In the spring of 2023, ITB (Into The Breach), a fledgling esports organisation, celebrated what should have been a crowning moment: qualifying for the Paris Major. It was a landmark achievement—a feat that promised legacy, growth, and sustainability for years to come. For the ITB team —"Veb, Kuba, Momo, Bainy, Blainey, Punico, and recent additions like Bevve, TeaGuv, and Raine"—it was the culmination of brilliance and hard work.
It was also a year when the organisation made almost $US5 million according to a subsequently deleted tweet though it's unclear if that was revenue or profit. But behind the scenes, the foundation was crumbling under the weight of one man’s demons.
On the eve of ITB’s collapse, its CEO, Sam Cook, known publicly as SlayThe Minotaur, released a deeply confessional statement. In an industry fueled by triumph and driven by ambition, his words served as a stark reminder of the fragility of success. “Today, that house falls permanently,” he wrote, acknowledging the magnitude of the fallout. “I nor anyone around me can fix it. ITB goes under, people lose employment, salaries will go unpaid, money lost, hate created—all my fault and responsibility.”
This admission of guilt and regret painted a picture of a man at war with himself.
“I was acting as two people—one trying to match their efforts and another a destructive, alcoholic narcissist hellbent on self-immolation,” he admitted.
The consequences of his internal battle proved catastrophic: “The result is a house of cards repeatedly knocked down and then rebuilt hastily in the wake of my actions. We still managed to achieve a lot despite sabotage, which just goes to show what could have been achieved without it.”
"Staggering" deceit
Cook wasn't the only one sharing a version of the story though. The organsiation's chief strategy officer and CFO Chris Evans who goes by the moniker Momo (@i_am_a_momo on X), posted a statement saying, Cook engaged in systematic deceit, something frankly Cook himself pretty much admits.
But Evans goes into more detail, "Over a 1.5 year period, over £700,000 was misappropriated from ITB under Sam's oversite... Funds intended for player stipends and operations were redirected to cover personal, often elicit expenses unrelated to ITB."
Then there's this: "The scale of his deceit is staggering, and his refusal to take accountability - even as we investigated - only adds to the betrayal."
Given Cook's statement, (and subsequently deleted tweets), that hints at some potential legal shennanigans unfolding in the background, although it's clear from both sets of statements that the heart of the issue was Cook's dishonesty, whereas his colleagues and the players were victims of his grift. That includes Evans, although as the CFO, the job of spotting some very bright flashing red flags surely fell within his remit.
At some point the cops will likely take a look, if they haven't already.
It is not surprising that the people who worked hard to build what appeared to be - and arguably should have been a very successful esports organisation no longer want their fingerprins anywhere near the scene. The staff list on the website has been scrubbed with only Cook left behind, although a late 2024 version is still available on the WayBackWhen machine.
The esports industry, for all its glamor, often operates on the edge of chaos. It’s a space where passion meets profit, where the pursuit of excellence can obscure the costs of getting there. In ITB’s case, those costs were devastating: unpaid salaries, lost jobs, and reputational ruin. But the CEO’s personal confession isn’t just a tale of individual failure; it’s a window into the systemic cracks in the industry.
The Pressure Cooker
The pressures of esports aren’t new, but they are uniquely intense. Players—some as young as 16—are thrust into high-stakes environments, living under the glare of Twitch streams and social media scrutiny. Organisations, meanwhile, race to keep up with sponsors and investors, often without the infrastructure or support to manage success sustainably.
In ITB’s story, those pressures metastasised into dysfunction. The CEO’s struggles with addiction and mental health became emblematic of the wider moral dilemmas in esports. How do we care for the human beings driving this industry forward? Who holds executives accountable when their personal lives unravel, impacting everyone around them?
Building on Wet Sand
ITB’s implosion speaks to a larger issue: the culture of “building on wet sand,” as the CEO himself put it. Too often, organisations prioritise growth at the expense of stability. The allure of quick success overshadows the need for solid foundations—financial, mental, and ethical.
The darker side of esports isn’t just about CEOs battling personal demons. It’s about the exploitation of young players, who are often treated as assets rather than people. It’s about brands that squeeze teams for every ounce of marketability while failing to invest in their long-term well-being. And it’s about an industry that rewards ambition but rarely forgives failure.
A Call to Action
As ITB’s players and staff grapple with the fallout, the question remains: how do we prevent this from happening again? The answer lies in addressing esports’ systemic issues head-on. Organisations need safeguards—mental health resources, clear accountability structures, and a commitment to ethical practices. Players deserve representation and advocacy, ensuring they’re not left stranded when the lights go out.
Esports is still young, its potential boundless. But moments like this remind us that growth must be paired with responsibility. The players and teams we celebrate on stage are more than avatars—they’re people with struggles, aspirations, and vulnerabilities.
As for SlayThe Minatour, his final words offer a cautionary tale: “Fix your character flaws, mental and destructive tendencies before you find success, otherwise you’ll just build on wet sand.” It’s a lesson for everyone in esports, from CEOs to players to fans: the foundation matters. And without it, even the brightest dreams can crumble.