Located on Covell Street, between Acushnet Avenue and Bellville Avenue, in a residential neighborhood, Legends Sports Pub is an unpretentious, standard-issue neighborhood bar, with few bells and whistles. On the night of the Barflies visit, which corresponded with Game One of the World Series, one of the four large television screens aired baseball, while the other three sets played CNBC, Nascar racing and Dog the Bounty Hunter...all sports of a kind. Mr. Cork dismissed all the televisions, with their schizophrenic glow, as "electronic eye-candy." Legends offers pool and a too-loud jukebox, but only a very limited draft selection. 
Much to the delight of Mr. Mix, the special drink menu, posted on a dry-erase board, includes "martinis" made from such candy store staples such as Snickers, Butterfingers, and peanut butter cups. (Mr. Draft absolutely draws the line at drinks made from Bazooka Bubble Gum!) The pretty, young barmaid, Tabitha, proved to be a capable keep, but there were only three other customers other than the Barflies constituency. Legends has a regular, North End customer-base and it is the favorite of many...but Mr. Draft fails to see its' charms. It gets a middle-of-the road 5. Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Cork, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Elixir, Mr. Whiskey. Mr. Brew-haha
Legends Sports Pub
New Bedford Sports Club
Mr. Draft will admit to a tendency to not quite remember things quite the way they really were. In my memory, the party was always more exciting, the conversation more revealing, the girl way hotter. But, Mr. Draft would swear that on his last visit to the New Bedford Sports Club- granted, probably twenty-years ago- it was bigger, livelier and heavily populated with a youthful crowd, playing pool on one of many tables, flirting, doing shooters. listening to a jukebox. But on the the night of the Barflies' visit, it was none of those things. It was rather drab, despite the overly bright lighting and the pale blue walls, and a faux-granite bar top, with an extremely limited draft selection and an absolute absence of female customers. All of the customers were portly, 
Portuguese middle-aged men, none playing pool on the lone, azure-felt covered table. The bartender seemed to go missing for long periods, and a seemingly regular customer walked behind the bar and served the Barflies, apologizing as he did it. A video game- unplayable- flashed a digital message reading "bad hardware", which, more-or-less, sums up the NBSC experience. There are many great Portuguese-centric bars, clubs and restaurants along Acushnet Avenue, but this isn't one of them. It rates a 2, which still makes it better than Red J's Colonial Lounge.
Fernando's Sports Pub
Right next door to Tony's on County Street is Fernando's Sports Pub. Inhabited by a jovial crowd, this place was much more 
inviting. Although the draft selection was predictably weak, and not a drop of grapefruit juice was to be had for Mr. Greyhound, the bartender was friendly and competent. The owners of Fernando's have seemingly tried to decorate the establishment in the style of tavern in the Azores, with stucco and faux brickwork, as well as a very large mural. The mural itself can best be politely described "naive realism." Forgive Mr. Draft a small lapse into art criticism as he explains some of the unique features of this stunning wall painting. Depicting an Azorean village and harbor, the sun projects rays downward in a cohesive shaft of light, much like the mothership in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. In the peaceful azure water, triangle wedge sailboats float, oblivious to the pterodactyl-sized seagulls flying ominously above. Mr. Draft suspects that after a few more cocktails, the mural might become more convincing. All in all, Fernando's- although in a somewhat blighted neighborhood- is warm and the regulars seem, well, regular. Not a bad place to grab a drink...if you ain't an art critic. It gets a 5. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Greyhound, Mr. Mix, Mr. Elixir, special guest Madame Mai-Tai)
Knucklehead's
Mr. Draft has been familiar with the catchphrase for this place for some time, without having been there, as it it plays heavily into their newspaper ads: "Where Everybody Knows One." Kinda funny, a little parody of the famous line from the Cheers theme song : "Where Everyone Knows Your Name." But "One" what? On the Wednesday evening that the Barflies visited Knuckleheads, they found out.
