It’s game night at Slammers, Ohio State vs. Wisconsin, and I’m terrified that I’m about to have to pretend I know anything about sports. Thankfully, the bar isn’t as packed as I feared, and most people just seem to be here to have a good time. 

The space is large, with a long bar in the front packed with cute Dykes, a back room with tables, TVs, and darts, and an ample patio space with even more seating. The space is set up in a way that encourages you to come with friends, to bring your Dyke softball team for pizza and beer and camaraderie, but not necessarily to flit easily between groups for flirty fun.

A disco ball winks in front of the game, bathing the space in delicate sparkles. The patio outside is painted in rainbow stripes. There is a balance between gay gaudiness and hometown comforts. 

The beer fridge is enormous, filled with cans of American beers, ciders, and non-alcoholic options. At this point, if a Dyke bar doesn’t have a decent beer list, I’m judging them a little bit.

Everyone is dressed like a Dyke here, flannel and denim and backward hats. The bartenders are tattooed and smiling. While there are a lot of non-Dykes here, I’m assuming because of the game, this still feels like a Dyke bar, that just so happens to have some other clientele. Unlike feeling as if the bar is being invaded or overrun, it feels like Dykes are the fixtures that allow others in. There is inherent respect in who this bar is for, and that comes first. 

My butch4butch heart is going wild here, butches of all kinds proliferate the space, flirting with femmes at the bars, leaning against the wall with a beer in hand, holding court at the patio tables outside. There is great variety of Dyke here; butch, femme, goth, trans, sporty, sexy, trendy, casual. Everyone feels like themselves, no one is trying to impress or show up as more than they are. Unlike bars of previous nights, the crowd only gets Dykier as the night goes on. 

The crowd is mostly white and skews a bit older, there are a number of Dykes in their 30s and 40s, including some older butches sharing pizza in the corner. Flannels outnumber OSU jerseys, and I’m surprised at how fashionable Ohio is. Dykes of all ages and genders mingle, joining in conversation at the bar while they wait for their drinks, showing off the spot to friends and dates. 

Slammers fits neatly into my theory that all Dyke bars are either neighborhood dives or party forwards nightclubs. I could see myself taking dates here or grabbing a slice and a beer after work. 

A mohawked Dyke sits at the bar to watch the game, chatting easily with whoever stands beside them to wait for a drink. They chat so long with a mini-skirted femme that I think they’re on a date, only for the femme to eventually head back to their table of friends outside. They are the kind of person who would have been my “ring of keys” moment if I had seen them when I was younger; Carhartt carpenter jeans, work boots, classic butch swagger. 

Slammers immediately feels like home to me, easy and comfortable, a space where you can have whatever experience you need on a particular day. It feels inherently queer, a bar so good even the striaghts come to watch the game, but know better than to try and make it theirs. Slammers belongs to Dykes, and welcomes all. 

Flannel Count: 16

Columbus, OH