Belmont Billiards

★★★★☆

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The first cause for concern was the dilapidated exterior and the lack of windows from outside ... so I suspect this place might have been converted from either (A) a dungeonesque S&M club or perhaps (B) the private sanctum of some inarticulate mask-wearing machete-wielding spree-killer where he might have put himself up between incidents of snatching locals (or out-of-towners) and dragging them back to said lair. The next cause for concern was the only noticeable window to the place that was visible walking up to the front door . . . a window-on-the-Titanic-style porthole on the one and only front door of the place, which someone invitingly covered over with some sort of gnarled, dense wire mesh. Approaching the door, this warm, aesthetic touch might have compelled me to perform an about-face right then and there and abandon the mission; however someone happened to walk out at that moment and thus reveal, for the brief moment that door swung open and closed in front of me, that, to my relief, no ritualistic or otherwise sinister affronts to human decency at least appeared to be occurring within. Stepping inside, the sedentary demeanor of the numerous occupants, the inoffensive low volume of the jukebox, and the ample space surrounding the bar and the pool tables led to the notion that, perhaps, any initial trepidation was unwarranted and a calm evening absorbing the back-alley ambiance over a little 8-ball and Bud Light was about to begin. And as a karaoke band took over from the jukebox, some cavalier twirling and grinding of a pair of female bar denizens even provided a pleasant side-show to entertain my male sensibilities. The impromptu entertainment and the complacent atmosphere shattered along with someone??s beer bottle, however, when a male bar denizen apparently demonstrated too much appreciation for a member of the dancing duo and another male denizen shrieked his displeasure at having witnessed this, which he proclaimed to have consisted of ''some punk'' . . . ''putt[ing] his mouth on'' (how exactly? where on her person? . . . this was never expounded upon, thus leading to considerable speculation amongst myself and my friends) . . . ''my wife'' . . . ''of fifteen years''. His subsequent assurance, also issued at the top of his lungs, was to ''go get'' . . . ''my nine'' . . . ''out my truck''. The gentlemen announced repeatedly, over the feverish pleas of the woman he so nobly defended the dignity of, that this implement of chivalry was apparently in his glovebox and could readily be made at his immediate disposal to dispatch the offending individual, who quickly vacated the open space on the more populated side of the bar and took up a more defensive position on the opposite side of the oval-shaped enclosure, which encircled the working space of some very-visibly-alarmed bar staff. Just as the situation reached this dramatic crescendo, and before it could reach an even greater one, the guitarist of the karaoke band decided to intervene, confiscating the microphone (thus aborting a heavily slurred rendition of ''Me and Bobby McGee'') and demanding that the outspoken patron vacate the esteemed premises immediately. After a few final statements to cement his posture of indestructibility, the gentleman and his ladyfriend did indeed depart the bar, leaving the remaining crowd to ponder silently for a few moments (or perhaps not) the bizarre episode that had just occurred. Shortly thereafter I vacated the premises myself and thus concluded my first and last visit to this delightful refuge for the creme-de-la-creme of Dayton, Ohio??s high society.

5
★★★★★

The first cause for concern was the dilapidated exterior and the lack of windows from outside ... so I suspect this place might have been converted from either (A) a dungeonesque S&M club or perhaps (B) the private sanctum of some inarticulate mask-wearing machete-wielding spree-killer where he might have put himself up between incidents of snatching locals (or out-of-towners) and dragging them back to said lair. The next cause for concern was the only noticeable window to the place that was visible walking up to the front door . . . a window-on-the-Titanic-style porthole on the one and only front door of the place, which someone invitingly covered over with some sort of gnarled, dense wire mesh. Approaching the door, this warm, aesthetic touch might have compelled me to perform an about-face right then and there and abandon the mission; however someone happened to walk out at that moment and thus reveal, for the brief moment that door swung open and closed in front of me, that, to my relief, no ritualistic or otherwise sinister affronts to human decency at least appeared to be occurring within. Stepping inside, the sedentary demeanor of the numerous occupants, the inoffensive low volume of the jukebox, and the ample space surrounding the bar and the pool tables led to the notion that, perhaps, any initial trepidation was unwarranted and a calm evening absorbing the back-alley ambiance over a little 8-ball and Bud Light was about to begin. And as a karaoke band took over from the jukebox, some cavalier twirling and grinding of a pair of female bar denizens even provided a pleasant side-show to entertain my male sensibilities. The impromptu entertainment and the complacent atmosphere shattered along with someone??s beer bottle, however, when a male bar denizen apparently demonstrated too much appreciation for a member of the dancing duo and another male denizen shrieked his displeasure at having witnessed this, which he proclaimed to have consisted of ''some punk'' . . . ''putt[ing] his mouth on'' (how exactly? where on her person? . . . this was never expounded upon, thus leading to considerable speculation amongst myself and my friends) . . . ''my wife'' . . . ''of fifteen years''. His subsequent assurance, also issued at the top of his lungs, was to ''go get'' . . . ''my nine'' . . . ''out my truck''. The gentlemen announced repeatedly, over the feverish pleas of the woman he so nobly defended the dignity of, that this implement of chivalry was apparently in his glovebox and could readily be made at his immediate disposal to dispatch the offending individual, who quickly vacated the open space on the more populated side of the bar and took up a more defensive position on the opposite side of the oval-shaped enclosure, which encircled the working space of some very-visibly-alarmed bar staff. Just as the situation reached this dramatic crescendo, and before it could reach an even greater one, the guitarist of the karaoke band decided to intervene, confiscating the microphone (thus aborting a heavily slurred rendition of ''Me and Bobby McGee'') and demanding that the outspoken patron vacate the esteemed premises immediately. After a few final statements to cement his posture of indestructibility, the gentleman and his ladyfriend did indeed depart the bar, leaving the remaining crowd to ponder silently for a few moments (or perhaps not) the bizarre episode that had just occurred. Shortly thereafter I vacated the premises myself and thus concluded my first and last visit to this delightful refuge for the creme-de-la-creme of Dayton, Ohio??s high society.

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This is a really cool place to kick it after work. They have nice tables, and a good jukebox. The beer is cold, and the staff is awesome. It costs about the same as other places around Dayton, maybe a little less, but it's got a good vibe.

3
★★★☆☆

This is a really cool place to kick it after work. They have nice tables, and a good jukebox. The beer is cold, and the staff is awesome. It costs about the same as other places around Dayton, maybe a little less, but it's got a good vibe.

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