Sports bars, in order to fulfill their promise as a man's paradise, need four things: plenty of televisions; a small army of hot, scantily clad waitresses; lots of less-than-expensive beer; and buckets of chicken wings. Hot Shots has all of these, but you'll have to forget about the girl-next-door, all-American style of, say, Hooters (not to say there's anything wrong with Hooters). The Hot Shots waitresses are hot in more of a working-class, smoke-stained, screw-you-stupid kind of way. The patrons range from Vinnie from New York to a countrified 57-year-old handyman named Bill who likes to hit on the older chicks in the place while coughing down filterless Camels. Oh, that's another thing: You can actually find single women in there, if the game gets boring. At Hot Shots there's plenty to fall back on, like a black-walled nightclub with a dance floor and so many pool tables there's always one open. Let's put it this way: Where else can you get a $3 Bass ale served up by a not-so-chic cutie while you call the eight ball in the corner pocket with your favorite game on the tube and righteous tunes thumping from a kick-ass sound system? Hot Shots, we salute you.