SECTION: Sports; Pg. 78

LENGTH: 583 words

HEADLINE: WHEN IT COMES TO RED SOX, CREATURES TEETER ON EDGE

BYLINE: BY FILIP BONDY

BODY:


ANTHONY GRIEK is what I would call one of our more hard-core creatures in Section 39. A student at Iona who already has earned a Ph.D. in bleacher intimidation, Griek boasts a long history of Red Sox harassment that has, at times, carried him beyond the limits of what some would call traditional ballpark behavior.

When Pedro Martinez came here last time and struck out 17 Yankees, Griek was thrown out of the bleachers three times in a single night - once from left field, twice from right. Griek figures he has been tossed seven times this season altogether, most often for his vocabulary and a few times for what would best be described as unacceptable beer management. "That's why I'm not even drinking for this game," Griek said as the Red Sox heathens foolishly invaded Yankee Stadium for Game 1. "In that Martinez game, I was so out of it I didn't even know what was happening."

Fans of this column may remember that Griek spent an ALCS game last season in a jail cell when he was falsely accused of scalping his ticket. This time, Griek was considerably more cautious about his capitalistic ventures around the ballpark. He was not about to miss the Red Sox.

As a consumer warning to Boston fans who may be considering a trip to the bleachers this October in full costume, Griek outlined the basic ritual that wayward Red Sox fans can expect to endure for much of this series:

First, the standard "Welcome to Hell" chant.

Second, a "Nineteen-Eighteen" taunt, with special emphasis on the first syllables of each number.

Third, a slight spillage of liquid on the backside of said Boston fan.

"Then, we see," Griek said. "Either they take it or there's a confrontation."

It isn't pretty, but then Griek lives bleacher life on the edge. The Red Sox just happen to push him over.

When we had arrived at the Stadium last night, I must report, we were greeted by one of the most inane, misplaced promotions ever conceived by the Daily News. Fans along River Avenue were handed placards printed by my company which said, "Let's Go Yanks," on one side, and then, "Let's Go Mets," on the other.

"This goes on my toilet seat, where it belongs," declared Mike March of Brooklyn, aka Chuck, because he looks just like Knoblauch except for the 104 pins he wears on his jersey.

It was Tom O'Neil who finally figured out the solution to this nonsense. He glued two placards together, with "Let's Go Yankees," on the outside. We had eliminated the Mets, three days before their scheduled elimination by Atlanta.

As usual, we suffered the usual scrap for last-minute tickets. Enrique Rosa, aka Bozo because of the clown wig, got lucky at the credit-card return line, hitting a Section 39 jackpot. Lisa Fox rushed to collect her $ 100 bet from a thick-headed Cleveland fan so she could finance the rest of her ticket purchases.

All around the bleachers last night, the Creatures would be at our loudest, our sharpest. The Red Sox reawakened some of the sharp-tongued, quick-witted heckles that had been dulled by one too many gimme series against Texas and Cleveland.

BY THE TIME Orlando Hernandez threw his first pitch, we were stuffed helter-skelter into our seats, some of us crammed into the top row of Section 37. The beer was flowing and the Mets were down, two games to zero.

Bobby Bonilla had struck out looking. The Red Sox were in town, for a postseason game. For a few, fleeting heckles, even Griek looked content with the world.

NOTES: Bleacher Creature

LOAD-DATE: October 14, 1999