Chances Sports Bar Clientele is always a gamble

by Sam Soule, for pdxguide.com

Chances Sports Bar 3536 NE Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. 503 282 1854

For two months car lot streamers and a crudely penned sandwich board have announced the Grand Opening of a non-descript little tavern on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard called Chances.

Now, I know what you're thinking about that name, and you can just roll your mind out of that depraved gutter you call a fantasy life, right past the haunting memory of your sex-starved bed -- Chances is a modest sports bar, not some cheap den of cheap fleshy iniquity.

Let's amend that, Chances could be a modest sports bar, that is, if anybody ever bothered to drop by to watch a game. On that score, Chances is flat out of luck.

Not that this small box of a bar (a "fish box" really: the sidewalk-side wall is all plate glass) doesn't get an "A" for effort. Bits and pieces of sports equipment and athletic-themed prints decorate mauve painted walls. Two dish-pumping TV's hang ready for the, ostensible, sports action -- one screen a truly mind-numbing wide-body beauty. Pool, foosball and X-Box are all in-house recreation options. Fact is, Chances covers all the sports bar spread with very limited space to do so; the place would seem like a good bet.

And, thankfully, small details -- paltry selection of tasteless beer (domestic and microbrew), juke box built exclusively on the lightest of rock, bar set that looks like it was assembled out of box bought at Target -- matter little an intended demographic generally content as long as long as the beer is cold (it is) and the kitchen delivers (it does, in it's own time).

A quick word about the kitchen, food is Chances biggest asset. Five flavors chicken wings, a couple of burgers, a steak sandwich and, surprise, hummus and falafel (both good, the owners are from Cypress), all priced out in the six-to-eight dollar range, and all available to go. That makes Chances a boon to neighborhood sorely lacking in decent, moderately priced convenience food.

Given all this, why is it that on most evenings there are only three or four sketchy looking characters nursing pints of Pabst haunting the bar at Chances, men more interested in trying to command the attention of the girl behind the bar than paying attention to whatever is on TV, sports or otherwise?

Where is everybody? Where are the sixty-year old retirees who intent on spending their golden years dreaming of putting on the green? Where are the work-a-day schlubs addicted to whatever brand American Big Industry Athletic happens to be in season? Where are the sub-par pool sharks, X-Box video drones or pie-eyed foosball warriors?

And, wait a second, who the hell let all these punk rockers in here? That's right, the most dependable source of Chances' business stems from the record store/used good retailer next door, Below Zero, an establishment that caters to a studded-up, black leather jacket mob.

On nights Below Zero plays host to shows of underground bands, business booms at Chances--as does the noise from next door--sometime twice, three times a week. Familiarity breeds patronage; folks from the neighborhood with a taste for anarchic music return to Chances throughout the week.

The bartenders I spoke to seem happy enough with this unexpected crowd. Business is business; sometimes you just can't pick your clientele, your clientele picks you.

And if the punks peter out, Chances can always try the cheap den of fleshy inequity route.

The opinions expressed within are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of pdxguide.com or The Columbian Publishing Co.