24/7 SupportThe once venerable neighborhood pub O'Connor's served the northern reaches of Park Slope since 1931, when Dominic O'Connor first open the place. It remained in that state, accumulated filth and all, until his descendants sold the place to the current owners, who renamed the joint in honor of their own father. Aside from that homage, there's little left of the dive the bar used to be, save for the original bathroom signs, a massive moose head, and, admittedly, one of the coolest clocks in Brooklyn. McMahon's Public House is about as Nouveau Slope as it gets, a perfect paean to post-Barclays Center Brooklyn, which is to say that it would fit in better in Midtown or the environs of Union Square South. Its lighting seems entirely deliberate, possibly even calculated, from the ambient sconce lighting in the ceiling to the glowing phalanxes of Stoli and Absolut bottles that comprise the forward infantry of the bar's liquor stock, and, of course, the seizure-inducing flicker of six flatscreen TVs showing different games. This is what Bruce Ratner hath wrought, then, the one thing Brooklyn has always resisted: the homogenous creep from Manhattan, a borough that has necessarily always needed to take tourists into consideration. Even past the main bar, your only option is a dark sort of TGI Friday's back room, complete with a functional faux fireplace, an upstairs that's meant solely for private parties, and, eventually, a rooftop bar that may end up being worth the wait.
Not that this place is going anywhere, mind you: it's consistently packed when the Barclay's Center is hosting an event. And the bartenders are all the sort of folks you'd be glad to see behind any countertop, real New York bartenders that belie the owners' experience and knack for Brooklyn (this is, after all, not the first McMahon's in the borough). And there's certainly nothing wrong with the place, all told—sports bars are a necessary evil that keeps the kids off the streets and out of bars where the only recognized athletic activity is marathon drinking--but when a place is only full-up in the moments before and after events at the closest arena and dead otherwise, you can't help thinking that it's not the sort of place Brooklyn wants within its borders. But when the alternative is becoming an unused graveyard of bike racks—as it was for O'Connor's lifelong drinking buddy Freddy's—its better to evolve than go extinct.
—Patrick Hipp March 29th, 2014 McMahon's Public House This is what Bruce Ratner hath wrought, then, the one thing Brooklyn has always resisted: the homogenous creep from Manhattan, a borough that has necessarily always needed to take tourists into consideration.
