I need noise . . . any noise

. . . whilst playing darts. Otherwise Sid Waddell enters my thoughts* whilst throwing.

 

For background news, I threw on the pilot episode of ER from 1994 'cos I'm jonesing for new episodes of The Pitt, and at the end of every episode of The Pitt, HBO is telling us to watch ER for our medical drama fix. I never bite - every episode of The Pitt has too much to chew on - but they've finally worn me down and I have a new go to for background noise whilst throwing my 26s, 83s and the occasional 180. (See below, folks.)

42/50

 

*I'm lying about Sid Waddell's voice in my head. It's Sid Little's voice.

It got a shit review from Roger Ebert

Posted Monday morning, April 13th.

I'd paused this movie. Not because I wasn't enjoying it. I just needed a cup of tea and a late night snack. 

And, as is my habit, I decided to throw some darts whilst waiting for the kettle to boil. The anorak in me means that I can't just throw random darts at the board. They have to mean something. So I fire up the First to 100 game against the Level 9 Bot, which is getting too used to turning into Peak Phil 'Fucking' Taylor when shooting at doubles, and I snag my highest ever outshot/checkout/two fucking fingers to the digital Phil 'Fucking' Taylor wannabe. A 167 for the Darts blockers amongst you: T20, T19, Bullseye. ('Double Cork' if you're reading this in French Lick, Indiana.)

It's the second highest checkout in darts. Only the *cough* Big Fish tops it.

Now, this is where it gets confusing. I was  . . . I am . . . convinced that my previous best was a 158 checkout (T20, T20, D19) but, at this moment in time, I can't find any record/picture of that particular outshot (mix and match, peeps). Did I just imagine it? Is it just like that (probably imaginary) 180 from 1982? Am I imagining things related to darts? Is that a silhouette of Sid Waddell at the window beckoning me to walk towards the light?

Until I find my version of the Zapruder film, we'll never know. 

Through a glass darkly . . .

 . . . Christ, did I take a picture of this 180 using a Kodak box brownie? Maybe it should be in sepia?

"Darkly" . . . "dark thunders" . . . the ghost of Sid Waddell haunts this blog.

80/50

'Get behind me, Sid Waddell !'

Never done that before.

I hate it when you pick up different darts and they immediately seem to ‘work’.

. . . ‘cos everyone who plays darts knows that the darting gods are just fucking with you. 

Bellies and Bullseyes: The Outrageous True Story of Darts by Sid Waddell (Ebury Press 2007)

 

During my first performance I managed to upset some of the crowd and players. David and I did our thing on a first-floor balcony, about sixty feet up and back from the stage action. We were not soundproofed in any way, because, I assume, at the snooker, ‘Whispering’ Ted Lowe and the others operated at the table side and very much sotto voce. Not the style of the lad who was soon to become dubbed ‘The Geordie Lip’. I got really excited and loud when a Geordie team, from Cramlington near Ashington, were going well. So much so that an angry voice from below threatened to ‘come up and smack that bastard on the balcony’. Then I loudly predicted a player would try to go out from 128 with 60, 60, double 4. The bloke froze on stage, turned theatrically, looked up at me and bellowed: ‘No I bloody won’t’ – then went out with 60, 18, bull! It brought the house down, not so much for winning the leg but mainly for putting me in my place. But, believe me, this was small beer compared to the stick that lay ahead.

Bellies and Bullseyes: The Outrageous True Story of Darts by Sid Waddell (Ebury Press 2007)

In mid-February I went up to Newcastle from my home in Leeds for the England/Scotland clash. I attended the pre-match banquet and had a drink with some of the players before the meal. Alan Glazier, a star exhibition player like Evans, was courteous and shy. Tony Brown, also of England, looked like Desperate Dan and was drinking gin fast. Charlie Ellix, a small Cockney, also seemed to have a mighty thirst. Across the way, nineteen-year-old Eric Bristow toyed with a pint of lager. Later he told me that the Indoor League had inspired him. ‘When I was sixteen me dad was teaching me darts and I used to sit on the settee watching Indoor League. I said to me mum and dad “I want to go on that”.’ He did, and he won it.

Next day the action and atmosphere at the City Hall lived up to expectation. The last time I’d been there was to see PJ Proby, and the support was a band called Nero and the Gladiators. The darts was gladiatorial and the Geordie crowd loved every minute. Two images live in my memory. Firstly, Bristow saluting the crowd after a 16-dart leg and going on to win. Secondly, a stocky mop-headed little bloke from Kirkcaldy who bounced around the stage in tartan trews and did a number on Charlie Ellix. He was described in the programme as ‘Jocky’ Wilson – ‘one of the unemployed’.