In which our hero returns to Manchester City against all odds. Then he steals a photographer's lens, like a big jerk.
On the occasion of Mario Balotelli's devouring of himself, a few thoughts on fame—what it is, how it distorts, and how it can hurt, obscure and confound—seem to be in order.
In which our hero is terrible and becomes the devil.
In which our hero scores a really amazing goal and people trump up a controversy instead.
In which, for some reason, our hero decides to intrude on an Inter Milan press conference.
In which our hero visits a strip club, gets fined, loves his girlfriend, talks to Noel Gallagher, and seems like a fairly normal guy.
In which our hero visits a college to use the bathroom.
In which our hero gets shouted out by British rapper Tinchy Stryder, and not just because "Balotelli" rhymes so easily with so many things.
In which our hero fights with a teammate, causes his club to take action, and proves integral to victory anyway.
In this installment, Mario finances a school, breaks a curfew, steals gloves, and scores a goal. How could you ever call such a person a bad boy?