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The Sweep

EXT. COFFEE SHOP – DAY

(Jerry is reading the newspaper while Steve sits nearby, eager for any positive news about the Mets.)

JERRY: (reading newspaper) Hey, look here, the Post says despite the sweep, the Mets actually look like a good team.

STEVE: (excited) Really?

JERRY: April Fool.

STEVE: (disappointed) That’s not funny, Jerry.

JERRY: Well, I don’t know what’s worse, the play on the field or the dance team.

ELAINE:  I kind of like the dance team. It gives me something to watch during the slow parts.

STEVE: (sighs) Slow parts? We’re talking about baseball here, Elaine, not some Broadway musical.

JERRY: Yeah, but at least Broadway musicals have some rhythm.

STEVE: (defensively) Well, it’s all part of the experience, you know? We’re trying to create a vibrant atmosphere at Citi Field.

JERRY: (sarcastically) Oh yeah, because nothing says baseball like dancers in skimpy outfits prancing around between innings.

STEVE: (ignoring Jerry’s comment) Besides, the fans seem to enjoy it. It adds some energy to the ballpark.

JERRY: (rolling his eyes) Energy, huh? More like a distraction from the fact that the team can’t hit a curveball.

ELAINE: (interjecting) Speaking of distractions, what’s with those new black uniforms? They look like something out of a funeral parlor.

STEVE: (defending the uniforms) They’re sleek and modern! A nod to our heritage.

JERRY: (deadpan) Yeah, because nothing says Mets heritage like mourning the loss of another season. I was at least hoping for meaningful games in April.

STEVE: (exasperated) Okay, okay, enough with the jokes. Can’t you guys be a little supportive for once?

JERRY: (smirking) Supportive? That’s what the dance team’s for, Steve.

INT. ROLLER RINK – DAY

NEWMAN: (pointing) Hey, Kramer, take a gander at that.

KRAMER: (peering) Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Polar Bear himself!

NEWMAN: Roller skating, no less. Quite the peculiar choice after a series sweep.

KRAMER: (nodding knowingly)And they have a game tonight.  That’s not good for the optics.  Shouldn’t he be working out, or at least watching game films?

NEWMAN: (smirking) Indeed. Perhaps I will take some pictures to send to the Post.

The duo observes Pete’s roller-skating adventure with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, pondering the quirks of athletes’ pre-game activities.

INT. METS FRONT OFFICE – DAY

Steve sits at his desk, visibly frustrated, while David enters with a stack of papers.

STEVE: (frustrated) I just don’t understand what went wrong this weekend, David. We should have swept the Brewers.

DAVID: (taking a seat opposite Steve) Well, you see, the Brewers have a pretty strong front office.

STEVE: (perplexed) Pretty strong front office? I thought YOU were the brains behind the Brewers’ front office?

DAVID: (chuckling) Oh, Steve, if I were the brains behind the Brewers, do you really think I’d be working for the Mets?

STEVE:  Let’s move forward. We’re going to beat the Tigers, right?

DAVID:  Oh not a chance.

STEVE: (stunned) Wait, so you’re saying we’re doomed against the Tigers?

DAVID: (nodding) Afraid so, Steve. Reese Olson versus Sean Manaea? That’s not exactly a recipe for success.

STEVE: (frustrated) Not a recipe for success? David, I need some optimism here! I can’t have you walking around with that defeatist attitude.

DAVID: (raising an eyebrow) Well, I’m just being realistic, Steve. We need to manage our expectations.

STEVE: (exasperated) Manage our expectations? David, this is the New York Mets! We don’t just manage expectations, we exceed them!

DAVID: (chuckling) Alright, alright, no need to get worked up. I’ll see what I can do to boost morale.

DAVID: (raising an eyebrow) Oh, and one more thing, Steve. We ordered 15,000 rugby shirts for tonight’s promotion, but with the rain in the forecast and the team looking terrible, what should we do with the extra 4,000 shirts?

STEVE: (rubbing his chin, contemplating) Hmm… Well, we could always donate them to Fr. Michael’s charity.

DAVID:  Will do, Steve. Consider it taken care of.

 

INT. CITI FIELD – MONDAY NIGHT

Rain pours down onto the nearly empty stadium seats as the dance team, clad in their newly acquired shirts from Fanatics, tries to entertain the non-existent crowd from the field. Steve and David watch from under an awning, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and horror.

STEVE: (grimacing) Oh no, David, look at them. Those shirts were supposed to be top-quality!

DAVID: (shaking his head) It appears the rain has other plans. Fanatics might need to reconsider their definition of “waterproof.”

The dance team’s shirts, now soaked through, cling to their bodies, leaving little to the imagination. The situation becomes increasingly uncomfortable to watch.

STEVE: (covering his eyes) This is a disaster. How are we supposed to maintain any semblance of professionalism with… that?

DAVID: (grimacing) It seems we’ve unwittingly stumbled into a wet T-shirt contest. And I don’t think the fans are pleased with the unexpected turn of events.  I guess it’s a good thing almost nobody is here.

Steve and David exchange a glance, realizing the PR nightmare unfolding before their eyes as the rain continues to drench the unfortunate dance team.

 

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The Concert

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – DAY

Jerry, Elaine, and Steve are engaged in a casual conversation about cereal when Kramer bursts through the door, visibly excited.

KRAMER: (animated) You will never believe who showed up at the Zack Bryan concert last night!  Pete Alonso!

