I had not told anyone yet, for fear of worship or ridicule, that I have kept a random game tree generator running since the beginning of time, in a corner of the universe I now truthfully call my basement. Powered by the stars, unnoticed by the living, it has survived fire and ice, pitiful familial feuds, the devastation of war.
This morning, against all odds, it produced a degenerate Go variant in which all nodes connect straight to the root. I promptly fetched my secateurs.