Darts
Its what we do!

So where did it all start?
Well my earliest memories were of my father standing on the back verandah, throwing at a very old and very hard Unicorn board. I could hear the thump, thump, thump, of the large brass bombs hitting the board. Like a sharp axe into wood, it’s a sound you never mistake. One that lives with you forever.
Our verandah was barely long enough to accommodate the line and throwing distance. It was the reason my father and I both developed a stance that had us with both feet on the ochre line, as our heels were brushing the brick wall behind us. A slight breeze would affect the flight of the dart and was often the reason used for a poor shot or a missed double.
At times the makeshift wet weather cloths line that mum had constructed on the back verandah had to be pulled out of the way, or practice was only down the right side of the board in fear of puncturing my sisters school blouse with a stray dart, as it dried.
I can remember the thrill of hearing that sound. That muffled thump. The vibrative sound of the board moving on the brick wall as the 32gram dart hit is with considerable force. The grating sound as Dad moved the board back into position and pushed the half-round wooden peg, that was supposed to steady the board, back into place. This was my calling. It was my chance. I would run to the kitchen to watch through the window. Often perched on the kitchen sink. If dad was alone, I would take my chances and go out onto the verandah and watch from out there. On occasion I would sit on the back step and look up at the board in awe of my father’s skill with his ceremonial feathered weapons.
On occasion, my dream came true and he would say, ‘do you want a throw’. My heart pounded as he gave me firm instructions in a loud and unyielding voice, ‘STAY BEHIND THE LINE’! To this day, I still hold that as the cardinal rule in darts. It has caused many a heated discussion and contributed to a rise in my fragility as a player on many occasions.
However, when the call up came I answered with vigour and incredible excitement. It was a Dad thing. I felt a part of it all when standing on the line. A small child was a man for just a moment. Equal with his hero, if you like! A tear forms in my eye as I remember these moments. A ball of concentration as I stand on the line closely following Dad’s loose instructions regarding not hitting the bricks behind the board. ‘Aim for the middle’ he would say, showing little confidence in the incredible yet unproven skill I assumed that I possessed. Dart after dart missing its intended target until I hit a random triple and Dad expressing his pride with ‘Good shot, that’s a good score. Now have a seat mate while I have a practice’. My short stint as a player ends with a word of encouragement. Not that I needed it. I thought I knew all there was to know and just needed the chance to put it into practice.
As years rolled on, these sporadic attempts became less regular. Dad played darts as a reason to have a few drinks. Whilst he was quite a good player and could match it with the best of them, drinking at home was not his thing. Getting to the pub was his goal and he was very successful. This meant that my opportunities to play at home were limited. Until I found an old set of darts in the shed. I spend hours with clear craft glue, repairing a set of feathered flights that had long been discarded. Polishing up the brass to a mottled shiney appearance. Removing rust from the extremely short and worn points.
This was the beginning for me. I practiced what I thought was important. Not really knowing the game, I did my best. Dad thought it was cute and gave me an old plastic Unicorn case with a few cigarette burns in the top of it. It became a prized possession. After years of on and off enthusiasm, the day came. I was asked to have a game of darts at a local hotel. Just a social day but it could have been a world championship as far as I was concerned. Well Dad was asked and I went along and was encouraged to have a go. Apparently I showed potential. The road to playing competition was swift and I progressed as any passionate player would. However, I then did something that would change my dart world significantly. I went to Kmart, Waratah, and purchased my first set of Darts.
They were made by Puma and were called Dynamite Darts. A Steel set with Brass inserts. They looked ‘hot’. And so did I when I walked in with them.
It was a short time later that I hit my first 180 in competition with those very darts. I often wonder if Puma would be interested in such achievements with their product. I still have these darts, safely secured in one of my favourite dart cases. Tucked away in a specifically set up ‘dart cabinet’. The home of my obsessive accessories. 37 years later they still hold a special place in my heart. Such is the obsession.
Looking back over the years, it was the thrill of purchasing that first set. The first triple twenty hit with them, the excitement of showing them to other people. All these things contributed to my obsession. It was also the end of the feathered flights for me and the introduction of the ‘new’ wave of poly flights with designs and colours to add to the appeal of the dart. I was hooked. It is nice to look back at my extensive collection of dozens of sets of darts and remember where it all began.

Location

Newcastle