I trusted these people. We've been in the same fantasy league for 11 years. We've shared Thanksgivings. I was the best man at Greg's wedding. And then they traded me Christian McCaffrey for a bag of unsalted peanuts and Josh Dobbs. They knew he was injured. THEY KNEW.
My lawyer says I don't have a case. My therapist says I need to "let it go." My wife says if I mention fantasy football one more time she's moving in with her mother. None of these people understand the depth of the betrayal. This wasn't just about football. This was about brotherhood. About trust. About the $500 buy-in that I am absolutely not getting back.
The trade was accepted at 3:47 AM on a Wednesday. I was asleep, like a normal human being. Meanwhile, Greg, who I helped move apartments TWICE, was apparently coordinating a multi-team conspiracy to tank my roster. The group chat went silent for 72 hours after. Cowards. Every single one of them.
I've compiled evidence. Screenshots. Trade histories. A detailed timeline proving collusion. My lawyer says none of this is admissible. I say the American justice system has failed me. I've also drafted a 47-page letter to the Commissioner (Dave, who I've known since college) demanding an investigation. He left me on read.
The league trophy sits in Greg's living room now. The same living room where I helped him assemble IKEA furniture. Where I watched his dog when he went to Cancun. That trophy should be mine. And one day, when I recover emotionally and financially from this, I will have my revenge. Or at least I'll start my own league. With better people. People who understand loyalty.