Soccer Tavern

Soccer Tavern in the heart of Sunset Park’s Chinatown is to go-to spot for Guinness and playing the ponies

Somehow, despite having lived in Brooklyn for most of the eight years I’ve been living in New York City, and having been to Sunset Park’s Chinatown on countless occasions, I had never been in Soccer Tavern on 8^th Avenue in Chinatown. Why that is, I’m not really sure since I’ve always been intrigued by this humble-looking watering hole that seemed wholly out of place in Brooklyn’s fast-growing Chinatown. That changed last Sunday, following a trip to Pacificana for some killer dim sum.

With my best friend from Buffalo visiting and in dire need of some libations following an hour of scarfing down semi-identifiable slimy, slippery, and fried foods, we wandered down 8^th Avenue towards Soccer Tavern on a drizzly Sunday afternoon. I expected to see either a couple of ancient old-timers hunched over beers or some youngish Polish dudes with close-cropped hair and clad in sweatsuits trying to look imposing when we opened the door and stepped inside. I couldn’t have been further off in either respect.

About 15 Chinese men chattering away sat surrounded by dozens of empty Heineken bottles and tumblers of beer. Heineken being swilled aside, I’m guessing this is what an opium den might’ve looked like. Or an illicit card game in Beijing, perhaps.

Getting over our surprise, we wandered over and perched at the bar. The friendly bartender, an obviously Irishmen in his early 60s, poured Eric and I couple of perfect pints of Guinness, as we began to drink in the unusual ambiance at Soccer Tavern. As the patrons wandered over to the cooler to grab frosty mugs or to the make your own sandwich station set up against one of the back walls, Soccer Tavern felt like the most chilled out basement I’ve ever drank beers in. Throw in the the Paddy’s Day corned beef slowly simmering on the stove in the kitchen and this is the kind of bar I wish was across the street from my apartment.

“They’re lost without the racing,” the amiable bartender said to me and Eric as he leaned over the bar to chat with us. Seeing that we responded to his statement with quizzical looks, he went on to explain.

“They (the Chinese guys) come in here every Sunday to drink and bet on the horses but there’s no horse racing on Palm Sunday and Easter so they’re just hanging out drinking,” which elicited big “Oohs” of understanding and affirmative head nods from Eric and I. Seeing that we understood what he was talking about, he went on to further explain how this unassuming watering hole could be so hectic on a Sunday afternoon.

“This is the only bar around here. They’re usually about 30 of these guys here (there were about 10 or 12 dudes drinking there this Sunday). They start coming in at about 10:00 AM and stay all day. Buy 6 Heineken’s for $20 with cash. Nicest people I’ve ever served and never seen one of them get drunk,” he told us.

I asked how much Heineken they go through on a normal Sunday.

“’Bout 15-to-17 cases of Heineken. Distributors tells me we sell the most Heineken of any bar in Brooklyn.”

Judging by the empty bottles of Heineken everywhere and the guy who walked up to the bar and ordered six more, I’d be surprised if Soccer Tavern’s not selling the most Heineken outside of China.

Bring a friend, take $10 each and join in the Sunday afternoon fun at this affable classic Brooklyn watering hole.

Happy Hour: No happy hour per se but $10 for three Heinekens or $20 for six is as good a deal as there is to be had in the BK. Especially when you throw in the free sandwiches.

Cuento Cuesto: Expertly poured pints of Guinness run $5 while pints from the other pumps — Bud and Bud Light — will set you back $4. Not sure how much the hard stuff is but I’m certain it’s reasonable.

Split Lip Factor: You have a better chance of getting into a fight at a Quaker church than you do of getting into a scrap at Soccer Tavern. 0-of-5.

Huckle Factor: Similarly, you have a better chance of getting some ass just about, well, at any other bar in the City. 0-of-5.

If Soccer Tavern Were A Celebrity: None other than Tommy Smyth, soccer commentator-extraordinaire and Grand Marshall of the 2008 St. Patrick’s Day parade.

Who Would Like Soccer Tavern: Chinese gamblers and alcoholics; Chinatown bus drivers on their day off; Heineken aficionados; Dim sum refugees; Norwegian-Americans; and people who’ve always wondered what it might’ve been like to have a Schlitz in Archie Bunker’s basement.

Holiday Cocktail Lounge

As I walked up to this legendary East Village dive, I saw what I thought was an elderly homeless man rooting through the garbage can out front. Then the guy followed me inside the bar and I realized that he was the bartender! It gets better. So the old guy gets behind the counter and onerously slings me a Heineken bottle for $3.50. (They’ve only got bottles, no draft. $3.50 Heinekens and Amstels, and $2.50 Bud, Bud Light, Miller, and MGD.)

I was waiting for Judas, so I was the only person besides the bartender. This dude has to be pushing 90 mighty fine years old with greased back white hair. Inside I was praying to god that the old man didn’t drop dead on me. He could barely lean over to get behind the curved bar. He was playing this ridiculously frantic bluegrass banjo music, but maybe that was too much excitement for him, because he suddenly turned it down and cranked up the evening news, which was showing on a snowy TV set. It was a story about yet another college shooting rampage. Then then old man inexplicably points at the screen and goes “kill, kill, kill.” Uh, yeah.

Multiple times the door opened and people walked in only to turn and walk out when confronted by it’s repellent divey-ness. And they didn’t even see the bathroom, which looks like something that belongs on a pirate ship - wooden walls and rusty metal all around. My advice is to hold it.

Judas showed up a few minutes later and ordered a Heineken dark. 10 minutes later the old man got off his stool and served it to him. Not exactly speedy service with a smile!

This place is the dive bar of all dive bars.

Address: 75 Saint Marks Place, Manhattan

Phone: (212) 777-9637

Happy Hour: The time at which, following your seemingly interminably wait, that the barkeep actually serves you a cocktail. And you should make sure the cocktail is a beer and not a cocktail since the house brand of Tequila is El Gavilan, which I believe to be what Pat Riley and Paul Wolfowitz use to get that just greased look with their hair.

Cuento Cuesto: A brewski will set you back a mere $3.50 or $3.00. Not sure about liquor but it ain’t recommended.

Huckle Factor: There was a chick who made a brief cameo Friday night and she was definitely better than the average heroin junkie or mid-50s East Village burnout that tends to do their imbibing at The HCL. Unfortunately, she left after standing near the bar for 10 minutes and not getting so much as a glance from the barkeep. So, while it doesn’t present the array of options that the watering holes on frat boy row in the Upper East Side or bars like Lit in the EV do there could be options. Call it a 1 out of 5.

Split Lip Factor: Since Junkies are usually too spaced out to trade fists and nobody gets served fast enough to get drunkenly aggro, fights are pretty unlikely to break out at HCL. Unless, that i, the El Gavilan gets busted open. Should that happen and look the fuck out below! 2 out of 5

Who Would Like It: Punks, junkies, hillbillies, anyone down on their luck in this fine city, or, hell, maybe nobody cause there was no one inside.

If Holiday Cocktail Lounge were a celebrity: Billy Bob Thornton