Mission: Nats — An Easy Ride on Metro

Photo of riders at L'Enfant Plaza on Monday evening by Nikki Kahn/The Washington Post

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE the big test for Metro: the first baseball game at the new Nationals stadium that started at 7:10 p.m. on a weeknight — which meant fans would be traveling at the same time as evening rush hour riders.

I decided to dive in to the prospective craziness to sample it firsthand. But from this rider's vantage point, the big test ended up feeling more like a quiz. One that the teacher didn't collect or grade.

Maybe it was because the weather dipped into the upper 40s by evening — a bit chilly to sit in an uncovered ballpark. Maybe it was because the NCAA college basketball championship game was scheduled for the same night. Whatever the cause, the trip to the stadium on Metro wasn't that crowded. And, due in large part to the transit agency's efficiency, it was easy as pie.

GETTING THERE:
» 6:18 p.m.: I walk into the Court House Metrorail station.

» 6:20 p.m.: I hop onto a readily available Orange Line, but find it nowhere near as crowded as I'd expected. I'd planned to have to stand during my trip, but I get a seat to myself. In fact, almost everyone in the car is sitting solo. And I only count a single fan sporting a piece of Nats paraphernalia: a cap.

» 6:23 p.m.: I get my seatmate at Rosslyn: a mom and her 2ish-year-old girl, who's dressed head to toe in a fuzzy pink winter outfit with mittens attached to the sleeves by string. I look at my light jacket and reflect on how much better prepared for the weather than me this baby is. The train gets more crowded during this and successive stops, but never is every seat filled.

» 6:35 p.m.: I arrive at L'Enfant Plaza for the big transfer to the Green Line. There are at least eight members of the Metro Transit Police — including one right outside the door to my train car — positioned along the platform to direct stadium-goers to the correct side of the Green Line platform. I don't even have to think, I just follow their directions. I find myself wishing that transferring was always this easy.

As I wait for the Green Line on the upper platform, another batch of transit police officers — I count at least six — keeps fans from mistakenly boarding a Yellow Line train.

» 6:40 p.m.: A Green Line train arrives. I end up standing for the two-station ride down to Navy Yard, but I've seen thicker crowds on the Red Line during morning rush. Also, the train I ride in is one of Metro's newest, sporting new handrails and no carpeting. Nats paraphernalia count: six hats, one sweatshirt.

» 6:43 p.m.: I arrive at Navy Yard, where the platform is packed with people. The amount of guidance is as overwhelming as it is effective. A cadre of transit police officers usher passengers toward the Nationals Park exit. Police barricades separate us into two separate batches of pedestrian traffic. And announcements blaring from the station's speakers — pitched so loud as to drown out any independent thought — prompt riders to walk around the packed escalators to a less-crowded set of stairs behind them.

» 6:46 p.m.: I ride the escalator to the surface, standing frustratedly on the left behind a line of escalefters. I repress the urge to tell each of them, one by one, to stand on the right.

That was it. Twenty-six minutes of travel time, mostly uneventful. But I wonder whether it will stay that way when crowds pick up as the weather improves, or if Metro can keep up the considerable transit police presence I encountered throughout my trip.

Photo of the Nats' new scoreboard taken last month by Hamil R. Harris/The Washington Post

THE BALLPARK
I'd seen Nationals Park up close at several points throughout its construction and had flipped through numerous pictures of the stadium taken since it opened. But none of that fully prepared me for the sensory overload I'd experience when I walked in there.

The stadium was relatively sparsely filled — again, likely due to chilly temps and the NCAA finals — but those who were there seemed to have just as much fun checking the place out as I did.

It was a flurry of activity. A cascade of lights. A cacophony of sounds. And a variety of smells that make my stomach rumble just remembering them. The Boardwalk Fries stand to the right of the entrance immediately caught my eye, but Ben's Chili Bowl and Red, Hot and Blue were also at easy reach. Grabbing a meal of chicken fingers, fries and a beer at Boardwalk Fries (total spent: $17.50) right before the game started took maybe five minutes, two of which were spent in line. My story is considerably different from those who told of endless waits for food during the team's opening game, but I'll bet the decreased crowds had a lot to do with that.

My group's seats were located below the main concourse — having a friend with season tickets is never a bad thing — so my view of the game was pretty spectacular. The HD scoreboard is as amazing as everyone says it is, and the sound system is top-notch. Sometimes, it's a bit too good, as when the sound board operator leaned on the volume button during a break between innings. I spent the rest of the night with Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" stuck in my head.

A few observations:

» SPLISH SPLASH: Cupholders at every seat are neat. However, mine was attached at such an angle that it would have dumped my beverage on the lap of the guy next to me. Not really a way to make friends.

» MILLER TIME: Estimated time it took for the beer/peanut/cotton candy vendors to get on my nerves: about 10 minutes. Especially after one planted himself two rows down from me, but continued his circus-barkeresque shouting.

» SPEECH PATTERNS: Why is it that every time I go to a ballgame, I hear New York and Boston accents hammering through the sound of the crowd? Is it because folks from those cities are big baseball fans or because they're louder than the rest of us?

» WHISTLER'S BOTHER: The guy directly in front of me who kept popping off an ear-splitting two-finger whistle was not popular with the rest of my section. Take note, whistlers.

THE TRIP HOME
Metro was much more crowded during my journey back home than it had been on the way there — and I even left the game early so my friends could catch some of the NCAA action on TV.

At Navy Yard, transit police packed riders into the station by ordering us to file all the way to the end of the platform. The ride back to L'Enfant Plaza was tight — I didn't spot any open seats this time — but when I hopped a Largo-bound Blue Line train to head home, I was one of only seven people in my railcar. Which, after a night of wading through crowds, was a dose of sweet relief.

» "Smooth Leadoff To the Nationals' Weeknight Games" [WaPo]