Sameold tools of trade for darts

SOMEWHERE in Surrey, a world darts championship is in progress.

It seems to have been going on for several weeks, possibly months. It was preceded by another world darts championship, at a hall in north London. That event lasted even longer, or perhaps it only felt that way.

It was won by a chap called Gary, who said that he intended to celebrate by doing some DIY: ‘I’ll get my tool belt on at home. There’s always something that needs doing around the house’.

Gary has a nickname, because darts players are obliged to have a nickname.

It used to be ‘Dream Boy’ but Gary thought that a touch conceited. So he changed it to ‘The Flying Scotsman’, Gary being Scottish.

I mention these facts to demonstrate that darts players have a hinterland; they are not merely fat blokes with tattoos playing for the pleasure of drunken fat blokes with tattoos.

As you might expect, Sky Sports presented the inflated gameshow as if it were authentic sport, while the BBC — who really ought to know better — placed the preposterous Lakeside on a sporting par with Wembley or The Oval.

Meanwhile, Barry Hearn, the self-effacing entrepreneur, insisted: ‘The perception of the game is changing globally.

‘I believe darts is only just beginning.’

You may suspect that Mr Hearn is talking through his pocket. And you may be right.

Still, the choice is yours. Television darts are always with us.

If you missed the last world championship, there’ll be another one along in a minute.

On the other hand, you may prefer to track down the tool belt and set to work. There’s always something that needs doing around the house.