The Mets Police

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – 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?”

INT. CITI FIELD – OUTFIELD SEATS WITH THE 7 LINE ARMY – DAY

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.

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – DAY

 

INT. CITI FIELD – STEVE’S OFFICE – LATER

Intrigued by Jerry’s suggestion, Steve heads to Citi Field to discuss the plan with David, his statistics and logistics guru.

STEVE: (hopeful) So, what do you think about moving the game to Friday?

DAVID:  I don’t like it. I had mapped out the bullpen usage down to the last detail. Now the guys won’t be as rested, and that will reduce our win probability by 17.38%.

STEVE:  17.38%?

DAVID: (pointing to a chart) Baseball is a game of probability, Steve. If we postpone this game, our analysis shows we will not make the playoffs. The disruption in the rotation, the bullpen rest days—it all adds up.

STEVE: (skeptical) Come on, David. You’re telling me moving one game can derail our entire season? That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.

DAVID: (not amused) Steve, I’m serious. This could impact player performance, morale, and ultimately, our standing.

STEVE: (pausing, then decisively) David, I appreciate your dedication to the numbers. But sometimes, we have to take risks. It’s not just about the probability; it’s about the fans, the experience, and making tough calls.

DAVID: (sighing) I just hope this decision doesn’t come back to haunt us in September.

STEVE: (standing up, determined) If it does, I’ll take full responsibility

INT. CITI FIELD – HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER

As Steve walks down the hallway, still digesting David’s analysis, he encounters Father Michael, a very stereotypical Irish priest, in the midst of a peculiar tradition.

FATHER MICHAEL: (cheerfully) Ah, Steve! Just here getting ready to bless the horseshoe that’s presented to the manager every year.

STEVE: (confused but bluffing) That’s right, the uh, horseshoe, like we do every year.

FATHER MICHAEL: (nodding) Anyway, see you tomorrow.

STEVE: (hesitatingly) Actually, the game’s been moved to Friday.

FATHER MICHAEL: (taken aback) Friday? But that’s Good Friday.

STEVE: (optimistically) Yes, a good Friday to start the season.

FATHER MICHAEL: (shaking his head) I can’t do a horseshoe blessing on Good Friday. It wouldn’t be right.

Caught off guard by the unexpected religious and superstitious implications of his decision, Steve realizes that rescheduling a game involves more than just logistics and empty seats. The scene closes with Steve, now second-guessing his plan, pondering the complexities of baseball traditions, fan expectations, and the unforeseen consequences of seemingly simple decisions.

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – LATER

STEVE: (sighing) And now Father Michael won’t bless the horseshoe because it’s Good Friday.

JERRY: (shaking his head) Oh, that’s not good. It’s literally in the name, “Good Friday.” You’d think that would bring some luck.

ELAINE: (confused) Wait, they bless horseshoes now? I thought that was for… horses.

KRAMER: (suddenly enthusiastic) I can do it!

STEVE: (perplexed) You? You can bless a horseshoe?

KRAMER: (nodding proudly) Sure, I’m an ordained minister. Got certified online last year. I can bless anything—horseshoes, baseball bats, you name it.

ELAINE: (trying to catch up) So, is this horseshoe thing a baseball tradition or a Kramer tradition?

KRAMER: (grandly) It’s a Mets tradition, Elaine. This horseshoe will carry the blessings of the cosmos. You’ll see, we’ll start the season on a high note.

STEVE: (half-joking, half-desperate) At this point, I’m willing to try anything. Kramer, you’re up.

INT. CITI FIELD – OPENING DAY

The camera pans over Citi Field, capturing the excitement of Opening Day. In the broadcast booth, Gary Cohen provides commentary on an unexpected turn of events during the game.

GARY COHEN: (with a hint of confusion in his voice) An odd choice by the manager here. Alonso, McNeil and Lindor, three of the team’s top players, are all coming out of the game. Let’s check in with our sideline reporter, Steve Gelbs, for more on this. Steve?

STEVE GELBS: (looking concerned) Thanks, Gary. I’ve just been informed that the players have developed sudden blistering rashes on their hands.

INT. CITI FIELD – OWNERS BOX

JERRY: (curious) Kramer, where did you get the horseshoe from?

KRAMER: (proudly) I made it.

ELAINE: (intrigued) Made it? From what kind of plant?

KRAMER: (nonchalantly) Smodingium argutum. In some cultures its considered the luckiest of all flora.

The room falls silent as they all try to wrap their heads around the name.

STEVE: (confused) Smodingium argutum?

ELAINE: (skeptical) Let me look that up.

She quickly pulls out her phone, types in the search, and starts reading aloud from the screen.

ELAINE: (reading) “Smodingium argutum, native to southern Africa, is a shrub or small tree that exudes a creamy sap laden with chemicals known as heptadecyl catechols. Contact with the sap, which turns black when dried, causes a livid swollen rash with blisters, though some lucky people are immune. The symptoms usually subside after a few days.”

JERRY: (connecting the dots) So, you’re telling us you made a horseshoe out of a plant that causes blisters? And let me guess, our star players weren’t among the lucky immune ones?

KRAMER: (sheepishly) Well, when you put it that way…

Looks like The T-Shirt Guy or one of his staff got to see what the Mets are passing off as a museum.  This looks CHEAP.  Like it’s actually cheaper than something the Wilpons had made!

I am seeing a lot of Mets Insiders being total shills for this museum fiasco (man I wish I had a time machine and could grab 1988 Howie Rose to take calls about this one) but fortunately there are a few free thinkers left in the world.

Fascinating.  The forecast isn’t THAT bad, they for sure have tortured fans during far worse forecasts.  Sorry for anyone who is observant about Good Friday services.

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – DAY

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.

INT. METS OFFICE – LATER

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.

INT. CITI FIELD – OPENING DAY

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.

INT. CITI FIELD ROTUNDA – RAIN DELAY

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.