On Saturday, photographer Andrew Snow and writer Alan Siegel ventured among the bottoms and bottomless mugs of beer in the Preakness infield. Their report and a gallery, after the jump.
Andrew Snow is a freelance photographer based in Washington, D.C. See more of his work at www.andrewsnow.com. Alan Siegel is a freelance writer in Washington, D.C.
Let's begin with Orange Shorts here, who was passed out at 11:51 a.m. This wonderful tableau — calling to mind the seventh stanza of "Maryland, My Maryland" — did not end in any atomic sit-ups. Thank God. Not visible: Orange Shorts's nipple rings and areola-encircling sun tattoo.
This bespectacled guy — who looks like Lemmy from Motörhead's redheaded cousin — didn't say a word when we tried to talk to him. When he noticed his picture was being taken, he looked up for a second, then he turned his attention back to his program. He was hands down my infield MVP.
At 10:45 a.m., an infield staffer named Brian told me that his little area of the beer tent had already finished 25 kegs. This shot was from a mid-afternoon concert. These people have no idea where they are.
Ah, the bikini contest. That's a runner-up, who tucked the $200 prize in her G-string. The contest was creepy as hell. One contestant was introduced as "the mother of two teenage daughters!" This made me feel like a bad person.
One grinning, 60ish photographer, wearing a blazer and khakis, approached me during the contest and asked, "Do they separate the fake boobs and the real boobs?"
Here's the winner three hours after the contest, still showing off the swimsuit that helped her capture the title and $500 prize. She talked to Snow about setting up a time to take some "modeling pictures." He also does weddings and Bar Mitzvahs.
According to a bystander, this bronzed napper had been out for two hours when the cops arrived. They shook him gently at about 2:45 p.m., and he slowly formed a toothless smile. It was like his mom was trying to wake him up for school. Notice the female officer's face. He eventually got up under his own power and was escorted out. Also, this happened during a Collective Soul concert. Heavy.
Everyone seemed pleased with the $20 bottomless mugs of beer, even if the lines were long. Attendance was up 23 percent over last year. Note: This photo isn't terribly representative of the 95,000 that packed Pimlico. No one's wearing a Chase Utley jersey.
After 10 minutes or so of trying, these two dudes finally table-topped their friend. That this was the only physical confrontation I witnessed is indicative of how relatively calm it was out there. (The Sun reported that no arrests were made.)
I think they were trying to do a one-team wheelbarrow race.
Ragnar the Viking has some competition.
Sure, there was beer pong, crowd surfing (as seen here), and all-you-can-drink Bud, but at least one infielder, who was wearing a West Virginia hat, thought something was missing. "Get any titty shots yet?" he asked when he saw Snow's camera.
He proceeded to tell us about watching a couple have sex at the Preakness back in '85.
This year's party, our West Virginia interlocutor assured us, had nothing on that one. "Ain't even close," he said. "Ain't even close."