Copyright 2003 Daily News, L.P. Daily News (New York)
October 1, 2003, Wednesday SPORTS FINAL EDITION
SECTION: SPORTS; Pg. 58 BLEACHER CREATURE
LENGTH: 547 words
HEADLINE: CAPPING OFF A LONG DAY
BYLINE: BY FILIP BONDY
BODY: The
Creatures were tailgating on the top deck of the garage before Game 1
yesterday, not knowing yet how this gorgeous day would turn into
something miserable. Suddenly, we became witnesses to George
Steinbrenner's long reach, to some bad karma that would come around to
spoil everything.
Two unmarked, green cars
pulled up, 10 undercover cops leaped out, and then they went after four
poor guys who were selling knock-off Yankee paraphernalia. One guy
bolted. The other three were handcuffed, shoved up against a car,
frisked and taken off to be booked. They were being treated like the
rest of the American League for the past seven years, only worse.
"You
can't steal from Uncle George," said Blue Lou, shaking his head. The
cars drove off, tensions dissipated quickly enough, and then talk
returned to the task at hand. The Creatures were still hopeful, naively
expecting a blowout that would never take place. Blue Lou said he had
little use for Twins, unless they were the Hilton twins, the Olsen
twins, the Barbie twins or the Coors Light twins. "I'll have a romantic
involvement with all those twins before Minnesota wins a World Series,"
Blue Lou said, except he didn't quite use the words, "romantic
involvement."
Blue Lou isn't remotely
politically correct. His plan to get rich includes specially-packaged
sawdust that you spread in the corner of garages, to soak up the urine.
He might call it Whiz-away.
He also won't
date Section 39 women because he says, "Only the rugged chicks sit in
the bleachers, the ones who are straight-up drunk when they get here."
This is exactly the sort of talk, I'm afraid, that makes Mrs. Creature
reluctant to come to Section 39 for a game. "I'm not sitting out there
with your lunatics," she said this week, when I asked my wife if she
might want a ticket in the bleachers this October.
If
the Yankees don't get their act together in a hurry, if the cops don't
stop chasing around people who are just trying to sell Yankee hats, she
won't miss much.
If nothing else, we'll
always have the tailgating. The sun shined down on us, and then an ice
chest filled with beer appeared from nowhere.
Jimmy, who is not a Bleacher Creature
but who often wanders around the garage seeking handouts for the
purchase of various alcoholic beverages, received a generous
contribution from the Creatures when he said he wanted to buy a
Michelob this time, an upscale brew. "Just as long as you don't get
food or clothing with it," Blue Lou told Jimmy, handing him a buck.
The
Creatures aren't giving much thought to the Twins, in case you haven't
noticed. The Twins are just another generic opponent, with a guy named
"Jacque" standing below us in right field. How can you take them
seriously?
Minneapolis, the city, might as
well be Siberia, as far as we're concerned. It is a long way from here,
and it is cold. Minneapolis probably has a bigger mall than the one in
Siberia, according to the few Creatures who ventured to the Midwest for
a Yankee game several seasons ago.
Other
that that, none of the Creatures has much insight into the place, or
the team. "The Twinkies are a piece of cake," said Donald Simpson, the
millionaire.
Not yesterday, when it wasn't even safe to sell Yankee caps.
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