Victim: Jerome James
Date: May 2001

Imagine you're consoling your teammate after he gets crossed up by the likes of Shaquille O'Neal. He's understandably upset; he fears he'll get ragged on for years because of the absurdity of getting got by Big Diesel and having that be one of the only highlights of his career. As he's telling you his worries, you pretend that you're checking your cellphone to avoid that awkward moment of honesty where you may have to tell him he might actually be right. Your phone is dead though, so you just opt to lie. "Things will look up," you say. "You're definitely getting a five-year/$30 million contract in your future."

Then you steadily stop returning his texts, you sit at the opposite end of the locker room during pre-game prep talks, and you generally start to become distant. It's not that you don't like the dude anymore, it's just that you simply can't see yourself fucking with anybody who gets caught so easily by someone so large. You later go on to quit the sport in a fit of disillusionment because of the ridiculousness of the teammate actually getting a five-year/$30 million contract.