Frank Voso's ripped shirt told a story from another era.
It was from Preakness 2008, and the picture on the back depicted the infamous "Running of the Urinals," a crass tradition of sprinters dashing across the roofs of portable toilets.
Last year, authorities wanted to end such revelry and banned partyers from bringing their own booze into the infield. Thousands stayed home.
Organizers tried to redeem themselves this year with $20 bottomless beer mugs, hoping to restore some of the old luster but without the debauchery. There would be no more throwing beer cans at drunks racing atop potties.
"There is no comparison," groused Voso, a 21-year-old political science major at Towson University partying in the infield on Saturday. "This is great, but there is no tradition. Bring your own beer. That used to have some meaning. It's just not what it used to be."
But for all the fears that endless beer and a "Get Your Preak On" slogan would turn the infield into a booze-fest worse than in past years, when chests were bared and alcohol flowed through tubes and funnels into gullets, the much-critiqued strategy may just have worked.
The infield was packed with close to 40,000 people rocking to live concerts, watching volleyball and facing off in beer-pong tournaments. It felt like a large beach party, without being out of control. Concession stands did run out of the bottomless beer mugs by midafternoon, however.
Baltimore's police commissioner, Frederick H. Bealefeld III, said the infield was so quiet that by 4:30 p.m. he had moved officers to other posts. By the time the race was getting under way, police had ejected only about 20 people, mostly for inebriation or fighting, and had not made a single arrest.
Officers stood idle near the infield entrance while others sat on picnic tables and thumbed through race forms. It appeared there were too many cops. "It's a great problem to have," Bealefeld said. He agreed that the slow beer lines contributed to the quiet.
"People are going to burn themselves out," he said. "Everybody is here, they're having a good time and enjoying the sunshine. It's a good day for Baltimore."
No doubt, there were plenty of drunken people. It's just that they had to work hard to reach that state. Lines for purchasing the limitless mugs were long all day, at times taking more than an hour. It could be equally long for refills, at least at the start.
"I've been here an hour, and I haven't had a single beer," said Brian Polis, a 21-year-old student at the University of Maryland, College Park. In fact, you could see more empty beer cups than full ones, leaving people sober. And frustrated.
"It's been a whole morning, and I'm not even drunk yet," said Scott Gerner, 23.
"The lines are ridiculous," said Alysia Holsey, a 21-year-old nursing student at the University of Maryland, Baltimore.
A few found ways around the problem. Some slammed full beers at the taps then quickly demanded more. Others gave up completely and got into the shorter pay-for-each-beer-individually line and poured that into the to-go cup.
Disdain wasn't universal. Jake Reilly, 23, of Annapolis, called the bottomless mug a good compromise but said "it's like the federal government organized this whole cup thing and it didn't work."
He was talking about the lines.
"Good idea, bad execution," said his friend, 25-year-old Ray Richard.
But Reilly thought the ban on carried-in alcohol kept problems to a minimum, which was entirely the point. "Look around," he said. "People are drunk. They're stumbling around. But nobody's throwing beer cans at people running across urinals. It's safer."
The infield wasn't exactly a family place. But it was a Happy Place, which is what Baltimore is going for with a new slogan for visitors unveiled last week.
That meant a slow day for police.
Baltimore police don't patrol the infield, though they were in abundance standing guard at concession stands and any place where money changed hands. Tactical officers stayed in a pen near the tunnel entrance, waiting to be called upon if needed.
Private security guards handled the heavy lifting — throwing out some drunks and breaking up fights — but there was little for them to do. They fought their way through thick crowds in small packs, but they watched more people than they confronted. A tussle in the crowd, which occurred about 4:30 p.m. as the band O.A.R. played, ended on its own.
At midday, a city paramedic stood with his partner in the middle of the infield, next to his bicycle, and said he hadn't had a single call all day. Not one passed-out patron. Not one person hit in the head with a beer can, full or otherwise.
"This is nothing compared to when you could bring kegs and coolers in here," he said, echoing the laments from the Towson student.
In the background, a band was covering a country song, and the lyrics seemed to fit the moment: "Cause I've got friends in low places / Where the whiskey drowns / And the beer chases. … / I'm not big on social graces."
The infield, while tame compared with past iterations, wasn't exactly big on social graces either. But it could've been worse, or better, depending on your perspective. Said the paramedic, who didn't want his name used, "I kind of miss the 'Running of the Urinals.' "