SECTION: Sports; Pg. 50

LENGTH: 587 words

HEADLINE: CREATURE FEEDS OFF BREAD

BYLINE: BY FILIP BONDY

BODY:


MY WIFE CATCHES me rummaging through her wallet again yesterday morning, pulling out twenties like they are facial tissues.

"You did this to me last week," she says. "I go to the bank, then you leave me with no money. Stop it." I can't stop it. Sometimes, I wish I could. But I can't. I am the Bleacher Creature.

Buying postseason baseball tickets is an expensive habit, and I am a Yankee junkie. The more the Yankees win, the higher the price.

Now they are in the World Series. I'm in this too far to get out. Good for the ticket pushers. Bad for my wife's wallet. Bleacher tickets are on sale, cash only at the Stadium, $ 25 a pop.

So I wait until my wife goes into the shower, and I reach for the wallet again. Those twenties are my lifeline to Section 39, to the right-field creatures at the Ali Ramirez memorial. I leave her just enough for tolls and a subway, because I am a sweet, considerate guy.

Someday, maybe, the Daily News will reimburse me for all this. But are they there yesterday when my wife reaches for her bag, expecting to pay for lunch?

When I get to the Stadium, I can see I am not alone in this determined effort to foot a growing bill. Other creatures are on line, curled around the Stadium, caked with sleepover grit. They have somehow scraped together fitful bankrolls, ones and fives mixed in with the tens.

It has not been a restful night for them. Aggressive scalpers and sloppy line management created turmoil. Besides, the creatures are broke.

They are hurting. They paid $ 10 per ticket for the division playoffs, $ 20 per ticket for the American League Championship Series. They have done their duty, heckled Juan Gonzalez and Bobby Bonilla into early winter vacations.

But they have alienated wives and girlfriends. They have ignored heating and telephone notices.

It does not matter. The creatures are on line, and they have cash. As barter, they will accept only bleacher tickets.

"Bottles and cans," says Tommy Kerwin of Brooklyn. "That's how I'll pay for this. Bottles and cans."

Rent? Leave a message at the beep and Tommy will get right back to you.

Kerwin's domestic situation has taken a turn for the worse since Bernie Williams found his swing.

"My wife is very upset," Kerwin says. "Last week, I missed her birthday. This weekend, I'm missing a wedding. I owe her big time. I'll be surprised if the cylinders on the locks haven't been changed."

Kerwin is hooked, even worse than myself. He waits on line for Game 1 bleacher tickets, then goes to the back of the line again so he can get tickets to another game.

Poor guy.

Some creatures will work overtime, hoping to earn back the lost money and love. Some will use the Series as a test of true love, just to make certain.

"My fiance is a little miffed," says Rich Squires, from Norwalk, Conn., who will put in extra hours selling computer parts. "She's not a fan.

"But there's no other place except the bleachers, and I waited 15 years for this," Squires said. "She has to understand."

Macho Agostini can't afford the tickets. He is on line anyway. He is standing proudly, next to his generous older brother, Luis.

"This is a big treat for myself, and for my brother," says Luis, of the Bronx. "This is the World Series."

Yes, it is. And if the Yankees need Game 6 or 7 to win the whole thing, then I will be back in my wife's wallet next week. The twenties will look like tissues again, and it will be hay-fever season.

Notes: Bleacher Creature



GRAPHIC: Illustration by Ed Murawinski

LOAD-DATE: October 15, 1996