I have had three darts dreams in the last two and a half days.
That's not good . . . especially when those dreams doesn't involve me scoring a 9-darter against Luke Littler at a World Championship or bonding with Marisa Tomei over a love of Loxley's latest range of darts.
Instead, my brain insists on me dreaming about snapped darts, darting mishaps involving four darts in the board, and darts matches which resemble that pub scene from An American Werewolf in London.
I need a new hobby.
