After a nine long years, the Yankees have decided to lift their ban on beer in the bleachers.

I think this might have been what they meant when they said, “Let freedom ring.”

According to “Bald Vinny” Milano, a man we should listen to because he is confident enough to incorporate “bald” into his nickname, the ban has encouraged a lot of people to stay in the nearby bars for the beginning of the game. He says, “There is something to be said for a cold frosty one on a hot July day, and the ban had been a turnoff for a lot of people.”

But, unlike “Bald Vinny,” not everyone went and let those pesky little rules stand in their way.  It’s no secret that, with or without the aid of vendors of the Stadium, Bleacher Creatures have not had a problem getting good and drunk while at the game.  I mean, please. You think people are naturally that obnoxious?  So it makes sense that the rulers of the Empire would finally get wise and decide that if the drinking was going to happen, they might as well be the ones to profit.  I’m just surprised that it took them so long.

I never gave too much thought to the methods employed by Bleacher Creatures when sneaking in the aforementioned contraband booze, but I was enlightened by an article in this morning’s New York Post.  And I have to admit; I’m duly impressed by the desperate measures that people will resort to in order to avoid being sober for even part of a baseball game.  Because that would be terrible.

In order to facilitate people’s habits, delis in the area hollowed out hoagies, sticking three to four cans of beer inside.  People sat in bathroom stalls selling airplane-sized bottles of liquor.  I know.  It’s hard to believe that this is the seedy underbelly of a baseball game and not the storyline to an episode of 21 Jumpstreet.

Interestingly, the decision to give the people their beer comes at the same time as Rick Reilly’s article about anonymous text-narcing.  I’m not sure that the service has been made available yet at Yankee Stadium, but with the Bleachers Creatures having unfettered access to alcohol, it might not be the worst idea in the world.  Not that I don’t love my Bleacher Creatures.  But those fools get crazy.

That said, I would recommend anonymous text-narcing for Fenway before the Stadium any day.   I would love to just walk around that joint with my cell phone and regulate: “Guy in section 112 row D seat 7-white button-up shirt, blackberry holster.  General blight on humanity.”