For reasons sufficient unto himself, Derek Jeter, Marlins CEO and co-author of the flames that presently engulf that team, decided to hold a town hall with season ticket holders. This was bound not to go well. After all, Jeter is the freshly-minted face of the team that in recent days has traded away Giancarlo Stanton and Marcell Ozuna for pennies on the dollar. The Marlins are going to be bad for a long time, and the paying customers know it. 

Speaking of paying customers, there's Marlins Man. He's the most identifiable Marlins fan of all. That's certainly not a competitive category, but Larry Visors is certainly a visible presence as fans of any team in any sport go. So when you alienate Marlins Man you do so at a cost of ... something, probably. So about that ... 

And ... 

All right. So MM made the guest list but not until after an initial affront was lodged in his craw. The scene is thus set. Also, let this be known ... 

Understandable! Anyhow, Jeter fielded questions from the attendees, one of whom showed up in a Giancarlo Stanton jersey, and one of whom took the mic and wept. Then came the main event ... 

This is a power move of sorts. Typically, if you're someone of any level of renown, you brandish the, "Do you know who I am?" broadsword on, say, a Walgreens clerk or the arresting officer. Typically, it's not directed toward someone who's demonstrably more famous than the initial interlocutor. Like I said: Power move. Moving on ... 

All right. Let this "Marlins Man Mondays" idea breathe a bit. Let's assume that, yes, it's plural -- as in, it's a recurring promotion. Every Monday, just as every word begins with "M." Monday is a frequent off day on the MLB schedule, so there's that. Anyhow, this is the point at which I should riff on what a Marlins Man Monday might look like. I'm not going to do this because for some reason this feels like a solemn occasion. You see, we've reached a point in the arc of time at which Derek Jeter is plausibly regarded as a baseball saboteur, and a man in orange leisure-wear is asking him if he knows who he is. You don't strip-mine this kind of thing for humor. You look at it as though you're regarding a half-eaten bird on the sidewalk. The thing you're absorbing in mute revulsion isn't happening to you, but now that it has happened -- now that it's punctured the realm of the possible -- it could happen to you. 

Hills be shaken: Four minutes is a tortuously long time in a setting such as this. If you've ever been to a meeting -- even one in which you're plied with alcohol and finger sandwiches -- four minutes feels like watching a mountain die. For a point of reference, here's the music video to Krokus' "Midnite Maniac" ... 

That was four minutes, but it hardly feels the same as someone trumpeting grievances at what is in essence a Kiwanis Club luncheon. This is thousands of times more psychically burdensome than a Krokus track, is what I'm saying. 

Is there more? There's more ... 

The Marlinsmobile is a Marlins-themed convertible that conveys Mr. Man to the airport and other destinations. It's a nice car, but it's presumably not Jeter-grade. Maybe things were going better between the two gentlemen in question before this impasse. They probably weren't, but we're trying to give some sort of narrative shape to whatever this has been. Either way, it's almost over ... 

Wait, MM, he refused to let you help promote his team? Sir, you lead him by the hand to these clear waters ... 

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Anything that yields a viable and ultimately honest marketing slogan has been a fruitful experience. So it is with Derek Jeter's Night Luncheon.