Sweeney’s Pub

Sweeney’s, or ‘Schween’s’ as referred to by the locals, is one of those good ‘ol bars where time has managed to zap itself into a complete out-​and-​out standstill.
Among the faux wood panelled walls and linoleum floors sit the resident hometown boys and the gals that love ‘em slinging back Budweiser, listening to Hank, perched on rickety stools older than the ’67 F100 parked out back on the gravel. A throwback to a simpler time, unquestionably, the only modern touch giving Schween’s away is a new and shiny digital jukebox blazing like a neon beacon in the night… and… wait for it…
is attached via dial-​up. Super Search gone analog. Beam me up AOL!

Expect cold beer, cheap prices, hot pool tables, loose women and whiskey poured like water. No joke. I had to request top offs of my drink twice to quell the booze concentration. Go ahead, you can say it… PU$$Y! Also, count on looking forward to everyone in the bar enjoying their preferred brand of nicotine endlessly, for Sweeney’s is the one place I’ve meandered into that refuses to obey the cigarette ban and manages to get away with it. Um. Perhaps until now? Oops.
Three cheers for Americana wistfulness, uncomplicated expectations and a heaping side of timeless tradition… now for that I’ll give thanks, with pleasure.