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Drawing primarily from Murray Hill's professional set, this after-work sports bar is about as white collar as they come. You won't find any raggedy punks, Carhatt-wearing laborers, or sloppy-drunk Touro College kids here. To the contrary, the bartenders are as well-scrubbed as the businessmen they serve even as the French windows, the exposed brick walls, and a shotgun apartment layout proclaim pub, pub, pub. That look is appropriate given the 16 beers on tap. (Any Englishman would be proud.) In a nod to the bar's name, nine overhead televisions flicker with the Jets and the Giants when the season's right. And the bartender williningly cranks up picks from your iPod. — Lucy Cohen