Nothing says “elite performance” like vodka crans and shin splints.
Forget curated cocktails or rooftop lounges — St. Catharines runs on sticky floors, cheap drinks and athletes pretending they aren’t getting on a bus at 7 a.m. the next morning. Every bar here has its regulars, and if you’re paying attention, the patterns are easy to spot. Different spots have different energies, but there’s always someone in team gear acting like a bar isn’t their favourite place to be.
Moose & Goose is a magnet for the loud, hyper-social types who treat nightlife like its game day. These are the athletes who travel in packs, never take off their hats and can’t go five minutes without starting a chant. They’re loud, sweaty and probably know the bouncer. If someone’s climbing on furniture, shotgunning beers or getting kicked out before midnight, they came with this group.
Daisy Dukes attracts those who don’t need much to have a decent night. They’re not dressing up, not putting on a show and certainly not pretending they came for the music. They grab a drink, post up near the back and lean on a wall. If they end up on the dance floor, it’s probably by accident.
Mansion House is where the “don’t care, but still kinda care” athletes show up. They’re not polished, just dialed in. They move in groups, stake out a spot and run into everyone who ever ghosted them. It’s less about drinking and more about hovering in the same five feet of space for hours. Every conversation starts with: “Yo, didn’t expect to see you here!” Everyone expected it.
Level is a blackout waiting to happen, where you’ll find the athletes who sprint through their nights like they’ve got something to prove. It’s all flashing lights, slippery floors and zero accountability. There’s no conversation, just chaos. Arms in the air, heads spinning and bodies colliding in a blur: definitely a good cardio workout.
Fiddler’s Pour House is loud, fast and filled with athletes who are trying to go hard without dealing with a club. It’s shoulder-to-shoulder, with drinks hitting faster than expected and old music that somehow keeps getting louder. People here are the ones who still want a full night out, just with a hoodie and no lineups. Fiddler’s is uncomfortable, sweaty and always somehow more intense than expected. No one’s pacing themselves here — they’re just not at Level.
The Dive Pub is where the night goes when plans fall apart. The athletes still out at this point are on autopilot. No one came here on purpose, but no one’s leaving either. It’s dark, loud and the drinks come fast without questions. It’s not good, but it’s exactly what it needs to be at 2 a.m.
Brass Monkey Local is the late-night safety net, where the athletes are still going after most people have called it. They’re not out for the experience, they’re just not ready to go home. Hoodies, fried food and staring at nothing while pretending to be locked-in are staples of this pub. Someone’s falling asleep in a booth. Someone else is convincing everyone that the night is still young. It’s never the plan, but it always happens.
Every spot has a vibe. Every athlete falls into a pattern, and they’re not hard to spot. As Badgers in a small city, you’ll see the same faces and witness the same messes — but you’ll still be back next weekend.
**This article is part of a special edition of The Brock Press for April Fools and is completely satirical. None of the content contained within this article is meant to be representative of reality.**