I never thought about Chad Curtis. Not when he played, not after he retired. Never…
He was just another name, one of those guys who moved around a lot. Angels, Tigers, Yankees, Dodgers, Indians. I remember the teams more than I remember him. He was the kind of player you might see in a box score and not think twice about. A guy on a roster, a role player. Nothing about him stood out not to me, anyway.
So, when his name came up again while I was working on this Dark Side of the Diamond series, it stopped me. I clicked out of habit and kept reading. Not because he was a big name fallen from grace, but because he was never really in the spotlight to begin with. And somehow, the story that followed felt even darker because of that.
This wasn’t a flameout. It was a quiet, calculated abuse of trust.
Not a scandal. A mask finally slipping.
Curtis built a reputation during his playing days as a guy who took his faith seriously. He didn’t drink, didn’t “fucking” swear, didn’t tolerate much from tea…
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