Bob's Sports Bar: Pawn Stars, tacos and geography

Bob's Sports Bar is located at 725 Michigan St. NE
in Grand Rapids, Michigan 

After a brief existence in residential limbo (thanks to all the poor, unfortunate souls that had to deal with me for the past few weeks) I was able to venture out to a local bar for some much needed banter.

And banter is exactly what I got, as I spent a Monday night at Bob’s Sports Bar, located here.

Bob’s is another bar located in the Michigan St. corridor, but has the distinction of being the street’s only true sports bar---unlike another ‘sports’ bar that I’m thinking of--not to name names.

It was a pretty small crowd at the bar, pretty much nobody was in the seating area of the bar except two people. The bar sits about 10, and I was able to take one of the two open seats at the bar.

I ordered a Founder’s Centennial IPA from the bar’s fridge of craft beer and started watching the History Channel’s Pawn Stars on one of the TVs. Points for having the History Channel on; loss of said points because it’s Pawn Stars and not real history.

There were three older gentlemen to my left all drinking Budweiser (it’s one of those bars) and gentlemen in a Spectrum Health nurses uniform to my right. The bar is only a few blocks from the hospital, so I imagine it’s a natural ‘go to’ spot for all the hospital workers.

Much to my chagrin, there were no women at the bar, save the bartender. I overheard the gentlemen to my left saying that Monday was guy’s night, and that there are no women at Bob’s on Monday. (Now you know, and knowing is half the battle).

I was the only person at the bar that was not a regular, as one of the gentlemen to my left—named Frank—did a roll call of people who are absent.

Another guy at the far-right of the bar gave a reason for every name that called, ranging from hospitalized, to being with his wife and ‘I don’t think he’s around anymore’. I wasn’t sure if ‘I don’t think he’s around anymore meant the person was not in town anymore, or the person was no longer on the Earth—I thought best not to pursue the matter.

I was finishing my IPA when one of the gentlemen to my left ask if I was a veteran. I told him I was not, and he responded with ‘Oh, damn. If you were I’d buy a drink. No harm’.

I told him I was sorry, but he said not to worry about it. But that is a good idea, especially to day/this week/whenever you read this drivel, if you see a veteran, buy them a drink. It’s the right thing to do.

I was getting pretty hungry and asked the bartender for a menu. She said that had a special: two tacos with chips and salsa with a domestic pint for five dollars. As a general rule for the blog, I always go for the special to get the essence or zeitgeist for all you German speakers out there of the bar.

Blogger fun fact: ‘Zeitgeist’ does not come up on the Word spellchecker, win for the day. Yeah, it doesn’t take much to make me smile.

Since I had to order a domestic, the beer snob in me did my best to make the most of the situation and I ordered a Labatt Blue. Because Canada and Michigan are pretty much the same—right?

When the tacos arrived, the bartender also changed the channel of all the TVs to the Monday Night Football game. For shame, I was interested in see how much money a guy was going to get for his horn that was allegedly played by Jimmy Hendrix. (Wait, why do I care, the show is stupid, dammit, that’s how they get you.)

I was digging into my tacos when the nurse to my right who had his nose buried in his smart phone the entire time asked me if it was beef or chicken in the tacos. I answered beef, seriously, what kind of person ordered chicken tacos, communists?

He asked if I thought they were good, which I said they were. (For me, tacos are one of those foods that is hard to screw up. Most tacos taste just like tacos. There really isn’t much of a difference between good tacos and bad tacos. They all seem to get the job done.)

He then stated that he like Bob’s tacos better than Taco Bell, and how they meat tastes so much better. Alright, I’m out of my league when talking about tacos with this guys. He then said that Bob’s tacos are probably better for you than Taco Bell’s.

That’s a fair point, but then a minute later he went out to smoke a cigarette. So I feel his food credibility as to what is healthy for you is tarnished by that. Not that I judge people who smoke, but I do scoff at how so many people in health care spoke. It’s like if your dentist would tell you that you need to eat less sweets, then proceed to down 10 pixie sticks in front of you.

I finished off my apparently better than average tacos—or so I’m told—and ordered a New Holland Ichabod for my nightcap.

The gentlemen to my left were talking about what they kids were doing with their lives. (At this point, I should mention I was the only person at the bar below 30). One of the guys was talking about his son’s two adopted kids. One is from Mexico, and was recently accepted in Harvard’s medial program, while his adopted son is in his second year at West Point (Go Army, beat Navy).

One of his friends asked where the son was from, and the guy responded with ‘I think El Salvador, but it could be Buenos Aries’ somewhere in that region. For those keep score at home, El Salvador is here, Buenos Aires is here, they are on two different continents—noticeably not in the same area. I felt it was not the time and place bring up that geographic tidbit, so I just finished by Ichabod.

Bob’s has a really relaxed scene and is a solid place—established in the 1920s, apparently. The bar has stained glass windows of the league logos for the NFL, NBA, AL and PGA, which is a nice touch, and there are plenty of table for friends.

I’ve only been to Bob’s one other time, and the place was packed. The bar has a pretty good selection of classic rock—always a must—and a pool table that rolls true, which is always a nice touch for pool hall junkies such as myself.

A small complaint could be the lack of variety with craft brews, but for a neighborhood bar, it gets a pass because I don’t think the regulars care all that much. It’s your basic sports bar with a lot of TVs, a pool table and good deals on Budweiser.

It’s your garden variety sports bar, and hex on anyone who wants it to be something else.

I’d recommend Bob’s for large groups of people who are looking to find some cheap deals on beer, watch a game and may shoot a few games of pool. When it comes to that, the place should never disappoint.

All and all, it was a solid reboot of my bar-hopping quest. Although I think the regulars I could tell I was an outsider. Maybe it was being in my 20s and drinking by myself giving it way, or ordering something from Founders.

Either way, I don’t think I tipped the balance of the bar’s scene too much. And it seems to be the kind of place that doesn’t mind insiders.

Bob’s Sports Bar. Sit down, order a beer, watch the game, enjoy.