SECTION: SPORTS; Pg. 56 BLEACHER CREATURE

LENGTH: 688 words

HEADLINE: CREATURES PICK UP WHERE THEY LEFT OFF

BYLINE: BY FILIP BONDY

BODY:
FOR FIVE months, the Creatures had been locked out of our living room, Section 39, forced to survive in a base-less world that stubbornly refuses to recognize our societal value.

It was a miracle, when you thought about it, that we even made it through the winter and came out the other side to witness this 7-3 reawakening.

The stock market crashed on Chris Cartelli's new Wall Street job, yet somehow he found a landlord in Pelham to rent him a new party headquarters.

Rob Andre's two girlfriends, the ex who carved her name in his seat and the current flame who didn't know about it, got into a WWF-style slamfest when they met at a club in the Hamptons. Mike (looks like Chuck Knoblauch) Marsh had arthroscopic surgery on his knee so he'd be ready for the season.

The bar that Mike Donahue tends switched Karaoke Night from Tuesday to Saturday, thereby ruining his weekends.

Tina Lewis, still searching for a worthy job and apartment, was too sick to make Opening Day. We are worried about her.

"Women, wine and song," lamented Sheriff Tom Brown, still fuming that a Met fan had reneged on her agreement to mate with him if the Yanks won the Series. "Another five months wasted."

On it went, this offseason that had nothing to do with the Yankees winning a 27th World Championship, until a security guard finally rolled up the metal grating on the bleacher entrance late yesterday morning along River Avenue. And then, just like that, we were winners again, laughing in the face of yet another small-market franchise.

The day began a bit too early for our liking. Daylight Savings Time didn't help. But a bunch of Creatures met on the top floor of the Stadium parking garage and played an extra-inning stickball game that included many Buds, barbequed ribs from Blue Lou's and a bench-clearing incident.

The party then poured into the alcohol-deprived bleachers, where the usual targets were quickly identified and destroyed. The Creatures taunted the box seaters with, "We got weed." Cell-phone users were dispatched, with prejudice. The high school band was heckled for flying flags of purple and pink, colors which Cartelli said reminded him of all the figure-skating events that the Filip Creature had recently covered.

"Where are your skates?" Cartelli demanded of this columnist, who had surreptitiously arrived straight from the women's Final Four.

When that stupid eagle flew, yet again, before the game from center field to the pitcher's mound, we were ready with the bird whistles that were purchased for diversionary purposes during the playoffs. The bird wasn't distracted, so the plan is to let some gerbils loose in October.

There were several changes to our environs. We don't like changes.

The left-field wall looked like a plexiglass hockey rink.

Two rows of our precious section had been ripped out for handicapped seating. As politically correct as we are in the bleachers, the Creatures would prefer that seating be torn out from other parts of the stadium, maybe the $50 seats, to meet federal standards.

Stan's bar redid the floors. Bald Vinnie dropped 30 pounds, just in time for the season to begin so he could gain them back.

Everything else was the same. The players responded to our roll call, even the new kid, Alfonso Soriano, at second base. Tino hit the first homer right at us, acknowledging our importance.

Rudy the security guard told us to get down off the benches, again. Metal Mike Purvy ate his pint of ice cream, defying the weather. Milton Ousland, cowbell man, roamed the outside of the stadium, trying to find a way in without a ticket.

It turned into another perfect day. The Royals lost. Walter Johnson lost. And, because the Yankees won, Met fans lost. That is always the best part.

WE DECIDED the cutoff man should tell Chuck Knoblauch to throw to third, when he actually wants the ball to go to second. We checked the schedule for the best promotion day, and it was no contest: Tino Martinez Bobble-head Doll Day, on Aug. 16.

"I'm already depressed," Donahue said as the game wore on. "When this is over, there are only 80 home games left."



GRAPHIC: LINDA CATAFFO DAILY NEWS THE SHIRT SAYS IT ALL   This is exactly how Bleacher Creatures think of themselves.

LOAD-DATE: April 3, 2001