This is that frat-bro sports pub that drags down every neighborhood. In this particular neighborhood the riffraff are the round, pink-faced masters of your retirement, your credit cards, and basically your existence. At Eddie Rick's the one percent are not opposed to chanting and wooing after taking Jameson shots. And they've hired a blond '80s teen movie stud as a bartender. He calls me “Chief.” Apparently this place was founded by some legendary San Franciscan who may have been the inventor of the “vintage motorcycle bar.” That's a thing? Fuck.