Sidelines is not a club. If you're interested in rubbing your ass against the washboard abs of some 20-year-old androgyne with a glow-in-the-dark tongue ring in the middle of a sweat-soaked drug orgy while Anastacia freaks out at a billion decibels, Sidelines is not the place for you. It is simply a remarkable gay bar. First of all, it is gay. Gay (queer) men and gay (queer) women hang around the place being gay (happy) until the place announces last call at 2 a.m. Second of all, it's a bar in the truest sense of the word — a sports bar, as a matter of fact, with the low-key, no-pressure atmosphere that such a designation implies. The nicest thing about the SoFla gay community is that, despite the great number of GLBT folks who have made homes here in the last decade, there is still a small-town mentality. Walk into a place like Sidelines, and it's a given that you'll know somebody. The music's always eclectic — on a recent Tuesday, Sam Cooke, Madonna, Fleetwood Mac, the Isley Brothers, and U2 were played back-to-back — and loud enough to lose yourself in but not so loud you couldn't talk over it. The booze is plentiful and inexpensive, the space is blessedly clean but not austere — think Cheers done up in dark greens with a lot more space and decorated by gay men with an equal passion for football and feng shui, and you'll get the picture.