Mad Dog and Glory (1993)

 

#GettingOldGoingDownhill

The good news is that I just hit my 50th 180 of 2026.

The bad news is that this time last year I'd hit 117.

I think I only hit this one 'cos I didn't realise I was throwing for one. There's something to be said for darkened rooms on a weekday morning.

50/50

False witness

False witness? False dawn? False representation? Who the hell knows.

All I do know is that once the actual league match started, I put in my worst performance of the season. Totally blown away. No excuses. Okay, the dartitis played a part a couple of times during the course of the night but I should be used to that by now. That's not the reason why I played so bad. 

A strange (long) night all round. You'll need to wait for the biopic for more details. It'll be in there somewhere . . . if only for some light relief.

Back to the drawing board.

49/50

12 Angry Men (1957)

 

The Pitt (2026)

 

Marguerita Time

Posting Wednesday afternoon (22nd April).

Apparently the board isn't placed correctly. It's too high . . . but I only discovered this after I hit the 180. I don't care. A 180 is a 180. It's not the first I've hit a 180 in this bar.

The business with the wrongly positioned board? That'll make the King of Brooklyn interesting.

45/50

'Beautiful man, beautiful . . . '

Excuse the hippy speak, but there was something especially pleasing about this 180. Of course, all 180s are to be enjoyed but there was something about how I threw that third dart and the extra oomph just propelled it into the T20 which marked it out as something different. Some 180s just give that greater satisfaction because of effort employed with the third dart. It comes across as less random . . . less by chance . . . even if it's your brain kidding you on.

And, of course, it was a bit of a bonus after missing those back to back 180s an hour before then.

44/50

Darts challenged

So, I just missed two 180s in a row.

. . . it's going to be one of those days.

DTF St. Louis (2026)

 

''Matched it!'

You have to read the title of the post in the voice of Jay from The Inbetweeners.

My second 167 checkout in two weeks. Russ Bray's Dart App isn't going to like that. He will take great delight in punishing me on the doubles for the foreseeable future.

Missed a trick . . . should have been lion flights and a unicorn board

As I write, professional Northerners are assaulting my ears.

Glad to get the 180. Trying to hit at least one a day. I mean, I'm always trying to hit 180s, but it's in my head now to up my frequency. This time last year I was on 108 180s. I'm not sure what's happened this year. Of course, there has been the recurrence of the dartitis  but I genuinely don't think I've fallen off that drastically in the first four months of the year. Maybe I was playing more darts last year? I find that hard to believe. I'll just monitor things to see what happens.

I had to quit practicing within minutes of the 180. I was totally gassed out. Anyone who tells you you can play decent darts even when you're tired is talking out of their arse. Mental and physical strength are both necessary to play decent darts.

43/50

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.

"I have a severe dose . . . "

I really should have a new label on the blog. Something along the lines of 'Beloved British films half-watched for the seventeenth time whilst practising darts. It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

I'm kind of annoyed with myself because you really shouldn't half-watch films. It's a modern disease and I have a severe dose. Stick to listening to podcasts or some music. Don't sell the films short.

Apologies to Armando Iannucci, Steve Coogan, Colm Meaney, Paul Whitehouse and countless others. You deserved better.  

The Death of Stalin (2017)

 

No words . . .

The morning after the night before. Yeah, I've got nothing . . . and I have a backlog of 180s to put on the blog.

 

 

 

41/50

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa (2013)

 

"I like to watch the trucks go by."

Posting this on the Monday morning after the weekend.

It would have been 7.32 pm in the UK when I hit this 180. Celtic just squeaked over the line with a 1-0 win against St Mirren two hours before, Hearts came back from a potential banana skin to beat Motherwell 3-1, and I woke up Sunday morning to see that R*ngers came back from 2-0 down to beat Falkirk 6-3.

Two things arise from that previous paragraph. Celtic aren't going to win the title this year. They don't deserve to. It's a toss up between the Huns or the Diet Huns . . . oh, such joy. And I'm really running out of things to write when seeking to add colourful blurb to the blog alongside the 180s. 

Back to trawling through that Gregory Girl film script. That was one of my better ideas, poor executed.

39/40

The Daytrippers (1996)

 

How to Get to Heaven from Belfast (2026)

 

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. 

For 10 minutes I was absolutely on fire . . .

. . . and it doesn't happen that often, so I thought I'd mention it.