Steve is pacing back and forth, clearly stressed about the financial implications of an unsold-out Opening Day.
STEVE: (worrying) Opening Day isn’t sold out. This is a disaster. We’re losing money hand over fist here. What am I gonna do Jerry?
Just then, Kramer bursts into the apartment, brimming with what he believes to be a game-changing idea.
KRAMER: (excitedly) Steve, you’re thinking about this all wrong. It’s not about tickets sold, it’s about selling product. You need to expand the team store!
STEVE: (sighing) I can’t do that, Kramer. The Mets museum is there.
KRAMER: (waving dismissively) Spread the museum pieces all over the stadium! That way, everyone can see them, and they won’t be out of the way. That’s what they do in Atlanta.
JERRY: (dryly) Because the main entrance to a baseball stadium isn’t exactly “out of the way.”
KRAMER: (undaunted) My friend Chico works with the Braves. They expanded their store, and these new jerseys are moving like hotcakes.
Elaine, who had been listening while making a sandwich, looks up, puzzled by Kramer’s analogy.
ELAINE: (quizzically) Does anyone even eat hotcakes anymore? What are hotcakes, anyway?
STEVE: (considering) Spreading the museum pieces might actually draw more foot traffic throughout the stadium. And more foot traffic means more eyes on merchandise…
JERRY: (smirking) And maybe you can sell hotcakes next to Mike Piazza’s jersey.
KRAMER: (nodding) See? It’s all about synergy. Museum pieces here, hotcakes there. It’s a win-win.
STEVE: (slowly smiling) Maybe… just maybe, Kramer, you’re onto something. Let’s give Chico a call.
INT. CITI FIELD – CONCOURSE AREA – DAY
The stadium is buzzing with fans milling around, taking in the sights before the game starts. In one section, a small crowd has gathered around Tom Seaver’s plaque, part of the new dispersed museum initiative.
A kid, no more than ten, tugs at his father’s sleeve, pointing at the plaque with a puzzled look.
KID: (confused) Dad, why is the plaque turning green?
The father squints at the plaque, noticing the telltale signs of oxidation for the first time.
FATHER: (murmuring) Huh, looks like it’s oxidizing. That’s not good.
Nearby, Jerry and Steve are in line for hot dogs when they overhear the conversation. Steve’s eyes widen as he turns to look at the plaque.
STEVE: (panicking) Oxidizing? All the plaques are… (He trails off, imagining the worst.)
JERRY: (dryly) Maybe it’s a new feature. The ‘living’ museum, where the exhibits change colors before your eyes.
Steve doesn’t share Jerry’s sense of humor.
STEVE: (muttering to himself) Oxidizing… Not just Seaver, David Wright, Al Leiter, all of them! This was supposed to be timeless, not… not a science experiment gone wrong!
JERRY: (trying to calm him down) Steve, relax. It’s just a little patina. Adds character.
STEVE: (stopping abruptly) Character? Jerry, these are our legends. They’re turning green!
JERRY: Well, our legends and Al Leiter.
Just then, Kramer slides up, overhearing the last part of Steve’s meltdown.
KRAMER: (enthusiastically) You know, in some cultures, the green on statues is considered a sign of wisdom and venerability.
STEVE: (exasperated) This isn’t the Statue of Liberty, Kramer. It’s the Mets’ Hall of Fame!
JERRY: More like the Mets Hallway of Fame.
As Steve storms off to address the unexpected crisis, Jerry turns to Kramer with a smirk.
JERRY: (teasing) Maybe we can start selling ‘vintage’ oxidized merchandise next. The real Citi Field experience.
KRAMER: (pondering) That’s not a bad idea. Authenticity sells, Jerry!
JERRY: come on Steve, let’s go visit your new expanded store.
INT. CITI FIELD – NEWLY EXPANDED METS STORE – DAY
The gang walks into the bustling Mets store, now expanded and filled with a variety of new merchandise. However, the atmosphere inside is less than enthusiastic.
As Jerry, Elaine, Steve, and Kramer weave through the crowd, they overhear snippets of conversation. One fan, holding up a jersey to show his friend, voices a complaint that captures the prevailing sentiment.
FAN: (frustrated) Can you believe this? The names on these jerseys are so small, you can’t read them unless you’re right up close. Look at this, you practically need binoculars!
FRIEND: (squinting at the jersey) Seriously? Who thought that was a good idea?
The gang stops to examine the jerseys for themselves, and it’s clear the fan’s complaint is valid. The player names, stylishly minimalist to a fault, are nearly illegible from a short distance.
STEVE: (to Kramer, dismayed) You said these jerseys were a hit. What’s with the tiny print?
KRAMER: (defensively) It’s minimalist, Steve! It’s fashion-forward. It’s… it’s European!
JERRY: (dryly) Yeah, because when I think baseball, I think Europe. The Brits are gonna love these.
ELAINE: (examining a jersey) It’s like they’re trying to keep the players’ identities a secret.
As they banter, more fans gather around, nodding in agreement and sharing their own quips about the jerseys. It becomes clear that while the idea might have been innovative, the execution has left much to be desired.
SALES ASSOCIATE: (trying to remain upbeat) They’re unique, right? A real conversation starter!
JERRY: (smirking) Oh, they’re starting conversations, alright
STEVE: (turning to Kramer, frustrated) I thought you said these new jerseys are great.
KRAMER: (scratching his head) Well, they looked fantastic on paper, Steve. You know, sleek, modern… maybe it’s the lighting in here.
ELAINE: (picking up a jersey) Look at this, you need a magnifying glass just to see the number. And what’s with this fabric? It’s like wearing a sauna.
KRAMER: (trying to save face) Elaine, you’ve got to give it time. They’re trendsetters!
SALES ASSOCIATE: (cheerfully) Special offer today! Buy a jersey, and we’ll throw in a free Mets cap.
JERRY: (quipping) How about a deal where you buy a cap and they throw in the jersey for free?
KRAMER: $60? For a cap? That’s a lot.
