I came in second.

I, Luigi the lowly plumber, have never, not in my life, come in first. Even my plumbing is second-rate. Whenever people call the plumbing company, they always ask for Mario first. 'Oh, he's not in?' the customers always lament. Then, their voice filled with disappointment, they mutter dejectedly, 'I guess you can send over Luigi, then.'

I was so close this time. But then ... then, at the very last moment, Mario threw a spiked shell my way. No matter how desperately I tried to avoid it, the shell knew its target. I recovered from the hit as quickly as I could ... but ... but it wasn't enough. I came in second. Mario, my best friend, my so-called best friend, he ruined my chances for glory.

And then I hear his Italian tenor trill at me from the refreshments stand: "Luigi!" With his arm around Peach, he smiles amicably at me, thinking there are no hard feelings about the race, as usual. I am a pushover. "It'sa me!" he calls. "Come-a look at my medal! It'sa gleaming!"

I can feel my moustache twitching into a mad little grin.

"Sure, Mario!" I call, my smile fading. I say, softer, "Sure, Mario ... I'm coming."