There was a bit of trouble last summer for Marco Casale. He got into some hot water with men too cowardly to confront him face-to-face, men schooled only in the childish art of sabotage. They have since either disappeared from Marco's fair city or come to enough sense to cease their cheap tactics. We'll assume the latter and we'll assume it came shortly after first hearing this song.
The identities of the zeros who dismantled Marco's bicycle last summer remain unknown. And anyway, who would want to know such ilk? What is certain is that for a three-week period they terrorized Marco, destroying his only mode of transportation, barraging him with cryptic phone calls, and contaminating his dreams. When we concede identities, we logically move on to the questions of why they did this and where they could have come from. You might also ask: How could they not have known that Marco has the eyes of the cat? Any idiot in the world knows that. But we won't dwell on that here.
The ping pong caves of the west side of Chicago can be unforgiving dens of humiliation. Careers are made and broken, as are spirits and wrists. We can only speculate that the targets of Marco's vendetta were a group of young white males notorious for aggressively seeking competition for money at any bar providing table tennis in the West Town neighborhood. These men are known not only for strategically selecting inferior opponents, whom they then rout repeatedly in games to 21, they are also known for unrelenting flirtatiousness with local women and for giving miniscule tips when served drinks.
The night on which the vendetta was born, Marco was quietly minding his own business after a friendly match with a fellow ping pong enthusiast when the men in question entered and talked their way into a best of seven series against Marco, immediately before which, their leader claimed, "We are going to destroy you. I just hope you can manage a few points so we don't fall asleep mid-match. Who knows, maybe they will discover you in a thousand years as a (expletive) fossil. Good night, whatever your name is."
"Why do you say these mean things to me? We are all brothers in table tennis. You act very macho. Besides, I am highly skilled in this game. I will play better than you expect me to."
"Shut your face and hurry up. Let's get this over with so that we can go make advances on the more attractive girls who frequent this hell hole."
Marco said no more, instead electing to take the first serve the bully offered him in false politeness. Marco won four games straight, sweeping him. In four games, the worm managed six points. Furious, he stormed into the center of the tavern and announced, "Marco Casale is a slimy cheat and he will pay," then made a slashing motion with his pointer finger while giving Marco an icy stare. Then stomped out onto the streets.
Then the trouble started, culminating in the disappearance of Marco's bicycle seat and the slashing of his tires. Shortly thereafter, Univore went into the studio to record "Vendetta."
Funny, we haven't seen our bully since..
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