No ribbon board, no outfield panel advertising, no jumbotron, no Sandy Max, no picnic area, no escalators, no kiss cam, no problem! Wrigley is Classic. There were 4 girls in front of me who went through 3 entire disposable cameras on ?hold your arm out in front of you and snap yourself? and ?the cotton candy guy is hot? photos, along with 8 Buttweisers for the one token whale-of-a lush (I did have to count because she was getting increasingly distracting) My top of the 9th conversation with the guy behind me: Me: Thank you for attempting to reverse the stereotype about Cubs fans (as the aforementioned lush stumbled out to the aisle) Him: What do you mean? Me: Well, you?re actually quite a knowledgeable and civil fan Him: Actually, I?m a White Sox fan, I?m only here because I love baseball. Me: (shrug) Lush: Don?t worry, I?ve got 2 trains until I get to my car. The angst in Wrigley was ?cut it with a knife? palpable. After the second error I had to actually had to sit down and restrain my cheering because it felt inappropriate, like laughing at a stranger who was just hit by a car in front of their friends. But people there were still overwhelmingly happy. Like you know what to expect if you buy a ticket to a production of a greek tragedy. Grey beard Cirillo is clutch. Capellan & Turnbow: both of D Lee?s Ks were sick sick sick. The fight was typical frat party Wrigley. Everybody stood up, turned their backs to the game and watched em go. I credit the players on the field for still playing amid the raucous. Yost is still uncomfortable with Turnbow, as evidenced by the warming of the bullpen in bottom 9. And it must?ve sucked for Turnbow to pitch and see the bullpen activity simultaneously. He?s got some work to do before reaching ?shut-down? status. perfect night, imperfect baseball, great time.