Mayhew's Worst Nightmare

Taking a last sip from his wine glass, Martin Mayhew holds it up and stares through the crystal at the reddish glow. The glass is empty, the glow coming from his high rise window. The red and orange hues of the deepest sunset he had seen in his entire life. Setting the glass gently on his desk, he turns his wrist so he can see his watch. Only quarter after five.

With a slight groan, he gets to his feet and crosses the room to the windows and stands by Williams Clay Ford senior. Neither man says a word for a long moment as they stare out the windows in resignation. The reddish glow is not from a sunset. It is from the thousands of torches being held by the descending Lions fans outside the building.

"It was a stupid mistake you know. You should have known better." Ford says just before going into a coughing fit as he clears a wad of phlegm from his throat.

The look that Mayhew gives the ancient man is one of pure hatred mixed with a shock of wonder. A stupid mistake? That bastard made the mistake! Mayhew wanted to do the sensible thing, but it was the old man who insisted on doing things his way. Mayhew considered the idea of throwing the old fart to the wolves. Let the fans below have the blood they want. If he thought it would save him, he would do it. It wouldn't though. The fans would never believe him. Turning back to the torch carrying fans below, Mayhew let his thoughts fall back to the moment everything went to hell.

The Tampa Bay Buccaneers had just scored a long touchdown after the Lions defense failed to put any pressure on the quarterback. Four seconds, five seconds passed by and the Bucs quarterback still had not had to scramble. Then he finally cocked his arm back and let the ball fly, forty-seven yards in the air to a wide open receiver who ran another twenty yards for the score.

Now it was the Lions chance to even things up and Matthew Stafford took the snap and dropped back in the pocket. Then the unthinkable happened.

Ndamukong Suh shot out of his stance like a blood thirsty beast and ran a stunt to the left side, put his hands on the chest of the Lions star rookie left tackle, Russell Okung, and shoved. The ease in which he tossed Okung to the side was as if he was handling an unruly child then he was into his sprint. In exactly one point five seconds Suh was driving his shoulder into the back of Matthew Stafford. One tenth of a second later the sound of the young quarterbacks back snapping echoed through the stadium.

As Ndamukong Suh jumped up and began waving the medical team over, the 55,000 fans went silent. Their highly loved franchise quarterback laid their unmoving because the player the Lions drafted could not stop the player who eighty percent of the fans had wanted.

Mayhew knew that Suh was the right draft pick. He knew that when he caved into Ford's pressure to protect his quarterback, the decision would come back to bite him. He just never imagined it would be a rabid wolf that bit him. In his wildest nightmares he never would have thought it would be nearly a million of those rabid wolves coming for him.

A commotion in the mob below drew his eyes and he watched with a solemn horror as the gates caved in and the angry fans surged into the building. It wouldn't be long now he thought. Looking at old lord Ford, he fantasized wrapping his hands around the old geezers throat. If he was going to die, maybe he should allow himself that one last pleasure of knowing it was him that finished the old fart and not the fans.

The sounds of the fans screaming for blood somewhere in the building floated to his ears. Giving the old man another tempting glare, Mayhew walked back to his desk and sat down. He did not blame the fans actually. They had gone so long without seeing a competitive team on the field and when they finally had signs of getting one, it all fell apart because of one bad decision. He should have taken Suh. Whatever the old man said, he should have taken Suh. He was the better player. He was the better choice for the success of the team. Suh was the right draft pick. But Ford wanted Okung and he had caved in to the old man's desires. Now he would die for it.

The screams suddenly grew much louder and he knew the mob had made it onto his floor. Mayhew hardly had a chance to rise from his desk before the doors crashed open and the fans came rushing in. They filled the room to bursting and he began to scream as their hands fell upon him. They pulled him in different directions and he screamed again as he felt his hair being yanked out of his head. Then his eyes fell on the old man.

Old Lord Ford was fairing no better, but Mayhew could not help but to wish he was doing much worse. "It was your choice old man!" Mayhew shouted. "Your choice! I should never have listened to you! Do you hear me? I should never have...."

Mayhew sat up straight in his bed as he screamed the last words. "... listened to you!" Realizing he was no longer being torn limb from limb he looked around. He was in his own bed, the sheets soaked with his own sweat. In his right hand he held a lock of his own hair.

Gathering his wits, Mayhew whispered a promise. "I won't listen to you old man!"