Tina Lewis
I’ve been around Major League Baseball a long time, but Tina Lewis—she stopped me in my tracks. Her first full day in the Yankee Stadium bleachers? July 4, 1983. Dave Righetti’s no-hitter. From that day forward, she built a legacy—section by section, chant by chant. She’s not just a fan. She’s a fixture. A founder. The Queen of the Bleacher Creatures. I asked her how it all started, and she gave me stories that felt like legend: flags at half-staff, a no-hitter under a single star, a cowbell that became sacred. What Tina built? That’s what makes a ballpark holy.
So your first time actually sitting in the bleachers was July 4th, 1983?
Yep. I’d visited the bleachers before, walked around, knew a few people. But that day—Righetti’s no-hitter—was the first time I sat there for a full game. Section 39, Row LL, Seat 25. Right on top of the pitcher. It was perfect. That day changed everything. I never left.
That’s incredible. So how did it go from that to you becoming Queen of the Bleacher Creatures?
I didn’t plan it. I had all these Yankee charms, a big chain I wore. I talked baseball nonstop. For some reason, people just started coming around me. We all started sitting in the same area. It was general admission, but we made it our section—Section 39. We brought bags to save seats. I made laminated signs that said, “This seat is taken.” People thought I was crazy.
You were policing general admission seats?
Oh yeah! People would try to sit down and I’d say, “Sorry, these are taken.” They’d say, “Lady, this is general admission.” I’d say, “Not this section.” They’d try to get security, and security would say, “Sorry, this is their area.” Back then, security was on our side. Eventually, Steinbrenner started giving us tickets with a hole punched in them—those were our reserved spots. We made laminated placeholders too. We weren’t messing around.
So this is really how the Creatures came to be?
Yeah. Everyone had a role. Cowbell guy. Roll call guy. Home-run pool guy. I brought the American flag every game. From day one. That flag they wave now? That started with me. People think this was all organized by the team—it wasn’t. It was love. Tradition. Habit. Community.
What did it feel like to be a part of that every day?
It was everything. I mean, 40 years in the bleachers. Actually, 41 now. That’s not a phase. That’s a life. We weren’t just fans—we were family. And when one of us passed, we mourned like family too.
You’re talking about Ali Ramirez?
Yes. Ali was the original cowbell guy. He was like a dad to me. When he passed in 1996, the Yankees lowered the flags to half-staff. Bob Sheppard—God rest him—read his name over the loudspeakers. Only the Bleacher Creatures and Ali’s family were allowed in right field that night.
I’ve never heard of that for a fan.
That’s how much we meant to the team. That night—May 14, 1996—Doc Gooden pitched a no-hitter. And I swear on everything, there was one single star above him the entire game. The only one in the sky. Never moved. That was Ali watching. I cried the whole game.
That gave me chills.
It was like it was meant to be. Ali was buried in a Billy Martin uniform. Steinbrenner had given him the original cowbell—it’s in the Yankees archives now. And when the new stadium opened, they asked me: “Do you want to keep Ali’s plaque or bring it to the new park?” I said, “He’d be coming if he were alive—so the plaque is coming too.”
So how did you all handle keeping the culture intact in the new stadium?
It was hard at first, but we made it work. We kept the traditions alive. I told the Yankees what we needed, and they trusted me. They respected me. I helped get rid of the bad chants. They knew I could rally the group when needed. I wasn’t just the Queen for nothing.
And how about your famous “Mets hatred” rule?
[Laughs] Oh, that’s real. National TV asked me once what it takes to be a Bleacher Creature. I said: “You have to be a diehard Yankee fan, come to at least 60 games a year, and hate the Mets.” People in Florida were like, “I saw you say that!” I told them, “I rooted for the Red Sox in ’86—I’ll never be a Mets fan.”
So tell me about the chants—how did they come about?
Most of them started with us. “Roll call” came from our section. “You deserve it”—us too. And that “Thank you, Jeter” chant? That was me. Jeter’s last game at the Stadium in 2014—I told Milton and Marc, “We gotta do something.” We started that chant, and it spread across Yankee Stadium. Then to other stadiums. But it started in the bleachers.
That’s unbelievable.
We didn’t do it for credit. We did it because we loved the team. Every chant, every flag, every bell—it was about love. Tradition. The bleachers are church to us. The stadium? Sacred ground.
So what’s it like building that kind of community?
It's everything. These people—Ali, Milton, Marc—they’re family. We fight, sure. But we look out for each other. I’ve seen people meet their spouses in Section 39. I’ve seen generations come through. The Yankees gave us room to be ourselves, and in return, we gave them something no one else could: soul.
Do you ever reflect on just how much you’ve shaped the ballpark experience?
I don’t think about it that way. But when I miss a game, people notice. They say, “Where’s Tina?” And I know I’ve left something behind. Not everyone gets to say that. Not everyone gets to be part of something that matters this much. Yankee Stadium matters. The bleachers matter. And the Creatures? We’re part of the story now.
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.