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This venue is closed.

Once a brothel and a speakeasy, this copper-faced bar and its adjoining restaurant now serve a decidedly more law-abiding call as a gathering place for Gramercy-area sports fans. Dark wood paneling, a low tin ceiling, the well-worn black and white tile floor, and yellowing pill-shaped hanging glass lamps hint at the bar’s 1880 origins and the days when Diamond Jim Brady hung out here. The working fireplace and the working women have been replaced by twelveTVs, all broadcasting the night’s game. Between whoops, high-fives, and the sound of clinking Budweiser bottles, clusters of middle-aged, jeans-and-windbreaker-clad men convene along the long wooden bar, trading convivial, sometimes drunken, cheers and stories. American bar staples—burgers, wings, rings, steaks, and the saloon’s much-loved fries—provide sustenance while Credence, The Rolling Stones, and Aimee Mann, either piped in or paid for from a new-fangled, digital wall juke, compete with the banter. — Colleen McKinney

Fri., 10 p.m.

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