RJ’s Sports Bar

Awful. The bartender kept changing the channel to some soap opera when we were watching the Packers Game. (we went here because it was called a sports bar.) Friend Found a very long hair in one drink and then got a glass that was falling apart at the rim. He was never offered a free drink. The drink selection sucks and don’t trust the free food. I know they have closed and I’m glad they are dead.

RJ’s Sport Bar will be gone soon. Dennis Leary has snagged this spot and will transform RJ into a mode of an House of Shields bar.
i was an infrequent visitor decades ago. clientele mostly mexican (nothing wrong with that). only difficulty was the loud mexican music (preferred rock then) and the inability to converse in mex speak (me no habla espanol) and the korean barristas who spoke little english beyond «you buy me a drink?»
only attraction here was the cheap bottled buds, coors, and millers.
cash only

I have seen The End. I always knew it (The End) was there. I always knew it (RJs) waited for me to get there. And, it seemed there was not a finer day to die than my 31^st birthday, and by die I don’t mean a certain death — instead I mean I have given up on society so if you see me ambling around the Tenderloin in sweatpants you can stop me, shake my shoulders to say, «you know what you’re telling the world, you’re telling them you’ve given up.» Then just guide me into RJs.
When my favorite bar in the city Big had their doors shut on the Sunday night, we could’ve turned the corner into Rye or we could peer into the flickering fluorescence of RJs and say, This is The End. After all this time, I’ve meant to see the insides and so let’s. As I’m sure you’ve heard from the lips of Patrick Dempsey: The End is the Beginning.
When I’m wobbling on my chair muttering, «your cheapest beer please,» and the scant woman from the neighboring table comes to lean over me to invite me upstairs, and my reply is «your cheapest beer please,» you’d think she’d get the picture and that I’d get the picture to get out of there. Instead, I continued my mutter and eventually got a $ 5 Bud Light from the bartender. I did not go upstairs, and thankfully I was with the three people that care about my welfare more than others and we were fleet-​a-​foot out of there.
While dive bars are charming in their fuming misery, when you’re clearly funding crack deals, whoring-​type-​whoring and a den for infinite life-​crippling decisions, that’s when dives stop being charming and become resistant to irony, a long night session of conversation and, most importantly, resistant to the social contract of humanism.

It’s the place to hang out, watch some games, play pool and just have a good time. The drinks are mad real good, The staff is wonderful and I’ll be back!

AWFUL, BAD, NO STINKIN’ GOOD!
Strolling the Tenderloin and stopping into dive bars is a past time favorite for myself and my BF. DON’T even stroll past this place. RUN, don’t walk, and run damn fast!
We walked in on a Tuesday afternoon. The place smelled highly of high grade pot (which I don’t usually have a problem with, continue reading.) The bartender was nowhere to be found. We sat and patiently waited, taking in the lovely «phone card machine» and broken jukebox. There were two other patrons in the bar.
After about a 5 – 7 minute wait, we picked up our things and were headed for the door when the bartender came out from the «bathroom.»
She seemed OK at first. Fished me out a seemingly old bottle of beer and searching around for the liquor that my BF requested. After settling on a double shot of vodka (for him.) and a Miller lite (for me.) the bartender continued to insult and stun me with every word from her mouth. She seemed to be making up prices as she went along. It was quite odd.
We mentioned that we wanted to check out China Town. She told us how to get there and my BF mentioned that we could just hail a cab from outside. The bartender preceded to say: (I shit you not.) «You two are fat and need to walk. Just walk there.» My mouth must have hit the sticky/​dirty floor. Then, an inter racial couple came into the bar and asked for a napkin. The bartender gave her a napkin then came back over to us calling her a hooker and him the «N» word. I again picked up my chin from the filthy floor and we left there pretty fast.
This experience didn’t scare me away from the Tenderloin or dive bars but this place is a despicable example of a business.

Holy Moly… I stumbled upon this great Sports bar for the Niner game since I had no tv or cable at home… and they won me over in a minute.
1. picture me and my mother peering in as if someone might mug us… only to be greeted by owners who immediately moved people around to find us seats.
2. Ordered drinks… and she brought out complimentary nachos for us.
3. The two sisters are entertaining to say the least… they know how to party! They kept the friendly rivalry going and it was loads of fun.
I Loved this place and highly recommend for games.
Quick Tip: no matter how big you are and how small they look… they WILL out drink you.

