Eastown Sports Bar: Pool, guns and nostalgia

Eastown Sports Bar is located a 1520 Wealthy St. SE in
Grand Rapids, Michigan

With my current position as a high school sports reporter, the idea of going to bed before midnight borders on the impossible.

It’s a job where I am up to 2 a.m. on Friday nights (Saturday doesn’t start until my head hits a pillow damit), and I’m usually still up at 1 a.m. on a Saturday.

So after a full day of golfing and eat baby back ribs at Chili’s (mmm…ribs), it was roughly 10 p.m., and I felt it was time for a night cap.

So I headed on over to Eastown Sports Bar, located here.

Eastown Sports Bar is part of the patchwork-punk scene that is Eastown. Eastown is one of the more memorable and nifty areas in GR. With the crooked, brick streets and the locals that take pride in their ‘off beat’ community. A visit to the neighborhood is quite a treat.

When you really think about, Eastown almost seems an odd place to have a sports bar. I really isn’t much of a ‘sporty’ spot in town. It is made up of more of the art and farmer’s market type crowd.

Genuine sports bars are full of TVs with the volumes on high and most of the people more focused on the game than what they are drinking. By definition, Eastown Sports Bar is a terrible sports bar.

It was Saturday night, so the place was packed. I was hoping to make my way to the bar to order a beer and catch a glance at one of the TVs to get a glimpse of all the college football scores from the day.

Looking to watch sports at a place that has ‘sports bar’ in its name; I really don’t ask for a lot.

To my dismay, all of the seats at the bar were taken, and I was forced to order a Sam Adams while standing.

It was there that I ran into my college housemate Sam (Hi, Sam! –I need to come up with a trinket to give to people I know that run into me during by Barstool Banter excursions. Putting that on the ‘to do’ list).

Sam was able to give me the low down on Notre Dame’s lackluster 50-43 win over North Carolina, seems like the Irish needs to sharper up the defense before playing No. 1 Florida State. (I believe that we willwin).

Sam and his friends were heading out the door getting ready to go to a party, and that seemed to be the purpose of Eastown Sports Bar that night.

ESB, I hope you like abbreviations, because I’m using that for the rest of the post—deal with it, seems to be the ‘launching point’ for other places to go.

When I was able to secure a seat at the bar, most of the conversation around me revolved around groups of people trying to figure out where the stragglers in their group were and where they were going to next. Usually, the next stop was either Mulligan’s or some house party a couple blocks away.

I decided to take my Sam Adams and head over to the game room where ESB has two excellent pool tables.

Saturday night is free pool night at ESB, and being a self-proclaimed pool hall junkie, I had to shoot a few games. (Future idea, start a blog on going to pool halls—my ‘to do’ list is getting pretty long from this one post).

I wrote my name on the chalkboard by one of the tables and preceded to whoop up on some guy wearing U-M and wanted to show off for his girlfriend. (I can be a really asshole at times, but Paul Newman told me to never lay off on a pool table. And I always listen to Paul Newman).

He then asked me to give up the table so he and his honey could just play with themselves, so I put up the cue stick for the night and went back to the bar.

When I was at Aquinas, ESB would be a place for my friends and I to hang out and shoot pool. We would order a pitcher of PBR and some chicken wings and start having as much fun as what a cheap college budget could afford us.

I was pretty sure I did see some people that I kind of knew (again, not counting you, Sam), but I had a full day and was not in a social mood.

The bar was starting to clear out, and I was able to grab a seat and start watching College Football Live—I think I was the only person at the bar who had the audacity to want to watch sports at Eastown Sports Bar.

When I think of the word ‘sports bar’, I think of a bunch a guys sitting around watching football drinking Budweiser, PBR and Sam Adams (usually all at the same time).

But the scene at ESB was more of college-aged bros and chicks drinking Bud Light and ordering shots of Fireball, Jaeger Bombs and some kind of clear-color shot that I associate with White-Privilege kids. (God, I hate using that term, but where there is a 22-year old guy in an American Eagle t-shirt who was complaining on how his parents won’t let him use the family cabin up North to have some friends over for a week, I think the term can be used justly).

