Next, there is some Trump-Steinbrenner talk about being a winner, and George tells them that "the secret is desire." Katrina's looking at him, thinking, "See? I told everybody we needed to dress sexy!" Steinbrenner goes on about how when he bought the Yankees, nobody wanted them, and he promised a world championship and delivered one. Tammy asks Steinbrenner, "You have some serious bling on your hands. What's goin' on there?" It's weird, because that comment bothered other people more than it bothered me. I mean, the level of formality that a guy can expect when he starts the conversation with "I knew there'd be pretty girls" is kind of minor. Moreover, a guy only wears a giant, monstrous ring like that if he wants to be asked about it, so...where's the harm? Steinbrenner tells Tammy that it's his most recent World Series ring. Katrina says in an interview that Tammy sometimes says things she herself would not say that make other people "cringe," and she gives the "bling" question as an example, saying she wanted to "jump underneath the couch and hide." Why? He's just a person! He's a guy! He's a person, you're a person, it's not like "bling" is a rude word! I mean, if she had said, "It looks like you have a pretty big ass, what's up with that?" I would understand the fuss, but this? Whatever.
Steinbrenner says that they can all turn around and look out his big window at Yankee Stadium. Yeah, yeah, the home of evil, whatever. Trump and Steinbrenner shake hands, and then it's...you know, it's like that. Guys with money who love each other, I suppose. Nick looks on happily, dreaming of the day when he, too, can be full of shit. Again on their way out, Steinbrenner has to comment again on how good-looking the women are, like, shut up, old creepy man, and he throws in a comment about how the guys are good-looking too, just so you don't think he's sexist. Oh, hey, you didn't hear it from me.
Outside the stadium, Nick comments that Steinbrenner guaranteed victories when he bought the Yankees, and that Nick guaranteed victory the day before, so he feels good. Now all he has to do is fire a lot of people and ruin the entire flea market for everyone else, and the comparison will be roughly accurate. ["See, here's where, if your normal editor were here, she'd be throwing in all kinds of knowledgeable defenses of the Yankees...but instead you have me, so. Hi." -- Wing Chun] They all leave, and Trump bids them adieu.