Last night on the Broad Street Line: Three games. Thousands of fans. One train line.
On Tuesday, the chaotic train ride to the Sports Complex was half the fun.
It was a bewitching chaos at the southbound Cecil B. Moore Broad Street Line stop.
Just after 5 p.m. Tuesday, the usual ebb of commuter backpacks was overcome by waves of orange, green, and red jerseys. Some jerseys were in a more-visible hurry than others, their owners betrayed by a light sheen of sweat earned as they dashed into the station.
Natalie Kovanda, 20, and her friends said they ran out of class at Temple University as soon as it ended with just enough time to make it to the 6 p.m. Flyers home opener against the Canucks at the Wells Fargo Center.
“Just to be at a sporting event tonight is going to be amazing,” Kovanda shouted over a northbound train. “The energy is going to be crazy.”
Kovanda and her friends disappeared into the roar of a subway car.
Once gone, classical music played throughout the station, whimsical and light, as the SEPTA employee overlooking the turnstiles shouted into her speaker.
“You don’t need your Key!” she tried to convey to a young woman with headphones.
The woman in headphones didn’t heed the call, but Jael James took note.
“It’s free?” asked the 27-year-old raising her arms in celebration as she made her way home after work. “Woo!”
Others, confused or drunk, didn’t understand they could simply swing through.
“I don’t know what’s happening!” a frenetic woman in a Phillies T-shirt to shouted the SEPTA worker while jumping the turnstile with apologetic eyes.
On a night when three major events converged at the Sports Complex, with an estimated 126,000 fans in attendance, the Broad Street Line was more than a commuter rail. It was a time machine to games lost, a portal to future glory just within reach, and a pep rally with a fashion show included.
Around the corner from the turnstiles, Andrew Maginnis, 21, drew compliments with his pinstripe bib overalls. The Phillies were set to play Game 2 of the National League Championship Series at 8:07 p.m., so he, his sister, and friends had plenty of time to tailgate.
Maginnis guarded a tote full of “necessities” for such activities, which he made sure didn’t topple over.
“Phillies win 7-1!” he predicted as his sister Erin proved they were “die-hard” fans by pulling up a 2008 photo of them in red T-shirts. (They actually won 10-0.)
The general volume of the station got much louder by 5:45 p.m. and then a dozen children in yellow and black football jerseys entered, all smiles.
The North Philly Blackhawks, ages 9 and younger, were headed to Citizens Bank Park to fundraise for a second night in a row, said head football coach Ricky Tan. They’re going to nationals.
“Are we ready?” belted a young player.
“Hell yeah!” replied his teammates before they all squeezed into a car.
At around 6 p.m., it was already standing-room-only on the line.
More green jerseys got in the car, some wrapped in Mexico flags. Mexico was set to play Germany at Lincoln Financial Field come 8 p.m.
Valentino Martinez, 20, grinned. He’d only be 20 for several more hours. He said the game was his birthday present. Can you believe he’s half Mexican and Dominican and he’s never been to a national Mexican game, he asked.
Sharing Martinez’s enthusiasm and similarly clad in a green jersey was his companion, Chelsea Vong.
“I really like the morale in the city when teams do well,” she said gesturing at the blend of mismatched colors around her. “It’s bound to feel good down there.”
If the subway car was any indicator, Vong was right. The smell of coconut, peaches, Monster energy drinks, and beer slowly overpowered the tight space. Some of the overpowering saccharine smells appear to come from water bottles full of colorful liquids that are passed around with increased mania as the final stop nears. Giant Wawa cups of soda and maybe some other mixers are gulped down.
Once at the NRG Station, final swigs are taken and furry green hats are held tight as riders flock to the exits. Vong grabs Martinez’s sweater and he grabs her hand for reassurance. They disappear into the crowd and more southbound trains unload hundreds of fans.
Back at City Hall around 7 p.m., it’s clear the window for tailgating is closing as the herds of fans become less discreet with their pregaming. The plastic bottles are now just glass beer bottles, the faces a little pinker than the ones from earlier trips. No one minds having their photo taken, in fact, they pose and put on a show.
“If you’re going to any game, this is your train,” says a disembodied voice from the speakers. “Express, express, express!”
The cars are more claustrophobic but the rides remain smooth. People talk about how crazy traffic would have been, unaware that shortly after 8 p.m. the Office of Emergency Management would declare the Sports Complex parking full. One woman wearing a fuzzy Phanatic hat and a giant Phanatic chain hands off her energy drink to shake off a leg cramp. But she need not worry, the stop is near.
Off-loading yet another set of passengers, the train doors open to let out a cacophony of cheers. An Eagles chant breaks out and someone shouts from the depths of the crowd. It’s the elongated version of a regular post-season chant — LFG — complete with expletive.
It’s unclear who he’s rooting for, then again, on this night it doesn’t matter.