BALTIMORE - There they were: three out-of-shape guys in their 30s at a busy intersection in the middle of the track wearing Speedo bathing suits, black Afro wigs and sunglasses.

For some reason, dozens of women felt compelled to pose for pictures with them.

“They look fabulous,” 20-year-old Caroline Hartman said. “This is so cool. They’re so cute!”

A year earlier, the infield revelry was blunted by the breakdown of Barbaro. On this day, there was no indication that memories of that horrific moment were going to deter the tens of thousands in attendance from drinking beer, flirting and, on occasion, betting on a race.

“It brings out the fun in everybody,” said one of the guys in the scantily clad trio. “It’s all about fun today. If you can’t have fun, why be here?”

How about to celebrate a pending marriage?

“This is my bachelor party,” said Stuart Sears, 30, who was wearing an ill-fitting jockey uniform complete with a cap and goggles. The outfit was a gift from his buddy, who bought it online for $50.

“So far it’s been very good at repelling women,” Sears said.

Admission to the infield was $55 or $60, depending on when and where the ticket was purchased. The sky was blue, the temperature in the mid-70s and the beer was everywhere, courtesy of Pimlico’s liberal BYOB policy.

To aid the transport of beer from car to track, boys patrolled the neighborhood with, uh, borrowed shopping carts. There was no shortage of takers for their service.

By 10:30, 20-year-old Katie Jowers had already knocked off three beers. The University of Maryland junior had never before been to the Preakness, and didn’t seem disappointed about having virtually no chance of seeing an actual horse.

“Everybody here last year was calling me, telling me how fun it was, so I had to see for myself,” she said.

Her group set up at 9 a.m., shortly after the gates opened. They had no way of knowing the speakers attached to the nearby betting windows would be blaring at a nearly intolerable volume.

The lines at the betting windows were far shorter than those at the portable toilets. But not everyone spent the day drinking beer.

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Jason Harris came from Cincinnati with his wife. Before the second race, he was busily marking up a newspaper and watching the large TV screen that flashed the latest odds.

“I’m 1-for-1 so far. Won the trifecta for $101,” he said.

The couple arrived in Baltimore on Friday night and planned to leave Sunday. It was their fifth Preakness; Harris estimated the cost of the trip at $1,000, but he hoped to make some of it back with winning tickets.

He went to the Kentucky Derby, too, and said he would attend the Belmont if Street Sense still had a shot at the Triple Crown.

Harris and his wife were planted in a corner, far from the rapidly swelling infield crowd and about 100 yards from those three guys in their skimpy bathing suits. A teenage girl sipping strawberry daiquiris from a pitcher walked by the three amigos and dropped her mouth.

“I’m not too impressed,” she said, “but I’m still going to take their picture.”