A few weeks ago, a group of devotees huddled around a bright light, staring into its source with religious concentration. At Banter Bar, the illuminating savior comes in the form of a dramatically lit foosball table, which attracts adherents from across the city. Most days, the bar is dedicated to football of the larger, English variety—its walls are draped in scarves of the clubs whose games are shown on its TVs. Foosball tables in New York are only a little more common than an apparition of the Virgin Mary, and, sadly, most are the quality of Madonnas who appear on burned toast. At Banter, however, the foosball players who gather on Thursday nights regularly replace broken parts and oil joints, insuring an immaculate shrine. “I’ve been playing every week for ten years,” a man said. He claimed to be one of the best defenders in the five boroughs. Jacob Tom and Luis Gonzalez, the founders of the game night (an offshoot of a tournament at Fat Cat, in the Village), proselytized to curious newcomers and signed them up for a match. The recruits temporarily abandoned a juicy beef pie and slotted a Banter Bier Zwickl (made for the bar by Iconyc Brewing) and a milky Gun Hill Citra Sour “soft-serve” beer into cup holders handily affixed to the table. The seriousness of the scene became apparent when their opponents brought out strips of racquet grip tape, to wrap around the table’s handles for enhanced performance. This, combined with specialized techniques, like rolling the handle from the inside of the wrist down to the tips of the fingers, resulted in a decisive victory for the Banter denizens. For beginners, the later the game the better, for a reason given by one regular around 11 P.M.: “Just so you know, everyone on our team is fucked up.” (132 Havemeyer St., Brooklyn. 718-599-5200.) ♦


https://www.newyorker.co...d-foosball-at-banter-bar