Prefatory Announcement: Watching athletic competitions while simultaneously getting besotted on ardent waters is a practice that goes back at least to the ancient Olympic Games. And in much the same way our ancient forebears cheered and got sloppy in wine tents, we cheer and get sloppy in sports bars; companionable havens where the drinks keep coming, and the crowd seems, if only for a few short hours, to be of one mind regarding the present state of the world. Such places are not born, they grow organically from the neighborhood—cultivated by lively staffers, and fertilized with the energy of regular customers. In short, good sports bars are first and foremost good bars, period. Good bars which, not only tolerate, but instigate and thrive upon regular outbreaks of sports mania.

5:37 p.m.
I stroll inside 3 Jacks Sports Bar & Grill, just the sort of place we’ve been discussing, through the side door off the back parking lot. Happy Hour is still behaving happily; probably thirty or forty people scattered among the tables and along the bar. I sit in the middle of three open stools about halfway down the bar, check out the board for specials, and settle on a draft beer. They come in two sizes: Regular (12 oz.) and Mammoth (20 oz.). Make mine a mammoth, please, and—what the heck—add a shot of Maker’s.

As the third member of the family that includes J.L.s Cheers and Cadillac Jacks, 3 Jacks comes from excellent bar-DNA, as is evidenced by the stellar selection of booze, the prices, and the obvious skill with which the bartenders ply their trade. The place is full enough to keep two ‘tenders busy, but the single fella back there keeps up no problem. He doesn’t at all seem harried, just keeps going about his business with focus and an economy of movement—sort of like a whiskey-pouring perpetual motion machine.

6:21 p.m.
A shift change appears to have taken place, and I spy Brooke, bartender and Big Boss Lady, down at the other end. She heads my way, gesturing at my now-empty glasses, and I nod. Fresh versions of each arrive forth with.

Unlike those sports bars that have been engineered to be Sports Bars, 3 Jacks avoids a full-bore wallow in athletic aesthetics. Instead of filling every available inch of wall space with team photos, framed jerseys, replica pennants, home-team neon, and air pumps so the Coors Light Girls can get a quick refill, 3Js exercises commendable restraint—a little bit here, a little bit there—showing that less is, indeed, more. The furniture matches a little too well, giving the room a corporate feel that it doesn’t really want, and the stools are somewhat stiff and unwieldy, but these are minor concerns. Besides, when evening comes and the lights dim, the space takes on a very pleasant amber quality that’s conducive to television viewing (and helpful to one’s skin tone).

7:13 p.m.
Feeling peckish, I peruse the menu. Chock-full of the sort of food standard to any place calling itself a Bar & Grill, with one mighty exception: the green chili. Slather it on anything and you won’t be sorry. Nuggets on several TVs, Rockies on a few others, and ESPN analysts on those that remain. Fans of each cluster near an appropriate screen.

For a sports bar, 3Js isn’t cheek-by-jowl with booming, excitable stats-a-holics, who commemorate every lay-up with alligator mating calls and lurching belly butts. Sure, any given evening, you might encounter one or two, but their buttings are generally of an inter-species nature. Mostly, the crowd is a mix of good-humored habitués who tend to gather ‘round the bar, and semi-occasional drop-ins scattered among the tables.

8:32 p.m.
Fries gone, Nuggets off celebrating, Rockies fading in the seventh. More drinking and conversing now than drinking and cheering. The place is approaching capacity. Two waitresses are deep in the weeds, but offering smiles all the same. Brooke and her barback have kept me well supplied, and thus well-oiled. During a lull I buy the three of us Jager-bombs.

The tribes mingle without fuss, aided by the staff’s facility for treating everyone equally. Regulars get good drinks and good service, just the way it ought to be if keeping them regulars is important, but so does everybody else, which is the exact way to create new regulars. Math don’t get no simpler than that there.

9:44 p.m.
Talked into a game of pool with the guy to my right. I’m half in the bag. He’s mostly sober. He’s skilled. Thankfully, the beating only lasts about eleven minutes.

Back on my stool, I put away another Mammoth, then settle and head out. 3 Jacks is within walking distance, so I check that my vehicle is secure and start putting one foot in front of the other.

Bottom Line: Brooke Carmody and her people bust their asses to do right by their customers. After one or two visits they’ll know your name and your preference. Go to cheer for your favorite team, or to celebrate another victory in your campaign against sobriety. 3 Jacks is a splendid spot to do both.

3 Jacks Sports Bar & Grill
7777 E. Hampden Ave.
Denver, CO 80231
303-337-1107

Join resident gin-dog Rich English on his weekly quest for Denver's greatest dive bars, and enjoy a dollop of bar-stool wisdom for the same low price. The truth isn't deep. It's right there at the bottom of the glass. Feel free to offer comments and hate-mail to dionysos1966@live.com