The people of Maryland are known to have a bit of an identity crisis. Geographically, the state is located below the Mason-Dixon Line, but in reality Maryland is hardly considered a Southern state. However, on the third Saturday in May all that seems to change for an entire day. The bandannas come out, the tee-shirt sleeves get rolled up, and the beer gets shot-gunned faster ‘n you can say tater salad. It can only mean one thing, its time for Preakness again.
Yes, Preakness is a very prestigious horse race that is part of the illustrious Triple Crown. But what most people don’t realize is that it is also a day for thousands of wannabe rednecks to crowd the Preakness Infield and party like they were in the deep south. Doctors, lawyers, even politicians (as well as actual red necks, hicks, and poor white trash), line up outside the gates of Pimlico Race Track as early as 6am to get the best spot on the infield grass. The local news covers the event all day long and interviews people sitting on their coolers waiting to get in. Last year I kid you not, the very first person in line was my attorney, SHIT HOUSED by 7am. It probably would have bothered me if I wasn’t shot gunning a beer with him later that day.
For such a prestigious race, the track itself is surprisingly located in one of the roughest neighborhoods of Baltimore. If you’ve ever seen The Wire, you’d know to avoid this area on any other day of the year. But on this Saturday, the local corner kids realize that the crack is not the party favor of choice for infield patrons. So to make up for lost profits they wheel coolers of beer through the hood in stolen shopping carts for five bucks from drunk and lazy crackers. It is ethnic diversity at its finest.
As the day wears on, the sun gets hotter, people get drunker, and party get wilder. Bodies are glowing red with sunburn. People are puking on the grass. Port-a-poties are filled to disgusting capacity. Dudes no longer go IN the portable johns, but start pissing directly ON them. And then the chicks get crazy. I don’t know what it is about thousands of guys chanting “show your tits! show your tits!” that actually makes a girls show her tits, but it seems to work. The whole place makes Mardi Gras look like Disneyland.
Finally, around 6pm horse-mounted police start herding drunk bodies off the infield and out through the gates. Again, the news cameras are waiting to interview people as the day winds to an end. “What did you think of the race?” is a common question from the local news reporter. Half naked, red as a tomato, and stumbling through the gate, the slurred response always seems to be “What race?”.
Check out more pictures of last year’s Preakness. …And you thought I was kidding about the shoppings carts (check out slide 13).
