Photobombing before photobombing was even a thing

The Orioles took their 2015 team photo the other day, positioning the members of this year's club in gleaming home whites on chairs and risers in front of the right field scoreboard before Monday's finale of a four-game series against the A's.

I can't see a team photo - the year and team really don't matter - without thinking about the first time I was credentialed to cover an Orioles game. It happened back in 1980. No, the bitterness over losing the 1979 World Series still hadn't dissipated, and the fact that the Birds were en route to to a second-place finish in the American League East despite winning 100 games didn't help matters any.

Working as a sportswriter and photographer for the Arbutus Times meant that I was attuned to anything that happened in the southwestern Baltimore County community. I covered mostly rec league and high school sports. When I was asked if I wanted to shoot photos of Dewey Lowman American Legion Post 109's 27 Flags, a marching unit that documented the various versions of the stars and stripes that have flown over the United States, I jumped at the chance to chronicle their pregame visit to the Orioles. A chance to step foot on the hallowed ground of Memorial Stadium? Count me in!

Naturally, I arrived early at the old ballpark on 33rd Street. Way early. I had taken the No. 3 bus from Wilkens Avenue to the stadium on countless occasions as a teen, but hadn't driven to the stadium many times on my own, so I didn't want to leave anything to chance. And, of course, I wanted to maximize my time on the field, taking everything in for as long as possible. As it turns out, there was a lot to take in.

I picked up my pregame press pass and made my way onto the field, surprised to find I was the only person there. Mind you, it might have been 2:45 p.m. and game time was 7:30 p.m. Pretty soon, the ballgirls arrived and I had something to take photos of near the home dugout along the third base line. When a couple members of the opposing team walked out of the first base dugout, I moved a little closer to snap off more photos.

Imagine my surprise when a burly relief pitcher stopped me and asked whether I threw right- or left-handed. When I replied that I was a righty, he asked if I knew how to play pepper, a long-ago pregame routine where a batter hit a ball at a group of players in an exercise to develop quick hands and good hand/eye coordination. He invited me to play for a few minutes - you need at least two fielders and a hitter, and there were only two players and one early-arriving photographer on the field. When I confided that I was worried that I wasn't really allowed, he told me he'd tell anyone who gave us any trouble that it was his idea. So for the next five minutes, until a few more of the opposing players trickled out of their dugout, I was standing on the field at Memorial Stadium, playing pepper with actual major leaguers. Talk about dying and going to heaven!

By the time I was done playing pepper, members of the Orioles started streaming out of the home dugout and made a beeline for a set of risers that had been set up in center field. I hadn't realized it, but I was credentialed for team photo day, and guys like Rick Dempsey, Eddie Murray, Mike Flanagan and Jim Palmer were making thier way to the beautiful green in center field for the annual group shot. Manager Earl Weaver was among the last out of the dugout, kvetching to the photographer that he wanted the photo done quickly so the O's could get to their pregame workout.

I distinctly remember watching the players line up - taller guys in the back, shorter ones in front, just like we did in elementary school - and asking one of the ushers who was in the stands near the dugout if I needed to move from my position next to the home plate side of the dugout. "No," he told me. "They'll crop you out. You're fine."

The team photo took all of five minutes and pretty soon, the Orioles returned to the clubhouse and changed out of their game uniforms for their pregame work. I went through about six rolls of film that afternoon (remember, these were the days of 36-exposure Kodak rolls and balky single-lens-reflex models, not the light digital contraptions that make photography so easy today). I even got a few shots of the 27 Flags, to make my editor at the paper happy, and took in a few innings from the stands before heading home. One day, I'll find those photos, which are tucked away so securely in my Catonsville home that I can't locate them.

Weeks later, someone at work asked me if I'd been at team photo day, and when I told her I had, she produced a copy of the final version of the 1980 Orioles photo and told me to take a close look. There, along the right border, just over the left shoulder of trainer Ralph Salvon and to the right of a smiling Palmer, is an early-arriving photographer in blue jeans and a blue shirt, a brown camera bag slung over his shoulder as he chats with someone in the stands. Turns out I wasn't cropped out. I was photobombing before photobombing was even a thing.

Not only was I in the version of the photo that the Orioles distributed to season ticket holders, but I was visible - barely, but still there - when the Topps baseball card of the 1980 Orioles was distributed the following year. On the club level at Camden Yards, where photos of each year's team since the Browns arrived from St. Louis for the 1954 season ring the concourse, you can still see 20-year-old me in the team photo. When I tour friends or visitors through Camden Yards, that photo is always a stop, the finish to the story I'm telling now.

They say you never forget your firsts, and I'll never forget the first time I stepped foot on a major league field with a legitimate press credential. And there's even permanent photographic evidence to mark the occasion.