BATON ROUGE, La. (WAFB) - Kevin Maverick went to his first LSU game in 1996. He was hooked.
How could he not be? The history, the atmosphere, the team...
So this season, when the Tigers punched their ticket to the College Football Playoff National Championship, he scoured the web for tickets. He knew the odds of finding authentic tickets in his price range, but it was worth a shot.
“The ad said, ‘2 tickets. 8-50. Face value,’” Maverick said with a smirk. “And very specifically, I remember it said, ‘Just trying to help someone out, and bless them.’”
Too good to be true? Probably. But he had to find out.
“I was bored,” Maverick chuckled. “I said, ‘Let me see if this guy is legit.’”
So he started a conversation with the seller. Maverick was leery at first. He had lots of questions. The seller answered every single one.
“Eventually,” Maverick said, “he got to the point where he said, ‘Here’s my driver’s license. Let me prove to you that I’m a real person.’”
Maybe this was not too good to be true. Just maybe those championship tickets were within Maverick's reach. The driver's license looked real.
Maverick thought, “Either A, he’s telling the truth, or B, this person needs to know somebody stole your driver’s license and is pretending to be you.”
Armed with a picture and a name, Maverick headed back to the internet, searching social media sites looking for the man in the picture. He found him on Linked-In, so Maverick emailed him asking if he was selling LSU tickets.
“His reaction,” Maverick said, “was an abrupt, ‘Absolutely not! This is not me! Send me what you have. Somebody stole my license in LA three weeks ago. They’ve been opening accounts in my name.’”
Maverick lost out on his championship tickets, but he and the man he found online hatched a plan. It required a second buyer for those tickets, a buyer who had just had his license stolen.
“He asked [the scammer] for his bank account and routing number and the guy sent it to him,” Maverick said.
That was all the duo needed for the feds to sweep in.
“So the next day, the gentleman texted me," Maverick said. “'We got him. The feds have him now.'”
Maverick could relax at home knowing he had done the right thing, even if it meant missing the big game. He had done the right thing. He had helped a complete stranger get his life back.
Monday night, while sitting on his couch with his baby boy, Maverick got a text message: “Hey, check your email.”
In that email were two tickets to the National Championship game.
“It’s unbelievable,” Maverick said, “to think that a stranger, 2,000 miles away is going to spend that kind of money on an aftermarket site, for somebody offering a little bit of help.”
When things seem too good to be true, they probably are. Then again, sometimes they aren’t.