Wow, this place is awful!!!
I was just there on Nov 17^th when a friend and I decided to stop in.
The place was dirty, nearly empty and didn’t have a warm feeling from the get go.
Before writing this I read the one and only other review that had nearly the SAME experience as us, extremely rude, impolite, angry, and awful service from the bartender/​owner.
When we first arrived we said hello to a friend (just met and clearly says a lot about them as this was the place they suggested). but I had to use the restroom, while waiting patiently at the end of the bar, the bartender/​owner (assuming Kim), rudely asked if i wanted a drink while I was waiting to use the restroom. I was waiting next to the door, watching the tv patiently and had my back to the bar. It was a very odd time to ask but more over she just was very rude about it and snippy, when i noted i was was simply waiting for the restroom and didn’t want a drink yet, she got annoyed and said «You don’t BEER in a BAR?!?»
I had been there literally 2minutes and this was my first taste, wow, awesome customer service. But i shrugged it off and used the restroom and headed back to the front of the bar to join my friend and his new acquaintance.
the other bartender was nice and courteous, offered us a drink and I opted for a water. Wasn’t sure if we were sticking around quite yet (just arrived) and thought i could use some water regardless.
well about 5−10min later, she (Kim) comes down from the far end of the bar (where she was serving the only 4 other people in the entire bar) and anxiously asked us if we wanted a beer. My water wasn’t even half way and her asking didn’t make me want one anyways, but i had been thinking about ordering one. but when i hesitated, she just flipped and told us to get out and took our waters away.
Granted if this bar had been busy and we were loud, inappropriate or obnoxious, I could maybe understand. But we were nearly sober, quiet, polite, clean and had only been there 10min tops, yet she decided we were not worthy of their device, wow…
So this place is AWFUL, made me angry how she treated us unjustly and seriously has a problem. I didn’t even get to try a beer or cocktail, but have no faith she could do that right.
Avoid this place, she deserves no place in retail or customer service, frankly is mean-​spirited person who can only bring unhappiness to herself or those around her.

Came in here after Rye + Thai house.
I just can’t explain it, you have to come in.
Just order a beer and sit at the bar — you will be entertained in less than 30 seconds.

We had a mutha-​fuckin’ blast, but I don’t know if I’ll recommend this place to friends. Yes indeed! The drinks are overpriced for being such a tiny spot… for being such a dive. They do have decent beers on tap, but only a handful of selection. I’ve walked pass this place a million times, I’ve smelled the BBQ (free BTW), but I’ve never walked in. It’s only fifty feet long in length, maybe, but I gotta tell you, we had a blast! There were 9 TVs surrounding this tiny spot! We went on a pretty quiet day, on a sunny Saturday. We played about a dozen games of pool. I lost horribly. Who cares?! I had fun. We played together, we played against other bar folks, we watched this one OG piss on himself while the bartender, Lisa, tried to keep him inside, we watched him leave, and then we went outside and noticed that his face and lips were busted from falling. Lucky him, his neighbors found him and took care of him. Back inside to finish the game! We had a really good time, but mostly because we (my GF and I) just made it happen. As we stepped out and I looked up to see the name of the bar (so I can Unilocal it), we noticed that the initials matched that of my GF’s (Renee Johnson). So it was meant for us to run into this place so she could poop. Yeah, that was our initial reason of walking in… five hours later…
P. S. The bonus here, for me at least, is that they take cards with a $ 20 minimum. Not many dives take cards, right?