STEVE: (interrupting, incredulous) Pete Alonso?

ELAINE:  Who’s Pete Alonso?

Kramer nods enthusiastically, pulling out his phone to showcase the video evidence.

KRAMER: Bingo! Pete Alonso, right there in the crowd, grooving to the music like there’s no tomorrow!

Steve’s frustration is palpable as he watches the video, the implications of Alonso’s public appearance weighing heavily on his mind.

STEVE: (muttering to himself) Unbelievable… After everything we’ve been through…

Elaine and Jerry exchange puzzled glances, sensing Steve’s agitation.

ELAINE: (curious) What’s the big deal? It’s just a concert.

STEVE: (exasperated) It’s not just a concert, Elaine! It’s the optics of the situation. We’re already dealing with enough embarrassment as it is.

INT. CITI FIELD – HALLWAY – DAY

Steve is on his way to his office, and sees Fr. Michael coming back from Team Mass.

STEVE: (enthusiastically) Father Michael! Happy Easter to you!

FATHER MICHAEL: (nodding politely) Happy Easter..

Steve, eager to infuse some optimism into the conversation, leans in a bit too eagerly.

STEVE: (leaning closer, conspiratorially) You know, Father, I’ve been thinking. A little divine intervention on our side today could really turn the tide for the Mets. What do you say? Can you put in a good word for us upstairs?

Father Michael’s demeanor remains unchanged, his response measured and cautious.

FATHER MICHAEL: (diplomatically) While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I’m afraid divine intervention doesn’t quite work like that. We must put our faith in the hands of a higher power and accept whatever outcome may come.

Undeterred, Steve persists, his optimism shining through.

STEVE: (insistently) But Father, think about it! A victory today would mean so much to the team, to the fans…to the whole city! Surely, a little extra help from above couldn’t hurt?

FATHER MICHAEL: (chuckling softly)  I’ll tell you what, I will pray for your soul. That way, win or lose, you’ll come out ahead in the end.

Steve’s enthusiasm falters momentarily at the unexpected response, but he manages a weak smile. He can’t help but wonder what Fr, Michael meant by that.

INT. CITI FIELD – HALLWAY – DAY

Steve runs into Pete, who is on his way to the locker room

STEVE: Hey, Pete. Saw you made it to a concert last night.

Pete offers a friendly smile, though he seems slightly taken aback by Steve’s directness.

PETE : Yeah, it was a good time. Needed a bit of a break from the field.

Steve’s expression remains serious, his tone slightly reproachful.

STEVE: Right, right. But you know, Pete, after a couple of tough losses, some fans might not see it that way. Could give off the wrong impression, you know?  The optics.

Pete shifts uncomfortably, sensing the weight of Steve’s implication.

PETE: The optics?

STEVE: You know, the optics. It’s about perception, Pete. And right now, the perception… well, it could use a little polishing.

Pete furrows his brow, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.

PETE : The optics were that I hit a home run yesterday, what do you want from me?

Steve’s disapproval is palpable, his tone unyielding.

STEVE: I’d like the optics to be a little better, Pete. That’s all.

INT. CITI FIELD – STEVE’S OFFICE

STEVE: David, come in here for a sec.

David enters Steve’s office, a stack of papers in hand, ready to dive into the latest analysis.

DAVID: Hey, Steve. What’s up?

STEVE: What’s up? What’s up is why are the Mets getting swept by the Brewers? You got some numbers for me?

David nods, flipping through the papers in his hands before offering an explanation.

DAVID: Well, statistically speaking, our bullpen usage has been less than optimal, and our batting lineup seems to struggle against their pitching rotation.

Steve listens intently, though his frustration is evident.

STEVE: And what about Pete? What’s he doing at concerts after two losses?

David shrugs, not entirely surprised by the question.

DAVID: Oh, that’s probably just Carlos not paying attention. He’s new at managing, you know. Doesn’t have full control of the team yet.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

STEVE: Doesn’t have control of the team? We hired someone who doesn’t have control of the team?

David nods, attempting to clarify.

DAVID: Well, you wanted a new manager.  And besides, I wasn’t even here when you fired Buck.

Steve pauses, considering David’s words before questioning further.

STEVE: Wait, I fired Buck because you wanted to hire Counsell.  Didn’t you want to hire Counsell?  We only hired Carlos because you didn’t hire Counsell.

David chuckles, shaking his head.

DAVID: Counsell? Nah, that’s crazy. Why would I hire that guy?  I would’ve kept Buck. The guy won 101 games and then had some bad luck last year before you traded everyone.  A good team needs an experienced manager.  Did you know that no team has ever won the World Series with a rookie manager?

Steve leans back in his chair, realizing the tangled web of decisions that led to the current predicament.

INT. CiTI FIELD – DAY

GARY COHEN: And Alonso swings! It’s a high fly ball deep to center field…

KEITH HERNANDEZ: He got all of that one, Gary.

GARY COHEN: To the track, to the wall…

GARY COHEN: And it’s caught! Right at the warning track! Alonso just missed it!

KEITH HERNANDEZ: Yeah, Pete looks a bit tired out there today, doesn’t he?

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The Sellout

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – DAY

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 Mets.com 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.

INT. CITI FIELD HALLWAY – DAY

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.

INT. STEVE’S OFFICE – CITI FIELD – DAY

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.

 

 

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The Opening Day

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.