This post was originally scheduled for later in the week, however with the sad news of Toby Keith’s untimely passing and memories of singing this anthem more times than I can drunkenly count, it felt appropriate to adjust the schedule. Here’s to the fun nights. Rest easy country legend.

I’d like to make the case for dive bars. Hear me out. Sure, there’s something to be said for a nice sit-down dinner with fancy cocktails and oysters. And who doesn’t want to hang out at a brewery? Now complete with $20 IPAs and different things to keep children occupied while they run around screaming as their parents relax in Adirondack chairs throwing ‘em back before driving the littles home.

Me.

While those places can be fun, ninety-nine percent of the time I’d rather walk into a barely lit, sticky-floored bar with graffiti on the inside of the bathroom door. Not scribbled permanent marker jokes about good times and big dicks. Actual graffiti. Yellow, red, and black letters intertwined with curved edges.

Why do I prefer these grungy places with definitive sets of regulars and food you’d question eating sober but after a night with your heathen friends is Michelin Star? It’s actually pretty simple. Let me explain.

When you go to a more popular restaurant, they tend to try and attract every kind of person they can. And I get, capitalism and a wider consumer base. Makes sense. The problem is, when you try to cater to everyone you essentially become no one.

A dive bar knows what it is.

When you walk in, the people look up and in five seconds their attention is back on their drinks or games of pool. The thing about a good dive bar is the populace inside are unabashedly themselves. Whether they are part of the free-pool before seven crowd, the bikers rolling in on a Saturday afternoon, or the drunk fools hopping on stage singing karaoke with a group of chicks who definitely, did not, in any way, invite them up there.

But then nothing happens because…

No one. Gives. A. FUCK.

Walk in wearing jeans stained with oil and a torn flannel and you’ll get the same greeting as someone coming in dressed in a tie and sport coat. As long as you’re yourself, the place will take you, as perfectly flawed as you are. And that’s why they’re so much better than those other places, because those places you have to keep up a charade, a veil of societal-imposed bullshit. You can’t breathe. But, at a dive bar, you can breathe and relax, and just sit and stare into space and no one will ask you a god damn thing.

So, come in, put a dollar on the bar and play the dice game only the regulars know the rules to. Maybe you’ll win a free drink. Even if you don’t, I promise you’ll have a hell of a time; that is by far the safest bet I could make.