Eventually, it was just me with a few guys to my right at the corner of the bar. Two of the group of three were former service members (mandatory link to Wounded Warriors Project here, seriously, God save those who fight for the Republic), but two of them were talking about how it was crap that they could not carry a gun at the bar. Oh boy.

The law in Michigan is that you may not have a firearm in any establishment where more than 50 percent of is sale is alcohol. **I am not a legal expert, this is just what I heard. If you use this blog as grounds for a legal argument, I openly question your thinking.**

Now, I’m a pro-gun rights conservative (within reason). But to me, not being allowed to carry a gun in a bar seems like a good idea. I don’t know—but count me as one of those ‘big government cronies’ that thinks it is a bad idea to have guns at a place where people go to internationally kill brain cells.

One of them took out his CWW permit (that’s carry a concealed weapon permit for the non-gun folks) and rattled off all the places where he can’t carry a gun. This Orwellian-nightmare lists includes: schools, churches, bars, high school football games, you know—all the places you think, man, I really wish that angry guy who is following the ref to the parking lot a high school football game had a gun.

I ordered a Bell’s Two Hearted Ale and then took another walk through the game room.

Besides the pool tables and dart boards and floor level, the room also features a second floor where karaoke was happening (I don’t know why) and some really comfortable couches. A 30-year-old-something woman was doing a very terrible rendition of Lorde’ Royals, so I retreated back to the bar to finish my beer.

Back at the bar, I was able to grab a seat and catch highlights of the AP Top 25 teams from Saturday’s action. Finally, a chance to watch sports at a sports bar—I like to think that I don’t ask for much.

Next to me I struck up a conversation with a young woman who turned out to be a server at the bar on her off night. She said that the place is usually filled with regulars on weeknights, and that Saturday was a bad night to gauge ESB’s true scene.

The rest of the bar was full of college-aged guys with their girlfriends (good Lord, I’m getting old), and some middle-age women who were just downing shots of Tequila like nobody’s business. (So much so, that it is fair to say that nobody wanted their business).

It was a rather full day for me, so I asked for my tab and headed out the door.

When I started this blog, I did not think it would turn into some weekly obligation (I could offer a low-brow Catholic joke here, but I’m already concerned about how many years of purgatory I’m already destined to serve), but this past week, people were asking about the next post. So I was afraid that my trip to ESB was more of a choir than anything else.

But then, I thought about it more.

Truth be told, I did not have a great time at the bar, pool table aside. But I was starting to ponder why as I was settling my tab.

I thought about my college years and the trips to ESB. Ordering PBR and making fun of shitty music and thinking our lives were difficult because we have a 15-page paper due on Friday (how did we ever survive with such life dilemmas threatening our very existence?)

But the people at the bar—more or less—acted like people in school. Always looking to going to the next party. Ordering a lot of cheap beer and shots, because they do not know when they will be able drink with their friends again before exam season starts. (Although my friends in college were champs, and we drank in spite of--or because of--exam season.)

Could it be that I simply outgrew the bar, and that I changed so much that I just can’t have a good time drinking PRB and listening to someone singing Nickelback? (God, Nickelback jokes—I’m disappointed in myself for bringing that up, but it happened, and I’m not happy about it.)

In fairness, the bar has always stayed the same. It’s ‘staging point’ for another party or another bar. It could be that I have outgrown the college party scene and I like my drinking established more relaxed, quiet, a place where people can talk.

Or, I was just tired after 18 holes of golf and irritated because so many people were blocking my view of the TV and just wanted to read the damn bottom line. Hell, I am getting old….crap.

Eastown Sports Bar is a fun place to go with a group of friends, with a giant Jenga set, pool tables and beer pong table. (Did I mention this was a ‘college-type’ bar?)

But in terms of a sports bar, Eastown Sports Bar is a dismal failure. There really isn’t a good spot to just sit and watch the game on a Saturday night—which by the by, is a night were sports are on TV. 

But in terms of a bar, ESB is a nice spot, if you’re in the right mood.

It just turns out that tired sports reporter looking for a place to watch sports is not the correct mood for Eastown Sports Bar---who knew?

I walked out the door and headed home. ESPN radio was on and ran through all the Big Ten scores from the day.

Finally, sports. I should really looking going to more places where I can just sit back and watch sports and drink. If only more of those places existed. I should go there.