erich Maria Remarque. In a coffee shop one afternoon, we briefly debate The Night in Lisbon versus All Quiet on the Western Front. (Lisbon is his favorite book of all time.)

Yet in the evenings or on weekends, Vova says, he goes to the forest. He says he is part of a group of hooligans known as IX Legion, which supports a professional soccer team, Dinamo Moscow, and which fights against other groups supporting other teams. These fights almost always take place in the woods, away from the eyes of the police (or anyone else, really). These fights have no written rules or regulations, have no certified referees or officials, and while it is generally considered gauche to murder someone at one of these fights, everything short of that is pretty much fine.

To Vova, this is glorious. To Vova, this is magical. To Vova, the idea of not punching people makes no sense, even though he knows that the Russian authorities are desperate for the upcoming World Cup to be safe and peaceful.

"So," I say to Vova one evening in the center of the city, "what are you like when you're in a fight?" Vova is smart and earnest, with a fresh face, thin eyes and a soft nose. His waist is tiny and his legs are spindly, giving him the bony look of a high school cross-country runner. "In a fight, everything is different," he says. "It requires anger, some kind of rage or something like that."

It is hard to see rage from Vova, with his soft voice and innocent giggle and nervous tic in which his shoulder shakes as he thinks about a difficult question. It is hard to see rage at all. But to Vova, the rage is as much a part of him as the poetry or the textbooks in his backpack.

The woods, he says, is where he lets the rage out, where he immerses himself in something that "strengthens the mind."

I interrupt him. How could this possibly strengthen your mind?

He does not hesitate. "Well, because when you see people coming at you," he says, "not just one or two people, and you know they are about to kick you in the face and it'll be painful, you don't run away."

The World Cup begins in Russia on June 14. About 2 million visitors are expected to arrive during the tournament, and there is a wide variety of items about which one could be reasonably concerned: abhorrent acts of racism by Russian fans, for instance, as well as draconian "gay propaganda" laws, the government's general attitude of blatant intolerance toward those with dissenting opinions, potential terrorist attacks and -- perhaps most visibly -- ugly spasms of punishing street violence.

Much of that last worry stems from what happened in France two years ago. During the European soccer championship, Russia and England met in a game in Marseille. Several hundred Russians -- inflamed by the presence of some drunken, belligerent Britons as well as an appreciation for history (England being the nominal birthplace of hooliganism) -- went on a rampage, destroying cafés and storefronts while attacking anyone who even appeared to be English.

The attacks continued in the stands at the game, leading to the Russian federation being punished by tournament organizers, while the Russian fans were, in some cases, arrested or deported. Videos of the carnage went viral, and within days, World Cup officials and Russian authorities hastily began a campaign to assure everyone that nothing like this could ever happen again.

Russia must "ensure maximum security for players and fans," President Vladimir Putin said in a speech to Russian police this winter, before telling the officers that "the way this event goes and our country's image will directly depend on your smooth, skillful work."

Here is the thing, though: That work isn't just about metal detectors and checkpoints once the games begin. Russian officials are certainly cognizant of doing whatever is necessary to avoid a repeat of the horrendous scenes from Marseille during the upcoming tournament, but the government has also spent considerable time over the past two years doing whatever it can to shut down (or at least hide until after the World Cup) this ever-growing subculture of a hooliganism that involves young, devoted and violent fighters -- like Vova -- engaging in vicious, bare-knuckle brawling for fun.