What’s up Massholes, my name is Nick Piccione and this is the Bleacher Creature. “What’s a Bleacher Creature?” you ask. Well I’ll tell you, guy who’s apparently never been to a baseball game. Picture the fattest, grossest man you can. He’s wearing a sweat stained wife-beater (if anything), half-eaten hotdog in one hand, $9 beer spilling all over your shirt in the other. Probably screaming at the top of his lungs, heckling whichever player is unfortunate enough to be closest, regardless of the team, even though he’s 30 rows up and out of earshot.
Now THAT is a Bleacher Creature – a special breed of fan that has withstood the test of time. Long after the pink-hats and casuals leave the game, the Creatures will still be there, making damn sure the right fielder knows that “You’re the worst playah on the field and my friggin 8-year-old daughtah could strike you out”. But the worst part about the bleacher creature is the worst part about everything in baseball: The Yankees just had to come in and f*cking ruin it for everyone else.
Every team in baseball has Bleacher Creatures, from The Friendly Confines of Wrigley to whatever in God’s name they’re trying to do in Miami. But true to form, Yankees fans don’t give two sh*ts about anyone else. If you ask any Yankees fan worth their salt what a Bleacher Creature is they’ll tell you “Ay! Whoa! Whatsamatta guy? You been livin’ under a rock in Jersey or somethin’? The Bleacher Creatures are them guys in Section 203, Oh! C’mon!”. Yup, according to oblivious Yanks fans everywhere “Bleacher Creatures”, the generic term used in every ballpark to denote the rowdy fans, exist only in Yankees Stadium. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the Creatures themselves are the worst of the worst. Why? Because they’re so remarkably pedestrian, and yet somehow abhorrently full of themselves – they do nothing that any other set of Bleacher Creatures can’t do.
“Ay! Whoa! Guy! They gots the Roll Call. What do you jamokes got? Nothin’! Oh!”. Easy there every Yankees fan ever, it really isn’t that special. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your precious “Roll Call” is just an entire section of sloppy drunk a-holes whining to all the position players until they acknowledge their sad collective existence. Did I hit the nail on the head, or did I hit the nail on the head? And I don’t care if the players respond. If dozens of morons were yelling my name, I’d respond as soon as humanly possible just so they’d shut their stupid mouths. Other than that, the noble New York Bleacher Creatures more often than not engage in fighting with opposing fans, stadium employees, and of course each other, because it wouldn’t be New York without vulgar inebriated jag-offs slugging each other across the face. But again, nothing they do can’t be replicated by the five sad sacks that occupy the right field bleachers at the Trop during Rays games.
Despite their obviously average disposition, the Bleacher Creatures consider themselves the most important fans in all of fandom. When the joke that is the new Yankee’s Stadium was being built, the Bleacher Creatures openly and publicly questioned the Yankees organization because they hadn’t yet guaranteed them their seats, which were of course their birthright and rightful property… duh. Even after the Yankees guaranteed them their seats, the Bleacher Creatures still had the gall to insult the organization that caved to their every demand, and claim credit for the deal. “The Yankees helped us because I calmed everybody down over the years”, stated self-proclaimed Queen of the Bleachers and tanning bed survivor Tina Lewis.
Now don’t get me wrong here, I hate everything Yankees. I hate everything they are, everything they have ever been, and everything they will ever be. If I learned today that Alex Rodriguez fell down a long flight of stairs, and crashed into Joe Girardi, Aaron Boone and Bucky Dent on the way down, subsequently breaking every bone in each of their respective bodies, I’d book a flight to New Orleans that night, just so I could throw myself a parade the next day. But in truth, I actually feel sorry for the organization that they have to deal with these self-absorbed yahoos. These people are basically paid to show up to Yankees games and do things that would get regular people banned from the ballpark. It’s simply amazing how people who do so little and deserve even less get so much and are still unsatisfied. Jesus Christ it’s like if an entire section of drunken depraved Fireman Eds.
So with all this hate for the Bleacher Creatures you may be asking why it’s the name of this column. Two reasons: One, it’s the name that Tyler chose so I’ll be damned if I question his decisions before I even start working here. And two, for all the crap I give the Bleacher Creatures in New York, they do one thing right. Forget the infighting, forget the fact that they’re known to have thrown knives at players in the early 2000s, and even forget that Nuf Ced McGreevy and the Royal Rooters were doing all the same stuff a billion times better literally a century ago in Boston. The one thing the Bleacher Creatures do right is that they’re loud, obnoxious and they’ll be damn sure you know what they think. If you’re not with them, they’ll do everything in their power to make sure you’re 100% against them. That’s what this column will be. I will state my opinions in a manner so abrasive that if you find yourself on the opposite side, you may struggle to read my next article for fear of having your views utterly annihilated by an angry college student – it’s a veritable bridge burning bonanza.
But in all seriousness, I’m glad to be on board here at Monstah Mash. I look forward to hearing all your lovely and eloquent responses. If you have a comment or question for me to ignore, tweet at me @N_Piccione94. If you want sports opinions from reasonable people, be sure to check out the rest of Monstah Mash, as they actually know what they’re talking about. Guys I’ll be frank – I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship (or an unapologetic train wreck, whatever, I’m flexible). Cheers Massholes, I’ll see you all next week.