INT. MONK’S CAFÉ – DAY
Jerry, Steve and Elaine, are sitting in a booth. Steve looks frustrated and bewildered. Kramer bursts into the café and slides into the booth next to them.
STEVE: Jerry, I just don’t get it. We’ve got the money, the facilities… Why won’t these players sign with the Mets?
JERRY: Maybe they’re not fans of the black uniforms?
Kramer, overhearing the conversation, leans in with an air of revelation.
KRAMER: Steve, you’re going about this all wrong. You need to show them the personal side. Have them over for dinner!
STEVE: Dinner? Kramer, I run a baseball team, not a restaurant. These guys should be jumping at the chance to play for us.
JERRY: (nodding) He’s got a point, Kramer. These are professional athletes, not dinner guests.
KRAMER: (insistent) No, no, no! It’s all about making a connection. Picture it, Steve: A nice meal, some fine wine, casual conversation. They’ll see you’re not just another suit.
STEVE: (pondering) A dinner, huh? Maybe you’re onto something, Kramer. But what if they don’t like the food?
JERRY: (laughs) I think the multi-million-dollar contract might make up for the overcooked roast, Steve.
INT. STEVE’’S LUXURIOUS DINING ROOM – EVENING
The dining room is elegantly set. Steve, in a rare domestic setting, looks slightly out of place. A distinguished-looking baseball player sits at the table, looking a bit uncomfortable. This player is a new international signing, who doesn’t speak English. An interpreter sits beside him.
STEVE: (trying to be affable) So, Yoshi, can I call you Yoshi? How do you like New York so far?
The player looks puzzled, turning to his interpreter who quickly translates. The player nods politely but doesn’t seem to understand the nickname ‘Yoshi’. He responds in his language.
INTERPRETER: He says his name is Yoshinobu, not Yoshi, sir. And he finds New York overwhelming but exciting.
Steve, slightly embarrassed, tries to recover.
STEVE: Right, Yoshinobu! Of course, my mistake. So, Yoshinobu, how about our pitching staff, huh? Top-notch, right?
The interpreter translates, but the player seems more interested in the food, which he’s eyeing with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
YOSHINOBU: (through the interpreter) What is this dish?
Steve, proud of his effort, beams.
STEVE: It’s my special meatloaf. A family recipe!
Yoshinobu, after trying a bite, struggles to maintain a polite expression. It’s clear the meatloaf isn’t to his taste. The interpreter, tasting it himself, tries to hide his reaction.
INTERPRETER: (awkwardly) It’s very… unique, sir.
The dinner continues with a few more awkward attempts at conversation, with Steve trying to talk baseball and Yoshinobu responding politely through his interpreter, all while navigating the culinary misadventure in front of them.
STEVE: …and that’s not all, we’re planning to add a state-of-the-art casino to the stadium. Imagine that! Baseball and blackjack, side by side!
The interpreter translates, but Yoshinobu’s expression doesn’t change. He seems more confused than impressed. He whispers something to his interpreter.
YOSHINOBU: (through the interpreter) A casino? I am here to play baseball. This does not interest me.
Steve, sensing the player’s lack of enthusiasm, tries to shift gears.
STEVE: Uh, but of course, baseball is the main thing! The casino is just… extra entertainment, you know?
Yoshinobu now looking uncomfortable, speaks quietly to his interpreter, who hesitates before translating.
INTERPRETER: (reluctantly) Mr. Yoshinobu wishes to know if it would be possible to conclude the dinner early. He would like to… make a phone call.
STEVE: (surprised) A phone call? Sure, he can use my phone. Is everything okay?
The interpreter and Takashi exchange a quick glance. Takashi then speaks firmly.
STEVE: Jerry, you won’t believe it. He called the Dodgers! The Dodgers, Jerry! From my own house!
JERRY: (trying not to laugh) He called the Dodgers from your house? That’s bold.
STEVE: Bold? It’s a betrayal! I made him my special meatloaf, Jerry. My special meatloaf!
JERRY: Maybe it was the meatloaf that did it. You know, there’s a fine line between culinary innovation and a culinary crime.
