The Opening Day


Jerry, Steve, and Elaine are seated around the kitchen table, engaged in a light-hearted debate about the best breakfast cereal, when a knock at the door disrupts their conversation. Jerry gets up to answer it, revealing Newman, decked out in full Mets gear, looking unusually chipper.

JERRY: (dryly) Hello, Newman. What’s with the get-up?

NEWMAN: (smugly) It’s Opening Day, Jerry. The beginning of baseball’s symphony. And I, for one, plan to be there for the opening note.

Elaine, looking puzzled, turns the conversation towards practical matters.

ELAINE: Weren’t tickets over $100? That’s steep, even for a symphony.

NEWMAN: (laughing) Only fools pay full price, Elaine. With so many tickets available, the prices crashed. We got in for next to nothing. It’s almost criminal how good the deal was.

KRAMER: (curiously) And why aren’t you going, Jerry? Don’t want to join the festivities?

JERRY: (shrugging) Why would I go sit out in the rain? I have a perfectly fine TV right here. Plus, I won’t have to witness Steve’s dance team live.

STEVE: (defensively) Hey, they’re getting better…

KRAMER: (enthusiastically) And that’s not all, we also joined the 7 Line Army!

ELAINE: (confused) The 7 Line Army? What’s that?

KRAMER: (explaining) Oh, it’s this incredible group of Mets fans. We all wear the same shirts and cheer together from the outfield. It’s like being part of a big baseball family.

ELAINE: (raising an eyebrow) Matching shirts? What’s next, synchronized cheering routines?

NEWMAN: (correcting her)  Elaine. Every time someone strikes out, we do a synchronized”Heeeeee Struck Him Out!” It’s electric.

JERRY: (mockingly) Oh, that’s a strikeout, alright. A bunch of grown men, wearing matching t-shirts, cheering in unison. Welcome to the 7 Line Army, where every day is twin day. Don’t forget your buddy!”

NEWMAN: (proudly) It’s about solidarity, Elaine. When one of us cheers, we all cheer. When one of us groans, we all groan. It’s poetic.

ELAINE: (skeptical) Wait, so you watch games from 500 feet away, and backwards?

KRAMER: (earnestly) You know, Steve, you should sit with us in the outfield. It’d be good for publicity. Show the fans you’re one of them.

JERRY: (continuing to mock) Yeah, until Steve tries to catch a fly ball and ends up on the blooper reel.

ELAINE: (joining in) Or gets so into the spirit, he starts pitching marketing ideas to the fans. “So, how do you feel about black jerseys?”


Steve, taking Kramer’s advice to heart, finds himself amidst the sea of orange and blue, sitting with Darren and the enthusiastic members of the 7 Line Army. The atmosphere is electric with camaraderie until the new dance team takes the field for their performance.

As the dance team begins their routine, a dissenting voice cuts through the crowd’s chatter.

DISGRUNTLED FAN: (loudly) You suck!

Steve, ever the diplomat, turns around, trying to quell the negativity.

STEVE: (calmly) Hey, that’s not nice. They’re trying their best out here.

FAN: (pointing at Steve) You suck too! Why didn’t you sign Ohtani?

STEVE: (sighing) He didn’t call!

Before Steve can further explain, another fan jumps into the fray, airing another grievance.

ANOTHER FAN: (yelling) And what about the museum? You got rid of it!

STEVE: (trying to be heard over the noise) We scattered the memorabilia throughout the stadium, like they did in Atlanta. It’s all still here, just… different.

The tension momentarily subsides, only to be reignited when the opposing team hits a home run. The crowd’s frustration finds a convenient target, and boos start raining down, not just for the team’s performance but directed at Steve as well.

FAN #1: (booing) This is on you, Steve!

Caught in the crossfire of criticism, Steve realizes the depth of passion Mets fans hold, not just for the game but for the traditions and decisions that shape their experience.

DARREN: (leaning over) Tough crowd, huh?

The skies over Citi Field, previously holding back, finally open up, sending down a steady shower that has fans scrambling for cover. Amid the chaos of unfolding umbrellas and fans donning ponchos, Steve remains seated, a tangible reminder of his commitment to being ‘one with the fans.’

As the rain intensifies, a voice cuts through the sound of rainfall, targeting Steve with a mix of frustration and jest.

RAIN-SOAKED NEWMAN: (shouting over the rain) Hey, Steve! Why didn’t you build a dome? You could afford it!

STEVE: (shouting back, trying to maintain good humor) I thought we all liked a little bit of rain!

FAN #1: (yelling over the rain) Sure, and I thought we all liked winning seasons! Guess we can’t have everything!

FAN #2: : (shouting with a smirk) With all the money you saved not signing anyone, you could have at least bought us ponchos!

Before the banter can continue, the new dance team, undeterred by the weather, takes to the field for their performance. Their determination, however, is met with disdain rather than admiration. The rain has dampened more than just spirits; it’s seemingly washed away any patience the fans might have had.

As the dancers slip and slide, attempting to keep their routine alive in the downpour, the crowd’s restlessness turns to vocal displeasure. Boos and jeers echo around the stadium, a harsh critique not just of the performance but of the decision to proceed with it under such conditions.

The scene ends with the dance team finishing their soggy performance to a chorus of boos, leaving Steve to contemplate the complexities of managing entertainment in an unpredictable environment.