Address: 300 East 4th St.
“Are you blind? You’re killin’ me, bro!” bellows the inebriated gentleman whose sports team does not seem to be receiving the proper treatment upon the scoreboard that day. For on this day it is he alone that the ref hath doth slain. On a good night, copious amounts of pent up sports rage is hurled at many players on seemingly hundreds of screens whose ears hear not the protests made against them. If you aren’t sporting enough roid rage, the hostess will seat you in what appears to be a “nerd section.” Only here can you be the champion, our jersey-wearing, stereotypical sportsfan douches. Only here can you shine.