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So I was drunkenly wandering
in the West Village with a group of friends who decided they wanted
to watch the Belmont
Stakes. And while Mr. Dennehy's wasn't an intended target of our
equine fascination, the plethora of flat screens dotting the walls
proved to be a perfectly lovely place to watch a bunch of small men
on large animals run around in a circle for a minute and a half. Granted
my memory of the somewhat unmemorable Irish joint is bolstered by
my completely random bet placed against a pool of money on the eventual
winner of the Stakes, Drosselmeyer. That left me to pay for beers
(it was just a friendly bet, after all, and a complete laughable anomaly
winning at 13-1) at the schmutzed up bar, which was plastered with
everything from guitars to Irish flags to skeletons and football jerseys.
It said to me: "we really want to be a classic Irish pub, but we're
in the Village, so we need a touch of dyi nonsense to make us not
seem too corporate." But I know about as much about bar decor
as I do about thoroughbreds. The bar was serviceable as a pub, serving
Stella and the like, but completely unremarkable as anything other
than a relatively comfortable joint in which to watch a sporting event
in a neighborhood with a dearth of bars in which to watch men play
with balls. Er… [MF]
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