The casual dart chucker may not appreciate just how seriously New York's players take this game. There are leagues, standings, a playoff. But, like bowling or billiards, it's the sort of game that's kind to dilettantes: As long as you don't try to commandeer a board on League Night, you can take all the throws you want without suffering sidelong glances at your poor form. (One's scores are said to rise slightly after two beers, then decline markedly.) Some of the city's best players call O'Hanlon's, an Irish bar at the edge of the East Village, their home. The pints of Guinness are properly pulled, and the décor is solidly grounded in lots of bad paneling. We give it a triple twenty—which, as all real players know, is worth even more than a bull's-eye.
Picnics with a view, roller-skating nostalgia, and a party for gay headbangers.