Nine questions we desperately want to ask the man who ate a tub of mayo at a Minor League game

Mayonnaise is quite possibly our most polarizing condiment. To some, it's a classic on par with ketchup and mustard, a standard topping on any and all sandwiches and potato salads. To others, it's a horrifying egg goo that any right-thinking person would categorically reject.

On Saturday, though, one intrepid Minor League fan emerged to show both sides how wrong they are. He spent most of the Memphis Redbirds game spooning massive mouthfuls of the goopy substance with a large wooden spoon, as if proudly proclaiming to all who would challenge him, "Mayonnaise isn't just great -- mayonnaise is life."

As you can imagine, we have some questions for the Minor League Mayo Man:

Why?
Why? Why did you do this?

But really, why?

Was this a bet? Do you just truly love mayo this much?

Is this a hot new fad diet?

I gotta say, I don't think I've ever seen someone do an all-mayo diet, but I wouldn't expect a person who did such a thing to look so lively and lifelike.

What was the reaction from the stadium employees?

Sure, Minor League stadiums often let you bring in your own food, but that usually means a sandwich or a bag of peanuts. This is an industrial-sized tub of mayonnaise. It's larger than most backpacks. Did stadium security have to open it? Did they stick their hand inside to make sure you weren't smuggling contraband within the mayonnaise?

What did the people around you think?

You don't bring a delicious and spicy curry to the movie theater because the smell would be distracting to the other guests. The image of a man eating mayonnaise is ... much more distracting.

Who are you? Why are you? Where did you come from and where did you go? Where did you come from Mayonnaise Joe?

Please, come find us. Come tell us your story.

How was it when it warmed up during the game?

Do you actually prefer it warm? And if so, are you more monster than man?

Is that even really mayo?

I'm sorry to doubt you. I love mayo. I want to believe that you love mayo, too. But each tablespoon is 90 calories and you're sucking it down off a large wooden spoon. By the middle of the game, your innards would be more mayo than anything else. I asked a nutritionist -- yes, I really did -- and she didn't believe a person could eat that much mayo without getting ill.

Is it actually marshmallow fluff?

You can trust me. I won't blow up your spot. But what you're eating is awfully goopy and thick. And fluff, while not good for you, is really only sugar. You could keep up on that for a while. And, look, I didn't want to go all Sherlock Holmes on you, I really didn't, but look at the stain on your shirt:

That is no mayo stain, oh no. That perfectly formed circle of stickiness can be nothing else but ... fluff.

Why did you lie to me?

Please, come forward and prove that it's mayo. I want it to be mayo. I need it to be mayo. But right now, I don't believe you. And that hurts me.

So, what is it: Mayo or fluff?