Four Barflies entered Knuckleheads, and the only other customers were a couple sitting together, and four other men seated across the bar. Mr. Sazurac joked to them as we entered..."Oh, just what you wanted to see come in...four more guys." They laughed about it, as the male-to-female ratio in the bar was nine to two, and the two were the female half of the couple, and the very young looking and perky barmaid, Vanessa. Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Cork, Mr. Martini, and Mr. Draft settled in and ordered a round. Knucklehead's is situated on MacArthur Drive, in an odd industrial area between the waterfront and Route 18, across from a 
Fastenal hardware distributor. The bar itself is nothing special, but to be fair, a visit on another night may have yielded a larger and more gender-diverse crowd. As Mr. Draft sipped a somewhat tasteless pineapple-infused vodka, several more men entered the bar. And then a few more. And a couple more. By the time the Barflies were about to leave, the male-to-female ratio in the place was twenty-one-to-two, as the lady with the guy and Vanessa were the only of the fairer sex there. Mr. Draft assumes that the One that every knows is the barmaid, the only woman in the place without a guy at her side. Knucklehead's rates a Five. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Cork, Mr. Martini, Mr. Sazurac)
The Garden Sports Pub
As one travels down Union Street and passes the neon sign 
illuminated window of the Garden, one would not know how large the place is within. There are a number of pool tables and other barroom distractions, as well as a big horseshoe shaped bar. There, however, is no garden of either the floral or vegetable variety, so Mr. Draft, noting the sports-centric theme of the bar assumes that the name is a reference to the Boston "Gah-den." Mr. Cork was once again greeted with enthusiasm when the Barflies entered. No offense to Manny at Campino but this old 
acquaintance of Mr. Cork's was much cuter. As it turns out, the blond babe bartender, Ann Marie, used to babysit for Mr. Cork's sons, which quickly ended Barfly speculation on Mr. Cork's reputation as a ladies' man. Ann Marie was quite friendly and conversational as well as very pleasing to the eye. Mr. Draft took note of an odd drink being sipped by a nearby patron. It was a Windex-colored concoction in a large translucent plastic cup, with a can of Red Bull half- submerged in
it. The patron told Mr. Draft that it contained gin, vodka, rum, Blue Curacao and, of course, Red Bull. It was called a Trash Can, and he said it was appropriately named, as one "will getya trashed." The draft selection was strong including the usual suspects as well as Magic Hat #9, Sierra Nevada, and Smithwick's. Like nearby competitors FINS and the Catwalk, the Garden is populated by a young, attractive crowd, looking for a good time, in every conceivable sense of the term. For its' enviable draft selection, for its spaciousness and unpretensiousness, for the somewhat hip crowd, and for Ann Marie, the Garden gets an 8. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix. Mr. Cork, Mr. Sazurac)
The End Zone
Somehow, the Barflies have lucked out in the sense that in our 
mission to visit every bar in New Bedford, we don't have to drink at an Outback, or Pizzeria Uno, or T.G.I. Friday's, or worst of all, an Applebee's. Thankfully, these chains have forsaken New Bedford for the strip malls of suburban Dartmouth and Fairhaven. And the worst of them is Applebee's, with it's cloying attempt at familiarity, describing itself as a "neighborhood bar and grill," when it is, in reality, but a corporate eyesore and dismal eating/drinking experience. The End Zone is the real deal. It's a true neighborhood bar and grill that was packed on the Wednesday night that the Barflies visited. It has a adequate draft selection, and Mr. Draft settled in with a Samuel Adams Winter Lager, while Mr. Merlot had a merlot(!), and Mr. Mix, sticking with a theme, drank a Slippery Nipple. As might be expected, with a name like the End Zone, it is entrenched in sports memorabilia and a basketball game played on the overhead television (somewhat in competition with the gentleman trying to sing and play guitar on the stage in the adjoining dining room.) There is an extensive menu with the usual assortment of bar-friendly munchies, and the dining room was as crowded as the bar. The other patrons were sociable and conversational, and Mr. Draft is of the opinion that it could easily become the kind of place "where everyone knows your name," like on that TV show. A comfortable, authentic "neighborhood bar and grill." It rates a 7-and-a-half. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot)
LeBeau's Tavern
Make no mistake about it, LeBeau's is a true sports bar. On the night of the Barflies' visit, one television screen played a football game, while another displayed a basketball game. At several tables, card games were being played. For those who cared to
indulge, billiards, darts, bumper pool, pinball, and a lottery ticket vending machine were all available. As 75% percent of the Barflies are sports-averse (and that doesn't mean gay...not that there's anything wrong with that...), this not particularly a draw, but the Barflies appreciate that LeBeau's knows its' primary clientèle and caters to them. Mr. Draft, however, was disappointed by the draft options as there were but four choices: Budweiser, Bud Lite, Bud Select and a fourth forgotten offering of equal prestige. Mr. Draft, Mr. Merlot. and Mr. Cork ordered all the Bud varieties and, having sipped from all three mugs (also not gay!), Mr. Draft is of the opinion that the lines from all three tap handles all run directly into the same keg. Mr. Merlot bought several small bags of potato chips (at fifty cents per) and despite the different packaging, the Barflies concluded that the chips all came from the same original source. The barmaid was pretty and safely flirtatious, the bar was packed, the crowd was friendly...a great neighborhood bar in a good location. It's only significant drawback (for Mr. Draft, anyway) was the lackluster beer selection. And don't even get Mr. Merlot talking about the wine list... LeBeau's rates a solid 7.5.
