The Unsold Tickets


Steve, looking more stressed than usual, is venting to Jerry about the challenges facing Opening Day. The tickets aren’t sold out, and now there’s the added worry of rain.

STEVE: (worrying) I’m going to be embarrassed. Opening Day not sold out, and now it might even rain.

JERRY: (teasingly) You don’t think the dance team is going to pack them in? At least there’ll be fewer people mad about the museum.

Before Steve can reply, Kramer bursts into the apartment with a Kramer-like solution to Steve’s problem.

KRAMER: (excitedly) Steve, why don’t you just buy the tickets yourself?

STEVE: (confused) Me, buy my own tickets?

KRAMER: (nodding) Sure, nobody will know. You just announce that the last few tickets sold and it’s now a sellout.

ELAINE: (skeptical) Won’t people notice all the empty seats?

KRAMER: (waving off the concern) Shake Shack, Elaine. You just claim that everyone is in the Shake Shack line.

Steve ponders this for a moment, the idea seemingly growing on him.


Emboldened by Kramer’s suggestion, Steve instructs David, his assistant, to buy all the remaining tickets to ensure a “sellout.”

STEVE: (decisively) David, buy all the rest of the tickets. We can’t have Opening Day not be a sellout.

DAVID: (doing the math) For that much money, we could have just signed Ohtani.

Steve’s face falls at the mention of Ohtani, a sore subject. The humor in David’s comment is lost on him.

STEVE: (flatly) That’s not funny, David.


The scene shifts to Citi Field, where Opening Day is in full swing, despite the looming clouds. As the game starts, rain begins to fall, leading to an inevitable rain delay. The fans, already sparse, are restless.

To fill the time and keep spirits up, the dance team takes to the field, performing their routine on the slick tarp covering the infield. However, their performance is met with less enthusiasm and more indifference, if not outright disdain, from the fans seeking shelter from the rain.

JERRY: (watching the dance team) Look at this, Elaine. They’re dancing in the rain. Gene Kelly would be proud… or horrified.

ELAINE: (smirking) I’m not sure what’s more slippery, the tarp or their chances of winning the crowd over.

Steve, trying to keep a brave face, is visibly agitated by the fans’ lukewarm response to the dance team, his latest initiative to enhance the game day experience.

STEVE: (muttering) It seemed like a good idea at the time. It works for the NBA…

As one particularly ambitious dance move sends a dancer sliding comically across the tarp, a wave of laughter and a few jeers ripple through the crowd. It’s clear the performance is becoming more of a sideshow than a morale booster.

JERRY: (dryly) You know, if the baseball thing doesn’t work out, they could always join the circus.

ELAINE: (nudging Jerry) Be nice. They’re… trying.

STEVE: (increasingly frustrated) This is a nightmare. First, the tickets, now this. What next?

Just then, a fan loudly proclaims their desire for the game to resume or, at the very least, for some actual entertainment. This sentiment quickly catches on, with more fans joining in the chorus of dissatisfaction.

STEVE: (standing up, exasperated) I get it! I’m going to see what I can do.

Steve storms off, leaving Jerry and Elaine to watch as the dance team finishes their routine to polite applause and scattered chuckles. It’s an Opening Day that will be remembered, but for all the wrong reasons.

JERRY: (sipping his drink) Well, at least the rain’s letting up. Maybe we’ll get some actual baseball soon.

ELAINE: (looking around) And maybe next year, Steve will invest in a dome. Or a better dance team.


Amidst the drizzle and disappointment of the rain delay, a dad and his excited kid navigate through the concourses of Citi Field, seeking refuge and entertainment in the Mets museum they’ve enjoyed in past visits.

DAD: (smiling down at his kid) Since it’s raining, let’s go check out the Mets museum. You loved seeing all those cool exhibits last time, right?

KID: (excitedly) Yeah! I wanna see the World Series trophy again!

Their excitement carries them quickly to the location of the former museum, but upon arrival, their smiles fade. In place of the museum stands a sprawling new store, packed with merchandise but devoid of the history and heart the museum once held.

KID: (confused, then tearful) Where’s the museum? I wanted to see the trophy…

DAD: (frustrated, turning to a nearby staff member) What happened to the Mets museum?

STAFF MEMBER: (apologetically) Oh, it was replaced by this new expanded store. You can find great Mets gear here now!

The kid, unable to hold back tears, starts crying, deeply disappointed by the loss of a cherished experience. The dad, now visibly angry, spots Steve nearby discussing the store’s layout with an associate.

DAD: (approaching Steve, yelling) You’ve ruined the stadium! My kid was looking forward to the museum, and now it’s gone! Just for more merchandise?

STEVE: (taken aback, then defensively) But look at this beautiful store. We thought fans would appreciate the expanded merchandise selection.

The dad’s frustration resonates with other fans nearby, who start to pay attention to the unfolding confrontation. Murmurs of agreement ripple through the onlookers, revealing a shared sentiment of loss over the museum’s replacement.

FANS (chanting in unison):  We want the museum! We want the museum!

DAD: (pointedly) A store can’t replace history. You’ve taken away something special from the fans, especially the kids.

The kid, still crying, tugs at his dad’s hand, wanting to leave. The dad, offering one last disappointed shake of his head to Steve, guides his child away, leaving Steve to contemplate the unintended consequences of his decision.

STEVE: (to himself, regretfully) Maybe we lost sight of what really matters to the fans.