Lansdowne Road

The sports bar in Manhattan is always a fickle mistress. Yes, I suffer from idiom blindness, but my point is that a sports bar in Manhattan is akin to a John Deere dealership in Beverly Hills: everyone turns his nose up at it, but goddamn if even the dude in the Bentley doesn’t fantasize about taking a spin around his giant lawn on one of ’em. So basically you’re in this city filled with awesome bars that serve everything from craft beer to craft tequilas to good times with DJs and cheap American brews. Whatever you could possibly imagine is yours on the Isle of Manhattan. So why would you go to a bar to drink Bud Light and hang out with a bunch of bros in white sneakers who are cheering for men in stirrup pants and jockstraps? The answer is that sometimes you just want to hang out with the boys and soak in the testosterone. Seriously, hipsters, enough with the rolled shorts, neon sunglasses and rosé. I mean, you know even at the worst sports bar in the city that there’s always one hot chick in a Jeter jersey. I was at this joint during low tide, so there wasn’t a representative audience, but I imagine with all the spring-break-like gimmicks (the ice slide, the frozen drink machines, the weird beer tube thing, etc.) that the crowds are normally drunk, rowdy and lookin’ to party. And looking to see Cruz catch a touchdown while shooting a Jager shot or two. And why not do your partying in this place, so close to that NJ corridor, the Lincoln Tunnel, in a space that just screams fun? It’s kind of like a high-ceilinged adult arcade where instead of tickets shooting out of the machines, you get spirits and stuff that makes even the Jets seem tolerable. [MF]

599 10th Ave.