There’s something uniquely vibrant about sharing a train ride packed full of excited sports fans, all heading toward the anticipation of a baseball game. This simple journey, an everyday commute turned special occasion, carries a weight of memory, camaraderie, and tradition.
Recently, I found myself on the Washington, D.C., Metro with my young son, swept along in the rush toward Nationals Stadium on Opening Day. The experience echoed vividly with memories of my own childhood in Chicago, traveling on the “L” to see the White Sox and Cubs play. For a brief but precious moment, past and present merged seamlessly, creating a legacy passed from one generation to the next.
The train was already crowded when we boarded, a sea of fans dressed in red and white, excitedly discussing players, lineups, and season predictions. My son, eyes wide with wonder, clung tightly to the stroller bar as we wheeled into the car. He watched as more fans squeezed in at each stop, the atmosphere inside growing electric with each mile we traveled. Although he’s only six months old, and was very likely overwhelmed by the sheer amounts of new people he was seeing, his eyes were big as he absorbed all the new sights, sounds, and smells.
When I was a child growing up in Chicago, riding the train to the ballpark was always an event. My father and I would take the “L” to Comiskey Park or Wrigley Field, depending on which tickets were the cheapest that season.
On those trains, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers unified by the shared passion for baseball, I learned early lessons in community. Strangers became temporary friends, bonded through shared hopes, good-natured rivalries, and the universal language of baseball statistics and folklore.
On this day in D.C., I watched my son absorb the sights and sounds of his own baseball pilgrimage. People of all ages surrounded us: seasoned fans recounting tales of past opening days, young adults sporting jerseys of their favorite stars, families juggling snacks and souvenirs.
Conversations merged and overlapped, weaving a tapestry of anticipation that filled the train with contagious energy. I saw in my son’s face a mirror of my younger self—the awe, curiosity, and simple joy that transforms a mundane commute into a thrilling adventure.
As the train rattled along, I pointed out jerseys and caps, explaining to him who some of the players were, just as my father had done with me. He listened intently, of course, because he’s six months old, but as I explained to him who Stephen Strasburg is I was hoping that some part of this baseball knowledge was sinking into his infant brain.
The train rolled into Navy Yard station, and the excited buzz intensified. Fans shifted, readying themselves for the walk to the stadium, adjusting caps and jerseys. As the doors opened, the crowd surged forward in a cheerful, orderly chaos.
I picked my son up out of the stroller so he could travel closer to me and with the Nationals faithful. The crisp spring air greeted us outside, mingling with the smells of popcorn and grilled hot dogs from nearby vendors, further intensifying my nostalgic connection to those trips of my youth.
Approaching Nationals Stadium, the excitement reached its zenith. I watched my son, taking in the immense structure, banners waving proudly, and fans flooding toward gates. He looked around, mouth open with wonder (and probably hunger). This moment, shared on the train and now outside, felt symbolic—a timeless passage, bridging generations and shared experiences.
Settling into our seats, looking out at the perfectly manicured field under a clear spring sky, I reflected on how meaningful these simple journeys are.
A train ride to the ballpark is more than transportation—it’s a ritual, a passage filled with bonding, anticipation, and belonging. Sharing this with my son brought those childhood journeys full circle. The joy on his face reminded me of my father’s smiles, the unspoken pride and satisfaction he felt sharing his passion with me.
This shared train ride was more than a moment; it was an introduction for my son to the community and traditions surrounding baseball. It showed him that fandom isn’t solitary but communal, that part of the beauty of the game lies in experiencing it together.
Baseball, like these shared rides, connects us, creating memories that linger long after the final out.
Years from now, I hope my son will look back on more moments like these and recall not just the games themselves but the journeys that took us there—rides full of laughter, conversation, and excitement.
Perhaps someday, he’ll take his own child on a similar ride, passing on the tradition, continuing the cycle. Because, ultimately, that is the essence of baseball: not merely a game, but a living thread weaving through our lives, binding families and communities together, one shared train ride at a time.
Images by Samuel Corum/Getty Images)
Article by Jack Turek. Watch out for more baseball content from Jack during the 2025 season.
