SECTION: Sports; Pg. 51

LENGTH: 577 words

HEADLINE: TICKETS TAKE PLACE OVER FAMILY FEUD

BYLINE: BY FILIP BONDY

BODY:


'I HAVE TO go," I told my wife.

"Where?" she said, rolling her groggy head off the pillow. "You're crazy. The sun hasn't even come up. It's Sunday."

"The Stadium," I said. "Tickets. I should have been there hours ago."

Ever since I became the Bleacher Creature, I have come to the sad realization that my wife and children are only getting in the way of my new obsession. They are slowing me down. I need to lose my old life, if I am going to live my new one. "You don't have to go," my wife said.

"Goodbye," I said.

Sure enough, by the time I reached the Bronx yesterday morning, my fellow creatures were curled all the way around Yankee Stadium, waiting for their tickets to the American League championship series. There were all sorts of fans, young, bleary-eyed, flu-ridden and drunk. But it was always easy to spot the ones waiting for bleacher tickets.

We were a little more desperate.

"We came and just figured we'd meet here," said Mark John from the Bronx, standing with friends near River Ave. "We look inside our own pockets and recognize each other."

Tickets to the bleachers cost $ 6 during the regular season. They went up to $ 10 for the Texas series. Now, they are $ 20 apiece. This is no small piece of change for the creatures.

But we don't care. You can't put a price on the bleacher experience. There is nothing that can keep us away from the two men who must be taught some serious lessons about life.

Roberto Alomar, spitter, and Bobby Bonilla, hometown traitor.

"You spit, you sit," said Danny Roman of the Bronx. "He'll be pretty far away from us on the field, but we'll reach Alomar with straws and spitballs."

Bonilla is from the Bronx. He went to Lehman High School. He should know better than to show up near his old neighborhood wearing the wrong uniform.

"I've seen his act here before," said Mike Marzullo of the Bronx. "He keeps that smirk on his face the whole game in right field.

"We'll definitely have a few expletives for these guys," Marzullo said. "We'll be creative. A lot of time and effort goes into the bleacher chants."

Tommy Kerwin of Brooklyn got to the Stadium at 10 o'clock on Saturday morning, 23 hours before tickets went on sale, seven hours before the Yankees won Game 4 in Texas. He slept on the sidewalk. He withstood 40-degree temperatures.

But yesterday morning, Kerwin looked pretty good, for a creature. He had survived it all, even Juan Gonzalez. His jacket was unstained, for the most part. Only a few hairs out of place.

Kerwin was 10th on a line that numbered thousands. When the steel grating finally rolled up yesterday at 9 a.m. to reveal the cash-only ticket windows, Kerwin was soon standing, giving his order.

Kerwin had his pick of the joint. He could have had a box seat in the House that Ruth Built, if he wanted. He could have betrayed his roots, maybe scalped a few expensive tickets.

Kerwin would not be tempted.

"Four bleacher tickets to Game 1, Section 39," Kerwin said, resolutely.

"The only place," he said, fanning a fistful of cardboard treasures.

THE BLEACHERS were starting to fill up, with only the best company. I can't wait.

I came home yesterday, from the Stadium. My wife asked me if I could go to my son's open house at school on Wednesday night, meet his teachers.

"Game 2," I said, and walked off.

I'm supposed to feel guilty? This is what I am talking about.

Notes: Bleacher Creature

LOAD-DATE: October 07, 1996