40 S. Ocean Blvd.
To celebrate the second World Series championship for everyone's lovable losers, I visited a place whose name says it all: Boston's on the Beach. The smell of victory, I learned as the Boston Red Sox smashed their Louisville Sluggers into the hopes of Colorado Rockies fans, is much like the smell of old wood, conch fritters, and sea salt. But that just adds to the good-humored, beachy spirit of Boston's, where the Heineken and Jäger specials seem to bloat some folks with arrogance, others with even thicker Bostonian accents than they had when they came in. As a Florida sports fan, it's hard enough to exist without having others wipe their success on your team colors, so I thought about mentioning that you have no business being a lovable loser when you've got the second-highest payroll in baseball. But New Englanders, even with the success of their franchises — and their sports-driven arrogance — are a cheery bunch. So I just sat back and showed my teeth in what could be understood as a smile, swallowed my beer, and pretended to rejoice. Note: This is easier to do when you load up on Boston's $3 Jäger shots, $5 Jäger bombs, $3 imports, and $2 domestics. Cocktails are a bit pricey ($8 a pop) on a Pub Stalker's budget, so I kept it simple. Boston's jams on Mondays as Rhythmnation cranks out its reggae funk; Thursday is surf night, when you can spin the wheel of fortune to win prizes from Coastal Surf and Ski; and on Fridays and Saturdays, local cover bands turn up the ruckus on this otherwise-laid-back watering hole. New England transplants, you know you've never had it this good.