RJ’s is a den of hustlers and thieves… and I’m not just talking about the clientele.
Home to stuff of legend, RJ’s looks, from the outside, to be as unassuming as any other Tenderloin dive bar. I was assured prior to arrival, however, that RJ’s is a legitimate home to crackheads, hookers, and honest-​to-​goodness dregs of society. I was expecting the kind of place where the foul stench of vomit hung heavy in the air and smoky old men with crusty beads drooped solemnly over their ever-​warming cheap beers.
Enter the surreal.
My first order, placed through a quick game of charades with a bartender who did not seem to speak any English, was a shot of Fernet. A cheater-​shot poured in one of those heavy shot glasses with a deceptive amount of glass on the bottom. Assuredly less than one ounce, and heavy enough to be weaponized. It was $ 8.
Eight
F*cking
Dollars
Paired with a $ 5 corona, this unabashedly expensive drink combo not only wet my palate, but it whetted my sense of guard. Further intriguing was the notion that the Chinese lady behind the bar only spoke «Korean» (as she said — but it was Mandarin) along with some Spanish and a small amount of English. My gut-​check was instantaneous. The hustle was on, and we were the marks. I did what any self-​respecting person does — I called her bluff.
This is where everything went sideways for my night.
What transpired over the course of the next hour and a half was a fit of sheer chaos that included:
1. The bartender calling Nish N «old man!» as she tried to get his attention
2. A popcorn fight
3. The bartender taking a member of our group’s purse and jacket off of a table and hiding them behind the bar to «teach her a lesson» to keep an eye on her stuff. These items were only disgorged after repeated threats to the bartender that we were going to investigate the disappearance of the purse/​jacket and possibly call the police.
4. Me tangling with the bartender, the bartender repeatedly flipping me off, then flip-​flopping from this sassy attitude to sob story about how her parents died when she was 7 months old and that we shouldn’t be taking advantage of her like this, then flipping back into «f*ck you» sass-​mode when I called her bluff on that BS (this is a classic hustler technique).
5. A concerted campaign by the bartender to convince my friends that I’m a lying a-​hole.
6. Chain smoking. Everywhere.
7. Charging different members of our group different drink prices
After reading this, take a look at the main biz photo. That photo adds a very succinct 1,000 words to this review.
I doubt I will ever return to RJ’s, if only for the reason that I refuse to give these hustlers any more of my hard-​earned money. God forbid you let them have your credit card.
Although some members of our group were tempted to return for the free «Super Bowl Buffet» that weekend. lacking any sort of kitchen aside form a microwave for popcorn, I’d be a tad hesitant to dine in this establishment, if I were you.
All I can say is that in my mind, RJ’s stands for «Ridiculous Journey», which is what you’ll take if you step foot in this godforsaken hellhole.

I’ll add an additional star because the women behind the bar have incredible dance moves and they’ll even give you the cigarette right out of their mouths if you so desire a long, smooth drag.
Don’t ask me how I know this…

Wondered into this dive bar after hunting around Union Square for a late night bar on a Sunday night. You might think this place is a Korean bar from the sign to the right of the main door, but as soon as we were in range of the music flowing out the door, we were hit with the realization that it was absolutely Mexican night up in this mug.
The owner was a middle aged Korean lady, and since it was 3 Asian girls and 1 Mexican guy in a bar full of Mexicans, we pretty much got the VIP treatment. We decided to do shots and she said that if we got her a shot, she’d get one for each of us. We said sure and she busted out the Patron.
The place has a pretty awesome juke box set up. If you think of a song, you just search for it and the juke box will download it and then play it. There’s a good amount of top 40s on there, but some of the lesser known songs didn’t show up. And if you’re part of the Mexican clientele, then you already know that the Latin song selection is pretty abundant. I’m sure we annoyed everyone with our awesome asian hipster music choices (Né-​yo, Britney Spears, Ke$ha, Snoop Dogg, etc). Yeah, we totally sang-​a-​long drunkenly to all of them.
The bar isn’t that big, but hey, it’s a dive bar so it’s pretty awesome the way it is. There’s also a pool table, but it was being occupied the entire time we were there. The bathroom is locked with a key, so if you’re in a squeamish hurry, you’re better off going out the front door. Yeah, we had a situation that night, but we sure as hell had a lot of fun too!
Oh yeah, and hands down the best part of the night, when my friend said she was hungry and the bar owner offered her some spaghetti. True story. If that doesn’t make this place fucking awesome, I don’t know what will.
Tip: while they do accept credit cards, you can’t leave a tip on it, so cash is the better option. Also for the juke box each dollar gives you 3 credits but it’s 2 credits per song so always put at least 2 dollars in.

