Thursday 9 December 2010

Day 342-THE DOUBLE UPDATE...An Unpleasant Run-In, Getting The Buzz Back, Club Smithero, Future Darts, Real McCoys, and The Tungsten Mind-Meld

Hours Of Practice-315
Miles Walked On The Oche-268

(I actually started this update way back in September and didn't finish it for reasons I shall shortly explain; so read the first bit which was written way back then, and I shall pick up from where this first entry leaves off later...so here's what I started nearly two months ago...)

Day 254
Hours Of Practice-274
Miles Walked On The Oche-232.9

Hi. Remember me?

Well, the blog is back (thankyou for the enquiries :-)) and before we go any further, a few of you may have noticed something a bit different from the off; no average number of darts to checkout count. I'll explain why later. But first, I'd better bring you up to speed, make my apologies, and explain my absence...

First and foremost, don't worry, Darts Fans. The Straight Shooter and his Arrows Of Outrageous Fortune are as dedicated as ever. Following the Terrific Tungsten Trail To Total Titanic Triumph. Taking the Transatlantic Train ToS iphasdlkhalkjfhafpiudqHIFUGQHFIUBHFucking darts. Whatever, what I'm trying to say is I'm still at it, and still committed with great enthusiasm. I just...lost my way for a little while. Here's what happened.

Shortly after my last blog entry, I entered into a tournament. I honestly can't remember which one it was, and if it was one of the ones on the list I made earlier. I certainly didn't play in the England or Nottingham open, because I haven't entered a tournament since then.

On this occasion, as my brother was going to be joining me lat er that day to come to a friend's birthday do that afternoon, he offered to come along to the tournament too as he was interested to see what a tournament was like. Unfortunately for his girlfriend, she got dragged along
too...as did mine.

So I was looking forward to it, having enjoyed the previous events I'd played in (played in 2 others, including the one previously mentioned at the Pint Pot) and when I turned up, this one was...wierd.

From the off, I felt deeply uncomfortable. As a professional musician, I'm used to turning up at venues where I don't know anyone. I'm used to social clubs, and the staggering ignorance that some of the regulars can display when presented with someone they dont recognise (blatant and open staring, cow-like, slack-jawed, punchable expressions) and though I've played a lot of very nice venues, received very warm welcomes and had a real laugh with a lot of the punters, I've been to an equal share of shitholes that are full of dosy fat scum. So I'm used to being stared at. I'm used to having to ignore people's stupidity, and used to having to bite my lip and not ask what the problem is.

But this was just...odd. The place itself seemed nice enough, the barstaff were great, but bloody hell, there was just an ATMOSPHERE. It got even worse when Angela turned up (she'd gone to park the car whilst I'd rushed in to register, and had a nightmare finding a space) as between her bright red hair and my spiky hair, and the fact that she was the only woman in there under 40, the stares got ridiculous. One guy in particular we both clocked; every time I looked up, he was staring at Ange. It got so bad I took to staring at him myself, to let him know he was being seen
(not something I ever normally do) and once he'd caught my eye a few times, he must have known he was rumbled, as he moved to the other side of the room.

When my brother turned up, he noticed as well. Within five minutes of being there, he said "Bloody hell...it's a bit..." and gestured in such a small way with his hand that it told me all I needed to know about how he felt. It just was not a nice place to be.

Don't get me wrong. It wasn't ROUGH. I didn't think for one second that there would be any trouble; there wasn't a hint of that. It was just very clear that, despite it being an open tournament and the majority of people not knowing each other, we were somehow different, and they knew it.

For the first time, instead of feeling relaxed and happy, I was deeply uncomfortable.

Anyway, my name was called out, and I went up for my game, where I played against a guy that clearly spent a lot of time in the pub, evident by not only his darting prowess but his immense waistline. I'm not being mean-give the man his dues, he could really play-but he was HUGE. He looked like the Michelin man in a nylon polo shirt. I was genuinely worried by his red face; I thought he was going to keel over at any moment. Regardless, I lost to a better player after an amazing start, in which having family there was, in hindsight, a bit of a hindrance. On my first two trips to the oche I scored a hundred each time, and therein lay my downfall; I was up against a clearly strong opponent, had started in a way that was definitely in my opponents league...and I knew it, and my watching brother knew it, and we both knew the other knew it. I was that busy trying to keep a straight face-and he KNEW I was trying to keep a straight face-that I just went to pieces after that. I got it back in the last two games, but too late. Anyway, no big deal.
But that's when it got more awkward.

