Toronto Blue Jays president Paul Beeston was due to speak to the media before Thursday's annual State-of-the-Franchise meeting with season-ticket holders.
It was to be Beeston's first shot at a sizable scrum since the club tried to sandbag him two months ago.
Beeston missed it because he was "stuck in transit."
"How convenient," said manager John Gibbons, to general titters.
They keep trying to kill this storyline. In that sense, it's the Rasputin of stupid moves – poison it, shoot it, strangle it. It just keeps standing up again.
"Make no mistake – we are elated to have Paul continue to lead the team for this season," said the club owner, Edward Rogers, in a news release after being comprehensively outwitted by his employee.
'Make no mistake' – yes, that's convincing.
Rogers led the bumbling effort to submarine Beeston by phoning Chicago owner Jerry Reinsdorf, Beeston's best friend, and informing him of his plans. It's like Benny Hill bought the Washington Generals.
They're trying to move past it now, though they aren't trying very hard.
"It's well above my pay grade," said GM Alex Anthopoulos of the simmering kerfuffle. "I talked to Paul and his instructions were, 'Do your job.'"
Anthopoulos had nothing reassuring to say about the situation. He didn't vouch for ownership. He didn't call it a misunderstanding. Anthopoulos has a knack for talking an awful lot and saying very little. He's never said more with less.
Anthopoulos knows that if the team doesn't win this year, it's his professional head. As such, it'd be a good time to project the image of a guy who gets along with the moneymen. It's a measure of how betrayed Anthopoulos feels that he won't play that game. He seems resigned to walking the plank right after the man who gave him his big chance.
It's a mercenary and occasionally ugly business, but it has its code. That was Rogers Inc.'s mistake – they didn't bother to check the codebook.
Everyone in the Jays organization feels keenly for Beeston. All those on the management side owe him a job, directly or indirectly. Everyone in the clubhouse owes him their deference.
More than any other sport, seniority matters in baseball. A veteran who's just barely hanging on is many rungs higher in the pecking order than an all-star rookie. This isn't a nominal distinction. It has very real meaning. Those social strata are quietly, ruthlessly enforced. Ask Brett Lawrie.
As such, Beeston is the absolute last person you want to go to war with. You could chop mercilessly from Anthopoulos down, and it wouldn't reverberate. The way people would look at it – 'It's all in the game.'
But Beeston?
Beeston has years on him. He's beloved throughout the league. Even his enemies – and he's got more than a few – respect what he represents. This is not a body you can toss on a battlefield pile. You let him come to you and surrender his sword.
They didn't do that. And you can tell how deeply Beeston feels it. These State-of-the-Franchise meetings are held in the stands at the Rogers Centre. They play somewhere between a tent revival and a meeting of the condo board. "Praise the Lord and the pass the playoffs" – that sort of thing.
A while back, they began screening the questions.
One suspects this has little to do with agit-prop, and more to do with the fact that all anybody ever asked about was hot water in the bathrooms. They've been promising hot water in the Rogers Centre since Confederation. So far, no luck.
The next time you wonder why they can't field a winner, think about that for a while.
Beeston appeared atop the home dugout, alongside Anthopoulos, Gibbons and moderator, Buck Martinez.
Martinez is also a Rogers employee, through his on-air work at Sportsnet. However, he clearly wanted people to know where his loyalties lie. He gave Beeston a lengthy, hagiographical introduction. Alone among the panelists, he addressed him as "Mr."
Martinez has the code memorized.
"Apparently I only have one year left," Beeston said, a reference to his recently signed and very-much final deal. "I have every intention of going out with a winning team."
At the end of his introductory remarks, Beeston appeared a bit emotional: "I just want to say thank you."
If this was theatre, it was inspired. Most of the crowd gave him a standing ovation. There were a few scattered boos. It was hard to tell if they were booing Beeston, or the way he's been treated.
The real jeers were saved for some poor management schmuck who was called up on stage to explain "digital tickets." They booed him up there, and then they booed him down.
"At least you're consistent," Martinez said drily.
For 45 minutes, Anthopoulos and Gibbons answered questions about tactical minutiae. Beeston got another shot at the end.
He noted that his contract ends on Oct. 31, while the World Series could end as late as Nov. 3.
"Maybe you can put me on your pass list," he asked the crowd. They laughed along with him.
There may be some decent baseball reasons to want to move on from Paul Beeston. There isn't a single one to support the way they tried to do it. Having stared them down, it's beginning to feel like Beeston will spend a full year exacting whatever revenge he can. From the vantage of Thursday night, his capacity to do so looks considerable and very dangerous.
Cathal Kelly