SECTION: WRAP; Pg. 18 BLEACHER CREATURE

LENGTH: 622 words

HEADLINE: VIEW FROM TOP OF PEANUT GALLERY

BYLINE: BY FILIP BONDY

BODY:
IT SHOULD HAVE been a perfect parade, a glorious day. But even when we humiliate the Mets and own all of New York, life isn't easy on the Bleacher Creatures.

For starters, Tina Lewis, diva of Section 39, was sick and missed everything. We can thank the Mets for that, because Tina was too nervous to eat or sleep properly for weeks. Then plans to get our own float failed, yet again. And finally, Sheriff Tom Brown injured his arm while catching a hunk of confetti thrown from above our traditional parade-watching perch near City Hall. Sheriff Tom had been in a perfectly fine mood, having spotted and retrieved some pornographic confetti before anybody else (Tom ID'd it early, noting the material's glossy color as it sailed down from the 40th floor). But now, with his shoulder strained, and with many beers to hoist at Jeremy's Alehouse, it would be a long off-season of rehab before he could hurl foreign objects next spring.

Luckily, Tom is a switch-drinker.

Milton Ousland, Mr. Cowbell, somehow had finagled another invitation onto the Modell's float. He is some operator. But as he rode past City Hall, once again, Milton was foolishly sitting on the wrong side of the float and couldn't play for us.

Instead, a counterfeit cowbell man banged out some rhythms in our direction while Milton ignored us. We had to make do with a bow from Bernie Williams and modest waves of acknowledgment from Joe Torre and Paul O'Neill.

The parade was, sad to report, as corny as ever. The cops were everywhere, enforcing the "no-throw" rules. The helicopters were watching overhead, Pigs in Space - a phrase happily coined by Brown.

Instead of us devoted fans marching in the parade, there was a guy on stilts, a giant cow, a lion. And then there was Rudy, begging, "Let's hear it for the Mets."

I think the Mets have heard about everything they want to hear from us.

"Next year," Mike Donahue was saying, "the Mets should take off the 'NY' and put a big 'L' on their caps."

Meanwhile, many of us 'W's were richer from the World Series experience, having collected wagers from incredibly gullible Mutt fans. We had felt a little guilty making these bets in the first place, knowing full well there was no way to lose them, but then these people really needed a harsh lesson in reality.

Donahue's roommate, a Met fan, is now sentenced to a month of cleaning after losing his bet. Laurie Sanders' boss had to wear Yankee gear to work, all day.

Poor Tom couldn't win, though, even after winning. On one of his wilder episodes recently, he had talked some women into the world's oldest bet. Now, though, he had lost their numbers because somebody - probably a Met fan - had pickpocketed his cell phone on the subway.

"I had their telephones, their E-mail addresses," Tom lamented.

This is what I am talking about, how it never goes completely right for the Creatures.

Jessica Herold wasn't able to torment her boss at Rutgers, a Met fan, because he allegedly had some sort of mathematical conference to attend. Felix Sanchez-Caro, another Section 39 regular, had bet the wrong way. He was so worried about a Yankee loss, he told Jasmine of the bleachers he would grow his hair back out of his bald head and let her paint it any color she wanted if the Yankees won.

This was supposed to bring good luck to the Yanks, and maybe it did. But now, Felix's hair was doomed and he knew that.

It was still worth it. All of it. We could suffer the knucklehead on stilts, Milton's wrong-way act, Tom's sore shoulder. They were petty annoyances, not nearly enough to spoil our greatest hour of triumph.

It won't be the same next year, when we win the Series against a team other than the Mets. But we'll muddle through, somehow.

GRAPHIC: PATRICK ANDRADE RAUCOUS GOOD CHEER   The infamous Bleacher Creatures party after yesterday's grand ticker-tape parade celebrating Yankees' World Series win.

LOAD-DATE: October 31, 2000