INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – SUNDAY NIGHT
KRAMER: (panting) Pete Alonso just opted out!
STEVE: (spinning) What do you mean “opt out”?
KRAMER: Opt out! He’s gone. Out the door, through the turnstile, bye-bye birdie!
STEVE: (stammering) The season ended five minutes ago! The team isn’t even on the plane home yet! How can you opt out before the luggage is loaded on to the plane? Do I even get to make him an offer?
JERRY: (calmly) Well, we do know Pete doesn’t like to wait around for a good pitch.
STEVE: (to Jerry, panicked) Jerry, how much money do I have to pay these people?
ELAINE: (teasing) Maybe he just doesn’t like the dance team.
STEVE: (throwing his hands up) Dance team! We’re talking about the future of the franchise, and you’re talking about the dance team?
Steve drops into the chair, head in hands.
JERRY: (to Elaine) You know, the Mets are the only team where free agents run out the door faster than they run to first base.
INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – LATER
Steve, still worked up, pulls out his phone.
STEVE: That’s it. I’m calling him. I’m calling Alonso myself.
JERRY: (mock concern) Oh, big move. Careful, Steve. Don’t pull a hamstring scrolling to “A.”
Steve dials, waits… nothing. He redials. Still nothing. His face sinks.
STEVE: (muttering) He’s not picking up. He’s not picking up!
JERRY: (deadpan) Maybe he opted out of your contacts, too.
ELAINE: (grinning) Face it, Steve. It’s not you, it’s… well, no, it is you.
Steve slumps on the couch, staring at the phone like it betrayed him.
INT. CITI FIELD – CLUBHOUSE – MONDAY
The Mets are cleaning out their lockers. Reporters mill around, snapping pictures. Steve hovers nervously by Pete Alonso’s locker, which is strangely untouched.
STEVE: (looking around) Where’s Pete? Anybody seen Pete?
A young clubhouse assistant walks in carrying a cardboard box.
ASSISTANT: Uh, hey boss… Pete asked me to grab his stuff.
STEVE: (stunned) Grab his stuff? He sent you? He’s not even here?
ASSISTANT: (shrugs) Yeah. He said to make sure you get the note.
The assistant hands Steve a folded piece of paper. Steve fumbles it open. It reads simply: “Opted Out. – Pete.”
Jerry, Elaine, and Kramer, standing nearby with coffee, watch the whole thing.
JERRY: (deadpan) At least he wrote. Ohtani didn’t even call.
ELAINE: (shaking her head) That’s cold. He didn’t just leave the Mets, he ghosted the Mets.
KRAMER: (nodding) Oh, he’s gone, Steve. Gone like a meatball at a buffet.
Steve crumples the note in his hand, muttering “The optics… the optics…”
JERRY: (to Elaine, smirking) You know, they say players dream of walking off with a championship. Here, they just walk off into the sunset.