Our next stop on our epic bar crawl was RJ’s Sports bar. The fact that it said «sports bar» on the sign is a turn off to me but as we walked by Ashley’s eyes brightened up when we heard the Latin music playing inside.
This is kind a strange place especially for the TL. The bartenders are Asian ladies and the customers are almost entirely Latin.
We all sat at the very end of the bar and ordered beers; they had some decent choices which was nice after our experience at Kum Bak Klub. The youngish bartender came over and did her makeup right in front of us while chatting a bit. Dupa seems to think she left when he found out we were locals but I just think she was done with her makeup and left to start working.
Next one of the two older bartenders came over and made a point of telling us she was 53, I lied and told her she looked 43 when she could easily pass for 63. She told me «I just want you to know that I can get you whatever you want». I assume she was talking about drinks otherwise I have no idea what she could have meant. After I politely said thanks she moved her attention to Dupa and started flirting with him with out much subtlety, I think he really had a shot.
After our beer we moved on. Unless Dupa needs a wingman I don’t see myself going back to this one.

This place was a trip… first — it looks like some local bar in Passaic NJ… not too scary but full of individuals that don’t look very predictable…
and then bartenders — younger started flirting with three of us but after learning that we are locals lost interest… then the older one offered me a date and whatever else I may dream of… again reminiscence of NJ in late 80’s…we did not stay long enough to see if the rest of my NJ memory’s will make true — fights, cops, shotguns on the counter…
I will come back if I feel the need for the thrill…

It was a really strange experience. Strange in a good way… Thank you Nish for being so enthusiastic about this place that we agreed to go in. Let’s break it down… We’ll start from 0 stars
I would never in a million years walk past this place and be like «Hm, this place looks great. I can imagine having good conversation, laughs, and a memorable time». This is the kind of place where I consider walking on the other side of the street because you never know what kind of weirdness would pop out of here. Neutral, no stars awarded.
The crowd is a mixed bag. Any living thing classified as human can be found here. Except for Ed Hardy wearing dbags. +1 star.
The place smells like bulgolgi which is a glorious smell (korean owners. makes sense) +1 star
The owner or one of the owners walked around looking kind of disheveled with her skirt tucked in upwards on her shirt. Awkward. I saw her underwear. She walks over and starts telling us about her favorite drinks. FYI, her favorite drink apparently is the MotherFucker. +1 star for the information
Dont remember much about the music but I remember Spice Girls being played a few times.
All in all, yes it’s dirty and you probably will feel uncomfortable and slightly awkward at times but it’s unpretentious, good for people watching, and nice place to have conversation. +1 star.

I’m not a smoker, but that night I was. One star for looking the other way, and second for the Spanish music selection.
Your drink prices are ridiculously high for a «dive» — how did I ring up an $ 80 tab? — and the barkeep Vickie is a total hustler. She yelled at my girlfriend when she asked for the key to the restaurant: «No drink, no key!» Chill lady. I just ordered two stadium-​priced drinks for us two secs ago. We then all took a round of shots, and she got a $ 10 shot of Patron. Really? Well there’s your tip. And she’s extremely rude to her employee. I’d hate to work for her as much as I did drinking here.

I came here as I was waiting for some friends who were eating. I was going to the Ambassador’s Lounge for a charity event and didn’t feel like sitting in the car. I came into this place. I can say it was definitely interesting.
It’s a dark and divey bar, just what I was kind of looking for. I just wanted a quick drink and some football and this place delivered. I assume this place is a big hit with Mexicans because the lady asked if I was Mexican and started counting back my change in Spanish. I never thought that I looked like I was Mexican but hey it was dark so maybe she couldn’t see me too well. The clientele is mostly all Mexican. The mariachi music that blasted from the jukebox pretty much sealed it. Oh well, I enjoy mariachi music… sometimes.
The barmaids here seem a little friendly with the clientele which leads me to believe that this might be a quasi-​hostess bar if not a full blown one. None of these chicks were all that attractive so I’m glad they left me alone so I could sip on my beer and watch football.
Fortunately my friend contacted me and I headed over to Ambassador’s Lounge. My visit to RJ’s had ended and satisfied what I was looking for.
In summary, the booze isn’t exactly dive prices. I think I paid 5 bucks for a Corona. Don’t come here if you if you want to be seen either cause literally there is no one here except the regulars. If you want to come to a dive and watch some football then I recommend it but let’s say this. I probably won’t be back here. There’s nothing here that I would say «hey i should come back here». Maybe the next time I’m in the area…

Nice little dive, easy to find because someone drew a huge penis right on that red pillar in the front. It might make you want to come inside.
Korean lady that runs the joint is a doll and gave us microwaved popcorn on the house to watch some more NCAA basketball games. Mexican music was blasting through the speakers and they also had an international Mexican soccer channel playing, probably to cater to the mostly Mexican clientele.
RJ’s is pretty chill. Lot’s of elbow room and a nice change of pace from some of the surrounding happy hour joints, Rye, Ambassador, Swig, etc.
Arriba!

