SECTION: SPORTS; Pg. E6

LENGTH: 789 words

HEADLINE: It's a jungle out there
The fans in Section 39 ceaselessly torment opposing outfielders. 'It's our job,' says a bleacher denizen.

BYLINE: Les Carpenter; Seattle Times staff reporter

DATELINE: NEW YORK

BODY:
NEW YORK - Welcome to the jungle, where Michael Milianta stands now. He's leaning over the railing of the right-field bleachers at Yankee Stadium shouting something to one of the players on his favorite team.

"HEY CANSECO!" he bellows. "YOU (BLEEP)!"

Welcome to the jungle, where American League outfielders cringe, shrink and peer warily over their shoulders. Welcome to the jungle, the most scorned section of seating in any baseball stadium in America. If only everybody could come here, to Section 39 of the bleachers, and sit on the benches and feel the family. If only they could meet Sheriff Tom and Bad Mouth Larry, well, then they'd surely love this place.

Why, here comes Bad Mouth Larry now.

"SEATTLE (BLEEPS)!" Larry shouts. "THE MARINERS (BLEEP), THE SEAHAWKS (BLEEP), THE SONICS (BLEEP)."

Well, maybe that's enough from Bad Mouth Larry.

The genteel baseball gentry back in Seattle could never understand this place. They would never relate to Bad Mouth Larry or Sheriff Tom or Michael Milianta shouting at Jose Canseco.

"I just hate him," Milianta says of Canseco. "He didn't do anything for us."

Perhaps it's because Canseco was one of those outfielders the bleachers used to torment ceaselessly. It's not that Canseco didn't present them with enough material over the years, given his arrests for driving exotic automobiles at speeds exceeding 100 mph, or his frequent run-ins with his ex-wife - a buxom, big-haired blonde named Esther.

Mostly it's because Canseco was never a Yankee until about two months ago. And this is the thing about Section 39 and Sheriff Tom and Bad Mouth Larry: They will harass you to no end if you do not wear the pinstripes.

"That's what we do," Milianta says. "That's our job. Our job is to intimidate the other right fielder."

But it is so much more out here than just making up chants about opposing players and singing dirty little ditties to the beat of a jangling cowbell. For the 100 or so people who fill the seats of Section 39, this is a home.

They meet in April with the air still frosty, and the bond builds as the year goes on. They protect their turf from threats: namely yuppies and fans who wear the caps and shirts of other teams. Mets hats are destroyed. Do not ask how. Red Sox caps have been known to be burned in the bleachers. One person even had a Baltimore Oriole logo ripped right off his shirt during the singing of "YMCA" as he raised his arms to spell out the letters.

Speaking of "YMCA," the bleacher fans have made a little parody to that song, too. Unfortunately, it cannot be repeated in the pages here.

Still, they have become a part of the game, these bleacher fans have. A few years ago, they started absently chanting center fielder Bernie Williams' name. He looked over, smiled and waved. So they began chanting the name of right fielder Paul O'Neill and he responded as well. The bleacher fans looked at each other and realized they had something pretty good.

There was born a tradition of chanting each Yankee fielder's name in the bottom of the first inning until the player turns around and waves. And they all wave because the unconditional love of the bleachers is something very important in Yankee Stadium. Because should you draw their ire, they will make your life miserable forever.

Yet in the middle of the jungle, there is genuine passion. Pat Lopez of Wayne, N.J., met her husband Joe in the bleachers 10 years ago. They moved in together two seasons later and were married this past July.

"As you can see we have all kinds of fans whether they're black, white, Puerto Rican, whatever," says Tina Lewis, who has become the unofficial leader of Section 39.

Her power allows her the prime seat in the section - the one right behind the tunnel that leads down into the street. It is the seat with the tiny brass plate that bears the name "Ali."

Ali was a little man who first brought the cowbell with him to a game in the 1980s and began banging out Latin beats on the bell. It became a tradition. Then one day in the spring of 1996, Ali died. The Yankees were on a road trip at the time and on the night they returned, there was a celebration like the bleachers had never seen. Someone made a giant banner with the likeness of Ali, wearing a white robe and angel wings.

And that night Doc Gooden pitched a no-hitter for the Yankees.

"It was awesome," Tina Lewis says. "There was a single star that night. This is not crazy (bleep), I'm telling the truth. There was this single star the whole night and it hung over Doc Gooden's head. I just know it was Ali."

And all around her, so did Sheriff Tom and Bad Mouth Larry and all the rest of the residents of the most-feared section of seats in baseball.



GRAPHIC: PHOTO; Rod Mar / The Seattle Times: New Yorkers Elyse Soifer, clockwise from top, Robin Soifer and Heather Astroff welcome Mariner Manager Lou Piniella back to Yankee Stadium. The former Yankee was one of the few M's to receive a warm walcome.

LOAD-DATE: October 12, 2000