Here's a couple photos taken from the Scout Seats at The Cell Monday night, when Mrs. SBW and I made our annual pilgrimage. The Great and Powerful Oz is on his way back to the dugout after arguing a close play at second base. Mark Buehrle started for the Sox and wasn't bad (6 IP, 4 ER), but didn't get the win.
Meanwhile, the pre-game buffet was great as usual, though one of my favorite Scout Seat rituals is my mid-game stroll back to the ice cream cooler for an Oreo ice cream sandwich. This time around, I sent the Missus back to fetch me "an ice cream sandwich" when she went back to go to the bathroom, but she came back with a standard-issue Good Humor style ice cream sandwich.
Nothing wrong with that, mind you, and those bar-style treats take me back to the days in the 1970s growing up in Grayslake when the ice cream man came down our street once a week, with his truck playing that mind-numbing jingle the whole way. My standard order was an ice cream sandwich, my brother favored Push-Ups (even though he probably doesn't remember), my dad liked the chocolate ice cream bars with the thick plank of solid chocolate in the middle and my mom liked the toasted almond bars.
Anyway, while I wouldn't normally turn down any old ice cream sandwich, I was aware that the Powers-That-Be with the White Sox organization usually are very attentive in such matters, making sure a wide variety of food choices are available. I have in the past enjoyed both the Oreo sandwich and the Toll House chocolate-chip cookie variety while watching from the Scout Seats (the cooler also features drumsticks, but the less said of those the better), so I went back and, sure enough, my frozen, racially-integrated treat was waiting for me. Good stuff. (I gave the original and now rapidly melting, plain-old ice cream sandwich to Mrs. SBW, who gladly ate it, lest I consume two, which I clearly would have done.)
By the way, the Sox won 8-7, though not before Scott Linebrink tried to give up the game. He has since been demoted to middle relief (finally).