The final week of the season was a strange, surreal, and deeply unsettling experience. The tension was unbearable, a thick and suffocating blanket of anxiety that hung over every training session, every team meeting, every quiet moment.
I could see it in the players' faces during training. In the way they moved. In the way they spoke to each other. Everything felt fragile, like we were walking on glass.
We were a team on the verge of glory, on the verge of achieving the impossible dream. And we were a team on the verge of a heartbreaking, soul-crushing failure. The stakes were as high as they could possibly be. And the pressure was immense.
And then, on the Thursday before the final game, the unthinkable happened. A betrayal. A cold, brutal, and deeply cynical act of sabotage that was designed to cripple us, to destroy us, to rip the heart out of our team at the most crucial and most vulnerable moment of our season.
