The Tweet


Steve bursts into Jerry’s apartment, his face alive with excitement.

STEVE: Hey, guess what? The Mets took two out of three from Atlanta! The Mets are back, baby!

Jerry glances up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow at Steve’s enthusiasm.

JERRY: Ah, the rollercoaster of Mets fandom.  Say, how’s it going with Dwight Gooden Day?

Steve’s expression shifts from jubilation to a more somber tone as he slumps into a nearby chair.

STEVE: (sighing) Why’d you have to bring that up, Jerry? It’s not going well. Lots of tickets left.

JERRY: (teasing) Did you go on Twitter to hawk tickets?

STEVE: (defensive) Yes, Jerry, I went on Twitter. Twice.

JERRY: (smirking) Well, good thing they won. You only go on twitter when they win.

STEVE: (disputing) That’s not true.

Elaine, who has been scrolling through her phone, chimes in with a mischievous grin.

ELAINE: Actually, Jerry’s right. You only come on when the team wins.  You talk about wins and you try to sell tickets.  You never come on after a loss.

JERRY:  She’s right ya know. You do tend to disappear when the going gets rough. Like week one when the Mets lost 5 in a row to start the season.  Nothing.  Mets take two of three, Stevie Boy’s phone starts working again.

Steve’s face falls, realizing his social media habits have been exposed. He tries to save face, but it’s clear he’s been caught out.

STEVE: (sheepishly) Well, you know, it’s all about timing. Can’t blame a guy for wanting to capitalize on the good moments, right?

JERRY: (chuckling) Well, look, if you’re waiting for something good to happen with the Mets, you’re gonna be waiting a long time. I’ve been waiting since 1986.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle, knowing all too well the ups and downs of being a Mets fan.

STEVE: Yeah, tell me about it.


Chad, the social media intern, sits at his desk, tapping away at his keyboard. Steve enters, a determined look on his face.

STEVE: Chad, got a minute?

CHAD: Of course, Mister Steve. What can I do for you?

STEVE: I need your expertise on something delicate. You know, a tweet for those… uh, less triumphant moments.

CHAD: Ah, the ol’ “we’ll get ’em next time” special. I got you covered, Mister Steve.

Chad cracks his knuckles with a confident grin.

CHAD: I’ll whip up something classy yet reassuring, Mister Steve. You can count on me.

STEVE: Appreciate it, Chad. Let me know when it’s ready.

Steve nods, turning to leave as Chad gets to work, the click-clack of his keyboard filling the room.


Steve sits at his desk, surrounded by paperwork. He sighs, rubbing his temples as he picks up the phone.

STEVE: David, could you come in here for a moment?

David enters, a stack of papers in hand.

DAVID: What’s up, boss?

STEVE: Who is Julio Teheran, and why is Payroll asking me to sign a check for $150,000?

DAVID: Oh, Julio Teheran… he was a pitcher we signed for a brief stint.

STEVE: Brief stint?

DAVID: Yeah, he only lasted 2 and 2/3 innings. Then I cut him

STEVE:  You cut him?

DAVID:  He wasn’t very good.

STEVE:  Then why did you sign him if he’s not very good?

DAVID:  I had a hunch.

STEVE: A hunch? For 2 and 2/3 innings? I’m paying a guy $150,000 for 2 and 2/3 innings? I may be rich, but nobody’s that rich. How much is that per out?

Steve leans back in his chair, looking perplexed.

DAVID: Let me do the math… It’s uh, probably quite a lot, Steve.

As David calculates, Chad walks in, looking sheepish.

CHAD: Uh, Mister Steve, I, uh… I sent out the tweet from your account.

STEVE: Well, what does it say?

CHAD: Um, well… It says, “Looks like the Mets forgot how to play baseball again. Maybe they should try a different sport. #Embarrassing #MetsMisery”

Steve winces at the tweet, clearly horrified.

STEVE: Oh no…

DAVID: And uh, regarding Julio Teheran… it comes out to about $56,250 per out.

Steve buries his face in his hands, realizing the financial folly of his decisions.