Horror of Horrors: A Nats Game

I’m not anthropophobic or anything, but let’s just say that huge, sweaty crowds of people who have just been swilling $7.50 a pop beer and stuffing their faces with nachos del grande with extra Jalapenos and “Nats dogs” for past three hours provoke a range of emotions. Anxiety. Fear. Stress. The urge to clock the runty-looking guy in the Phillies jersey loudly discussing D.C.’s “stupid” and “unacceptable” parking policies in the face, smash his iPhone (I’m just assuming he had one) and run.

As I try to avoid the guy with the hairy back and red tank top while gunning for the narrow Metro entrance (along with a few thousand perspiring, odiferous strangers), I think back to something I saw mere hours ago. I’m talking about the free (yes, free) bike valet located at the Nationals stadium. There were only a few bikes located in the spacious (and very secure-looking) valet area as I walked past in the crush of people who had just swarmed out of the Metro (coming from an equally crowded green line train). The valet opens two hours before the first pitch, and closes about an hour after the Nationals lose, staffed by two paid stadium employees. And it’s free. Nothing is free.

“What could be better?” I thought. Besides the satisfaction I would get from smashing aforementioned Philly fan’s iPhone, nothing came to mind. I started to daydream about gliding past the White House on the way to the game, dodging angry drivers in traffic and pedestrians laboring slowly towards the stadium, and then handing my bike over to the valet and waltzing straight into the stadium. On the way home, I would rocket back up to Northwest past the monuments and up 7^th Street past Chinatown, drinking in the cool- yet-soggy night air, enjoying the streets now mostly devoid of traffic. And now just home to speed bumps the size of a WWF wrestler and bike lanes that end mid-street.

In reality, I would still be sweating and would still have crowds of other sweaty people around me, at least for the immediate few blocks surrounding the stadium. I would probably also get nasty looks as I try to push my bike through the crowd, but at least I wouldn’t be fumbling to unlock my bike (now sans anything that could be easily stripped, like front wheels) from the guardrail while being crushed by a grumpy human tidal wave. Additionally, biking does nothing to improve the Nats’ on base percentage, and doesn’t do anything to prevent irritating Philly fans. I mean, come on. I don’t go to your crappy city with its more-than-one-year-old stadium on a Tuesday night to sweat and cheer for my team, so don’t come and wave your stupid looking hats in mine.