Dive Bars.
If I was ever going to get an Old English tat across my gut, it would probably say DIVE BARS FO’ LIFE! Why? Well, duh, because I love ‘em. Even when they suck, they are awesome, hence the point of a dive. Win-​win. Hands down, no brainer.
Last night, I was introduced to the lovely establishment known as RJs. Part sports bar, part Mexi melt, part mustache, full throttled awesome. I absolutely loved the graffiti style sports montage on the wall and the many, many, and more many promotional booze flags and team posters hanging from the walls. I ordered a Kettle and Soda and it tasted like puke water. The soda water was flat and when they tried to fix it by adding cranberry juice, it took a nosedive for the worse. Normally, a dive bartender would tell me to Eff myself, but not here, they took a sip, agreed it tasted like ass and happily swapped out a Bud and we called it a day.
Then there is the jukebox. Yes. Filled mostly with Spanish hits that I’ve never heard of, it was also filled with a few awesome Gringa tunes that made our night complete and I’m sure pissed off all of the Latin folks trying to enjoy a cervesa with their mustaches and cowboy boots.
Some of the hits we enjoyed…
GNR
Willie Nelson
Journey (duh, what else do drunk white people put on the jukebox in bars)
Van Halen (Hot For Teacher, of course)
Bowie
And the list goes on and on!
Will I return to RJs? Of course I will, how else will I ever finish the flirt I started with the old man at the bar who couldn’t stop staring at my rack?

I work in the financial district. I was planning to have dinner near Post and Geary, and I was then going to a concert at Sutter and Van Ness. So when I needed to find an appropriately located sports bar at which to watch my GREEN BAY PACKERS do a nice long, deep, hard, no-​lube and no-​reach-​around number on the Vikings to open their season, I googled «Geary Sports Bar» and up popped RJ’s. I had never been there — so I figured «what the heck.»
RJ’s is a dive, and I mean a SERIOUS dive. I bet someone stumbles in to buy a drink at 6:00 a.m. Additionally, RJ’s is occupied almost exclusively by Mexican dudes (and I think of them that the bartender may have been the only one that spoke any English). At least at first glance, the place appears a little rough. Yet rather than stare with hostility at the white non-​Spanish-​speaking stranger dude yelling at the TV in their regular bar — this is the treatment I got:
(1) When I asked the bartender if they had any food, he said «no, but I am thinking of making some for myself — hold on.» I notice him doing something behind the bar while I’m focussed on the game, and 15 minutes later I am staring at a plate full of the most delicious home-​made chicken tacos I’ve ever eaten in my life. No charge. And I’m not kidding about the deliciousness. Totally to die for.
(2) When I was shouting at the TV screen about, well, whatever one shouts at a TV screen during a football game, dudes would come up and talk football with me. Nice guys. There was a total consensus that the Detroit Lions have completely blown chunks since Barry Sanders retired, and that Barry was a classy dude. We also agreed that if Brett Favre had gone down with an ACL a la Tom Brady, he would have amputated his own leg with a buck knife, duct taped a baseball bat to his hip, and gone out and thrown a touchdown on the next play. Just sayin’ — sorry Tom. You’re no Brett Favre. This season, you’re not even Aaron Rogers.
(3) When the owner showed up, she told me they have a BBQ outside the bar on Sundays during football season and says I should come by again because she likes Packers fans.
I’ve never in my life felt so embraced and well-​treated in a place full of strangers where I could never have imagined I would ever fit in in the first place.
Is it the Packers who bring people together? Is it RJ’s? Was it some magic force of nature? I don’t know, but I love the place and I’ll be back. I can tell you that much. RJ’s = good.