Sobering Class Warfare in the Bronx

In yet another blow to the young, the unemployed, slackers with time on their hands and those who relish an orgiastic group experience, the New York Yankees now number and assign bleacher seats. These uncomfortable, cheap seats beyond the outfield have been first-come, first-serve since time immemorial. True fans used to arrive early enough to ensure a seat in the (in)famous right field section, home to the self-styled Bleacher Creatures and one of the last unrepentant, declasse outposts left in what's become Salt Lake City on the Hudson.

But no, this thin slice of Democracy in action exists no more. As the Yankees buy themselves steady championships, attendence is up and even bleacher seats are coveted. In fact, this season, some 1,000 seats are already taken by season-ticket holders. That'll cut down on spontaneous lumpen attendence.

But that's the least of it.

On a recent Friday night, when the hated Boston Red Sox were in town for a three-game series, the Yankee's leadership innagurated a permanent ban on beer in the bleachers -- just the bleachers. Without access to the rest of the stadium, denizens of the bleachers are now condemned to cheer the Yanks, taunt the opposition and roil amongst themselves if not quite sober, than unrefreshed for an eternity of three or four hours. Guilt by geography, it seems, defines the current Yankee policy: join the ranks of cheap seat buyers and forget about a beer. No, not even one. Not even for the guy who wants to treat his friend the Presbyterian minister baking in the sun next to him.

Louts elsewhere in the stadium, though, many at least as malfeasant as any Bleacher Creature, still guzzle as much over-priced hops (Miller Genuine Draft or Coors Light or some such swill) as wallet and stomach can handle.

I showed for game one of this recent evisceration of two allegedly bedrock American principles: equal rights and innocent until proven guilty. I snuck over from my assigned seat in left-center (reserved for tourists, people on blind dates and suits, among those who can't hack it) to the rowdy right field bleachers. Seemingly on cue, sixty guys pointing to the beer-enabled stands above them stood and screamed "Alcoholics!" over and over. Soon a brave fool in a Boston cap walked up the aisle, further testing fate by encouraging the jeers his way. Amidst the flying food, some of it actually hitting its target, the offending hat disappeared. A cop sauntered down, and order was restored. Of the five or six cops present, a couple seemed live and let live, but a couple of schoolmarms-in-blue looked ready for a ruler to smack unruly knuckles.

Insults to the Red Sox center fielder (an ex-Met), and chants of "Boston sucks" broke out regularly, spontaneously, matching the logo on hundreds of tee-shirts. (I foolishly didn't buy the one I saw for sale outside that read, "Boston Suck." Like a misprinted stamp, it'll no doubt soar in value.) But the night's new plea was the most inflamed: "We want beer!" Yankee spokesman, Rick Cerrone, later sneered, "So what. They can chant what they want as long as it's not obscene."

Many in the bleachers, like fans elsewhere, arrived pre-lubricated. Hundreds had jammed the sidewalk outside before the game, pounding 24-ounce cans of beer, and hundreds more packed the bars nearby. A marvelously straight-faced cop thirty yards away stated that anyone seen drinking beer would be asked to move along.

In one bar, a fan objected to the beer ban's mid-season bait and switch. He and his buddies, season tickets holders all, had moved from the upper deck, where they would see 15 games for $200, to the bleachers to see 25 games for the same price. Though it would cost more to move back to avoid the beer ban, they were negotiating to do so. Yankee management known for vindictiveness in matters large and small, he requested anonymity. And this legal beagle wondered why the Yankees didn't just enforce "the dram shop act, where they're not supposed to serve anyone visibly intoxicated."