The Sellout


STEVE: (beaming) Well, well, well, guess who proved all the naysayers wrong? That’s right, good old Uncle Steve! The Mets sold out Opening Day!

Jerry raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

JERRY: (doubtful) Is that so? Because I happened to check after the game started, and they were still peddling unsold inventory around 1:42.

Steve’s confident facade begins to crack as Elaine catches on.

ELAINE: (realizing) Wait a minute, Steve, did you buy those tickets?

Steve shifts uncomfortably, attempting to save face.

STEVE: (defensively) Well, you see, there were these needy schoolchildren who really wanted to go to the game but couldn’t afford tickets…

Jerry interrupts, not buying it for a second.

JERRY: (sarcastic) Yeah, because that’s a believable scenario. And what, pray tell, genius, was the pricing strategy that left tickets unsold?

Steve shoots Jerry a look, clearly not amused by his skepticism. Jerry quickly changes the subject, sensing Steve’s irritation.

JERRY: (changing topic) So, how about that loss to the Brewers? They really got the best of you.

Steve attempts to brush off the question with a dismissive wave.

STEVE: (nonchalantly) Ah, well, you know, Jerry, that’s baseball for you. The Brewers were just the better team on that day.

JERRY: (teasing) You know, Steve, they have a lot of smart executives over there. Maybe you ought to look into hiring one.

Steve’s expression turns sour as he realizes he’s walked right into Jerry’s trap.


Steve briskly walks down the hallway of Citi Field, his mind preoccupied with the recent events and Jerry’s jabs echoing in his head. Suddenly, he spots Father Michael, who gives him a frosty look as he approaches.

STEVE: (awkwardly) Ah, Father Michael, good to see you.

Father Michael’s demeanor is chilly as he regards Steve with a hint of disapproval.

FATHER MICHAEL: (disapprovingly) What of these young ladies? The new dance team?

Steve follows Father Michael’s gaze and chuckles nervously.

STEVE: (attempting to lighten the mood) Ah, yes, the Queens Crew. Quite the addition, don’t you think?

Father Michael’s expression remains solemn as he shakes his head disapprovingly.

FATHER MICHAEL: (concerned) They are quite…salacious, aren’t they? Not the sort of thing children should have to look at when they’re trying to watch a baseball game.

FATHER MICHAEL: (changing subjects) I see you lost playing baseball on Good Friday. That’s a shame. I am sure the good Lord will look out for you on Easter.

Taken aback by the unexpected remark, his confusion evident on his face. Father Michael nods curtly before turning and walking away, leaving Steve to contemplate his words.

Steve shakes his head in bewilderment, unsure of what just transpired. With a shrug, he continues on his way, his thoughts drifting to the upcoming challenges he faces as the owner of the Mets.


Steve sits at his desk, mulling over the recent loss to the Brewers, a cloud of frustration hanging over him. He spots David walking by and calls out to him, motioning for him to come into his office.

STEVE: (calling out) David, come in here for a moment.

David enters the office, a stack of papers in hand, and takes a seat across from Steve.

DAVID: (curious) What’s up, Steve?

STEVE: (exasperated) How did we lose to the Brewers, David? I thought we had everything under control. I mean, one hit? It’s embarassing.

David sighs, understanding the gravity of the situation.

DAVID: (matter-of-factly) I told you that would happen.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

STEVE: (taken aback) You told me it would happen?

DAVID: (nodding) Yes, when you did the unnecessary rainout.

Steve’s confusion is evident as he tries to recall the events.

STEVE: (defensive) Unnecessary? But it was pouring out there!

DAVID: (calmly) Well, we could have waited it out and found a window.

Steve looks incredulous at the suggestion.

STEVE: (skeptical) A window?

DAVID: (nodding) Yes, a window. Steve, look, we spent the entire spring getting ready to play on March 28th. When you moved the opener to the 29th, you threw off all the rhythm. We’ll probably miss the playoffs now.

Steve’s eyes widen in disbelief.

STEVE: (disbelieving) Miss the playoffs? How can you say that? It’s not even April yet.

David shakes his head, a hint of resignation in his voice.

DAVID: (grimly) Steve, baseball is a game of probability and all, you probably screwed the whole season.

Steve slumps back in his chair, realizing the weight of his decisions and the potential consequences they may have on the team’s season.

DAVID: We had to use Smith, Lopez, and Tonkin yesterday. They should have all been on one day rest for today’s game.

Steve’s expression shifts from confusion to concern as David elaborates on the impact of the decision.

STEVE: (realizing the gravity of the situation) So, the entire plan was built around middle relief, and now we have a tired bullpen because I decided to play on Friday.

David nods, his tone heavy with disappointment.

DAVID: Exactly. We meticulously mapped out the bullpen strategy for the opening series, and now it’s all thrown off course.

Steve leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he processes the information.

STEVE: (trying to act proud even though he is embarrased) I didn’t realize the ripple effect it would have. I was just trying to ensure a sold-out Opening Day.