Here’s the thing: I am bound by the tradition of two generations to be a San Francisco Giants fan, but given the distance and their first-week win-loss record, well, let’s just say it’s easier to pay attention to the Rangers. It’s not like it’s hard. Unlike Giants games, which require a bar, a friend’s house, or an old folks’ home with some kind of all-encompassing MLB satellite package, Rangers games are almost inescapable. Especially at Frankie’s Sports Bar.
Seriously, the only place that might have more TVs than Frankie’s is Best Buy, and that’s only because Best Buy has boxes of boob-tubes stacked in a warehouse. If we’re talking TVs that are plugged in and flashing sports, Frankie’s might have more than Jesus’ mansion. There are even TV sets behind the bathroom mirrors. If you get a beer at Frankie’s and somehow manage not to see any moving two-dimensional pictures, you probably came in with a seeing-eye dog.
Sports bars aren’t really my thing, but Frankie’s gets a high five for its solid service, cold beer, sheer earnestness, and singularity of purpose. Barring a national tragedy, I doubt anything not involving a ball or a stopwatch will ever occupy a screen in there, and when you read the menu, you’re blasted with copy that’s pretty much 100 percent GO FIGHT WIN AMERICA! That the sandwich list includes a Freedom Dip (because French Dips are for pansies, essentially) should tell you all you need to know.
Still, I’ve always had fun when I’ve been there, even when it’s so crowded it’s hard to get a seat. I came during a couple of Cowboys disasters and ended up clinging to the edge of the bar, watching fans’ faces melt in disappointment as their team disintegrated before their very eyes. Again. While I never truly feel sorry for Cowboys fans, I imagined that watching the slaughter on a screen bigger than my living room must be pretty disheartening. Hopefully I won’t have Cowboys-fan-sad-face when I drop by Frankie’s to watch the Giants. –– Steve Steward