Presidential Tale Wags the Dog Outside Stadium

The dog days of summer arrived at 7:30 a.m. Tuesday when White House representative Jack McDougal called John Bowlin, Oscar Mayer Foods Corp. president, and asked if his company’s Weinermobile could lead the presidential motorcade into San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium before the All-Star game.

Twenty minutes later, McDougal called back and canceled the idea because the Weinermobile hadn’t been checked for all the things presidential Weinermobiles are supposed to be checked for and it would have been a hassle.

At 10:30 a.m., season ticket-holders Bill Martinez of Vista and Steve Kudalis of Escondido settled into their lawn chairs for the long wait--the stadium gates would not open until 3 p.m.. By noon, the only action in the parking lot is a fight, resulting in four of the 17 pregame arrests.

The wait drags on. Baseball should have provided more entertainment, they say.

At 1:30 p.m., the Weinermobile arrives and tours the parking lot. Operators Brittne Eickmann and Bryan Zvibleman--official title, Hotdoggers--pass out Weinermobile whistles. They have handed out 10,000 whistles at the Upper Deck All-Star FanFest and they will give out 5,000 today.

But there’s a snafu.

The Hotdoggers have not yet been informed they won’t be leading the motorcade, and Major League Baseball representatives tell them they have to move from the entrance where President Bush and Mexican President Carlos Salinas de Gortari will arrive.

“Major League Baseball wanted to kick us out because we weren’t an official sponsor of the game, but the Secret Service saved us,” said Eickmann, who pointed out that Oscar Meyer was a sponsor at FanFest, a production of Major League Baseball Properties.

Said Zvibleman: “They said to move it or they were going tow us. We didn’t want to upset anyone, but we were here under the directive of the White House.”

All is straightened out. The Weinermobile stays. Whistle, anyone?

About 200 feet beyond the Weinermobile, John Brunsell of Rancho Penasquitos and his 11 buddies are waiting impatiently for their food to arrive. It’s 3:18 p.m. They brought with them five cases of beer, two liters of Absolut vodka and a designated driver, John Anderson’s dad, Jack, who has already gone into the stadium.

Two days earlier, their Over-the-Line team, which has Another One of Those Unprintable Nicknames, lost two of its three games. That day required only two cases of beer accompanying the vodka.

“We’re probably not going in until 5-ish,” Brunsell says. “We want to get a good buzz because the beers in there are too expensive.”

At 3:46 p.m., the food arrives--80 hot dogs from the Radisson Hotel in Mission Valley. At 3:57, some of the hot dogs catch fire.

A crowd is gathering near the Weinermobile in anticipation of the president’s arrival. Among the growing throng are El Cajon’s Mark Honeycutt and Santee’s Dick Botte.

They say they wouldn’t skip the game for an opportunity to see the president. The only things that would pull them away are a pregnancy or Paul McCartney.

Down the way, San Diego’s Andy Schneeweiss, 24, waits. He’s an intern for the Palm Springs Angels, recently graduated from San Diego State and considering giving the president a thumb’s down.

“Because the economy hasn’t been good, baseball has provided me a sense of happiness,” he says. “It’s been kind of like a drug. It’s covered up the disappointment of graduating into such hard times. Baseball is more important than George Bush today.”

The 32-car motorcade finaly delivers the goods. The windows aren’t tinted.

Back by the Weinermobile, Honeycutt is pumped because the President waved to him. But Botte noticed something: “He gave us that look like, ‘Yeah, I know I’m not Paul McCartney.’ ”

It’s 5 p.m. straight up, and the Another One of Those Unprintable Nicknames gang wanders past the Weinermobile heading to the stadium. Wandering in a different direction is Westminster’s Pilar Espinosa and his wife, Dina, who are looking for somebody desperate to sell tickets. Pilar holds a cardboard sign: “Just married, 7-13-92, need 2 tickets, please help (face value).”

Brittne Eickman hands her a Weinermobile memento.

“We got married yesterday in Big Bear at a place called the Hitching Post,” Dina says. “We came here this morning. It’s a cheap honeymoon.”

The only tickets they’ve found have been $300 apiece, though.

“We’re just going to give it up and go to Mexico and have some lobster, I guess,” Pilar says.

It’s their second day of marriage and they’re striking out.

Passing out of sight of the Weinermobile, Dina takes solace in something from this momentous occasion.

“At least I got a whistle.”