SECTION: Special; Pg. 10

LENGTH: 563 words

HEADLINE: BEARING CROSS OF BOX-SEATERS & LIGHTWEIGHTS

BYLINE: BY FILIP BONDY

BODY:


The Creatures are not quite sure why we even bother to attend these parades anymore, except out of some sense of civic obligation. Been there. Done that. It's just that without us, many participants and honorees would feel a real void in the Canyon of Heroes. So we come, we put on a happy face, and we make the best of a mundane ritual much the way we suffered through the dreadful competition during the postseason.

"The parade has become so boring," said Tom Brown, a Section 39er from Queens. "We need a runaway float to keep things interesting."

The Creatures were on Park Row yesterday morning, from 8 on, staking out ground and accepting the responsibility that comes with being New York's most famous and eloquent fans.

We took more than our share of abuse, too. Steve Krauss was pulled aside by cops after he happened to hit a jogger along Broadway with a roll of toilet paper. It wasn't Steve's fault the paper didn't unroll. Steve's mother should know that.

And we had nothing to do with the ball of ticker tape that caught fire along Broadway.

Harry the security guard, riding a float, pointed us out to Scott Brosius. El Duque, Bernie Williams and Paul O'Neill all recognized us.

Then the Burns Security float went past, and they spotted us because of Milton Ousland's cowbell rhythms. A few of them gave us a roll call, which was cute. But then a couple started chanting, "We threw you out. We threw you out."

That was not at all amusing. We were thinking that maybe it was time for these guys to go back to Adventureland on Long Island and guard the little roller coaster.

Except we didn't yell that. We didn't yell anything. After the Krauss incident, we were being watched closely by police and were forced to be on our best behavior. Cops were everywhere, on the balconies and rooftops, even in helicopters.

It was all we could do to restrain ourselves when an all-star high school band marched past. Creatures hate high school bands, of course, almost as much as we hate box-seat fans and beachballs.

And here was a self-proclaimed all-star band, begging for derision.

"So many great band members, so many left out," Chris Cartelli said.

A couple of Creatures, Kathy and Cindy, managed to climb onto a float. Nobody knows how they got there, but it was the closest we've ever come to having an official parade presence. John Kwiker, a Creature from Brooklyn, captured it all on videotape so we could watch it over and over.

We keep talking about creating our own float, but let's face it: That would take box-seat money and connections.

Finally, a man dressed as a Ben & Jerry cow came along, near the rear of the parade. Brown could stand it no longer. "This is an udder fiasco," he said. Then Brown picked up a wet hunk of granola and hurled it at the cow. He felt better about life, immediately.

Afterward, we headed to Jeremy's Ale House, "Where beer isn't just for breakfast anymore." Some police there requested some chants. We wouldn't do them.

"What are we, a warmup band?" Mike Donahue asked.

Now comes the scary part, the offseason. We will have a big party next Friday (regular readers of this column know where to go). Then, maybe, a hot-stove party. Then, we worry about getting tickets for the opener.

Time flies when we're winning championships.

Notes: BLEACHER CREATURE,

TEAM OF THE CENTURY



GRAPHIC: DAVID HANDSCHUH DAILY NEWS Fan's headgear reflects wild exuberance of crowd.

LOAD-DATE: October 30, 1999