Metro, Column

COLUMN: The Beauty of Taking the B Line

As a freshman, I have had this convenience-based fragment of advice thrown at me probably twice a week since orientation. Yes, the B Line does stop almost every 10 feet. Yes, it seems to move exponentially slower than any other public transit system, ever.

But after the combined hour and a half I spent barely clinging to a ceiling bar in a dimly lit, B Line car on Monday, I have decided that the train Boston College students love to hate is a beautiful thing.

Hockey was never a big deal when I was growing up. Being from Maryland; I usually stuck to “crab cakes and football,” something that inevitably changed upon arriving at BC. This, however, meant that not only had I never been to a Beanpot, but honestly, I had never heard of the Beanpot before the anxiety of having enough Gold Pass points to get tickets swept campus.

Despite my apparent lack of long-time hockey-watching experience and my inability to explain what “icing the puck” really means without sounding like a confused third grader, my first Beanpot on Monday was amazing.

The thing that made it so memorable, however, was not the sea of maroon and gold lining the top rows of TD Garden, or what was arguably the loudest and most aggressive sieve chant ever to grace the sport of college hockey, but the process of taking the B Line.

There is something beautiful about three times the amount of people who should be allowed in a T car, packed together in matching outfits and buzzing excitedly about the upcoming drop of a puck. Although it may be slow, and annoying, and inconvenient, the B Line is camaraderie. It is a means of bringing the BC student body together in a way that I have yet to see in my first few months on campus.

As a fairly recent participant of the wonderful and stress-free college admissions process, I can say with confidence that BC isn’t the only university with school pride. I can also say, however, that it seems that BC doesn’t fit into the usual stereotype of one of those schools-we are much smaller, located above the Mason-Dixon line, and I would assume that far less than half of the student body owns a pair of cowboy boots. The B Line on Monday night, however, seemed to project us into such a realm, confirming the slogan on the front of the hundreds of bright yellow shirts that peppered the crowd I sat amongst at TD Garden.

Although I’m sure the three frightened Boston University students that were huddled in the doorway of the T car on the way into the city on Monday would disagree, that B line ride is a perfect example of the BC community at its best.

It is a place where the eternal, cult-esque BC pride, and superiority complex over BU, begin. It is a place where the true hockey fans, the fans of the hockey team, the Monday night drinkers, and the Saturday night studiers all come within inches from each other to celebrate their school together.

While I feared for my life in a Walmart-on-Black-Friday sort of way multiple times during my Monday night B Line experience, I can’t wait to board the train again at the BC station next Monday. If you are trying to catch a Sox game or planning a weekend shopping spree on Newbury Street, take that constantly echoed advice and avoid the B Line at all costs. It is annoying, and inconvenient, and slow, but the B Line is important. It is a Superfan staple, a community builder, and a great way to hate BU. So listen to the advice of those who know how irritating it can be to take, but always recognize the beauty of the B Line.

February 5, 2014