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We're at least 300-odd miles from the shore in Phoenix, so the concept of some kitschy dockside bar native to port cities is a foreign notion to us landlubbers. Except when we drop anchor for an evening with the scurvy dogs at Swizzle Inn, that is. This notorious north central Phoenix landmark of a maritime bent is the kinda place where vintage diving helmets, surfboards, and depth gauges are objets d'art, and a large photograph of a great white hangs above the pool table. Its inky eyes seemingly follow us when we wade through a crowd three deep to sample the sea of spirits available behind the bar. Conversation tends to resemble a roar as patrons often shout to be heard over the blaring jukebox, especially when it's playing a crowd favorite like Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline." You can even hear it from your car while parking, which indicates that another memorable night at the Swizzle is on your horizon.