Adventures in Post-Clinch Transportation
Boston Daily was in Kenmore Square last night, doing our Papelbon jig in front of a line of stoic police officers on Brookline Avenue. After celebrating, we remembered that it was the wee hours of Monday morning and we’d have to be at work in a few short hours. As the college students came toward Fenway, we tried to get home. It wasn’t easy.
We were at the Boston Beer Works across from Fenway Park, and were fenced in by two lines of riot police on either side of Lansdowne Street. As the drunken patrons walked toward the cameras like moths to a lightbulb, we lamely asked the police if we could get the train at Kenmore.
Without any more direction, we headed back down Brookline Avenue, running into another line of riot police. Lansdowne Street was sectioned off as well, so all we could do was walk through the parking lot between Beacon Street and Brookline Avenue. Once we got through the lot, we saw that the inbound side of Beacon Street was blocked. We trudged to St. Mary’s Street on the C Line to wait for an inbound train.
At 12:20 a.m., we got to the platform, hopeful we hadn’t missed the last train. A couple of drunk women stumbled around, talking about selling Viagra. When they asked us which direction was inbound, their breath smelled like vodka and fruity mixers. A guy who didn’t look old enough to vote approached us next.
“Will this train get me to the red line?” he asked, excitedly hopping around. “And does it take debit cards? I don’t have any cash on me.”
He paused to whoop back at fans heading for Kenmore Square. He turned back to us with a smile on his face.
“Why aren’t you guys by Fenway?”
“Because we have to work in the morning.”
“Oh,” he replied, deeply affected by our misfortune. “I have a 9 o’clock class, but whatever. What I really want is to be by Fenway.”
“Then you should go back,” we replied.
“You’re right,” he said quickly, then bolted down Beacon Street with another whoop. Hope you didn’t get arrested, kid.
By 12:40, we were starting to lose feeling in our toes. Many of the people who’d been waiting for the train to come drifted off to hail cabs. We called our friends who were at home to have them check the T’s website, but all they could find was that the Green Line was running with delays. The driver of the third outbound train we’d seen told us there would be no more trains. Finally accepting our fate, we started waving our arms to catch a cab. At 1:10 a.m., almost an hour after we left the bar, we got a ride home.
The riot police are a nice show of force, but most of the adults in the crowd just wanted to get home. Part of the city’s plan to disperse fans should have included running trains later and communicating with passengers if there are delays. While we love a good party in the streets, we’re of the age where we like to be in bed before cars start getting torched.