As tournament ettiquette states, the losing player waits by that board and scores the next game on it. Again, no problem (I'm getting used to it...) But that's when the next player stepped up, who just happened to be the guy I'd scored for at the previous week's tournament. The guy who'd pissed me off the last time I scored for him...

Let's flashback a week previous. Same scenario; lost at a tournament to another old pro. No problem. So I stand by the board waiting for the pair of opponents to come over so I can score their match. But then this chap comes up to play-let's call him...Roger-and something's off. I say hello when he turns up to play? Silence. Ok. I get it. That's his game face. Fine. But...BUT...once the game is over, and he's won (he was good, very good) and he and his opponent shake hands. And then without as much as an over the shoulder 'cheers mate', he walks off without a word like I'm not even there.

This got right under my skin.

To me, please and thankyou, even for minor things, are just common courtesy and decency. If you hold a door for someone, they should say a cursory 'Ta'. If you want to get past someone in a bar, you say 'Excuse me'. And if someone stays behind at an event when they've been beaten-when they don't have to and are doing it out of respect for fellow players, especially when half of the people don't even bother-it takes nothing just to say 'Cheers'. So to me, this was straight up rude, and very annoying. His opponent even said a quick thanks, but he still just walked off.

So here I am, at the scoreboard a week later, and as it turns out, I get the same guy. Id already decided the week before that if anyone did it again, I would say a little something if there was no acknowledgement-a sotty 'You're welcome' or something equally expressing light disapproval, bordering on camp-and here was the SAME FELLA. And sure enough...he did it again.

Right, I thought. I'm not having this. The 3 or 4 pints I'd had helped to dull the fact that he was a good 6'4", and I wasn't going to go ape at the guy; I was going to calmly make it clear that it was just rude. So he's at the organiser's table, telling them the result (he'd won again. Like I said, the guy was very good) and I came up behind him and said 'Excuse me, mate.'

-------------------------------------(this is as far as I got in September. From here on in is me taking over here today, on December 9th. I'll finish the story off before I go any further.)

So he turns around, and I say 'I scored for you last week, I don't know if you remember?' And the game face drops, and he holds his hands up and starts to kind of say 'Yeah, yeah I know,' in a way that, in hindsight, might have been apologetic/concilatory, but I'd got my mindset ready for
this and was already pressing forward to quickly to notice.

'You didn't even bother to say just a quick "Ta" then,' I continued, 'And you didn't even bother today. I just want you to know that people don't HAVE to score for you, they do it out of courtesy, and the least you could do is return that courtesy and just say "thanks mate."' All of which sounds good, but unfortunately he'd turned his back on me after I got about as far as "then." He clearly wasn't used to anthing like this, and in a mild panic but still trying to keep his cool he'd turned to the judges table and raised his hands, shaking his head, silently asking why and openly muttering something about 'fucking attitude.' I'd had enough by this point and left, my lot coming with me.

The whole experience left a very, very shitty taste in my mouth. Not just the rude guy, the whole day. The people, the atmosphere...all of it was just deeply unpleasant. Was this what I would have to deal with? Was this the sort of people I would regularly have to endure? I just suddenly lost all enthusiasm, and found myself making excuses not to practice. I always knew I WOULD practice again, but it would always be tomorrow. Darts suddenly felt very bleak and crappy, when before just thinking about the game got me excited.

This went on for a good six weeks. And over time, I mulled over what had actually happened.

The experience with the rude guy was, in fact, me making a mountain out of a molehill. This guy was clearly a good player, so he clearly spent a lot of time at tournaments. And something I realised when I actually thought about it was this; his OPPONENT didn't bother saying thankyou either. Nor did his other opponent the week before. And I came to realise that at tournaments, the majority DON'T bother saying thankyou; thats just the way it's done. Do I think it's rude and crappy? Hell yes. Should I take it personally and complain? Hell no. I'll just do it my way, say thankyou, and if other people are rude, that's just the way they see it done and are doing the same. Doesn't mean I should forget my manners.

And as for the unpleasant atmosphere, well, I think I got a shock. I'd been spoiled before at previous tournaments by the banter and friendly, pleasant atmosphere, and expected more of the same. But here was a serious tournament. People had not only turned up to win, but to psyche each other out. And I hadn't been ready for it. And really, aren't they right? You can enjoy your play, but ultimately, it's a competition. You have to take it seriously to get good. And decided that now I knew better, then I wasn't going to let it bother me. Some tournaments were going to be a nice atmosphere, some were going to be bad, and I would just have to be able to shift my mindset between the two. I'd had a nasty surprise, it had killed my enthusiasm, and when I realised all this I saw that I had a choice. Stop playing, or get on with it. And I sure as hell wasn't going to stop playing. So I picked up my darts and got back on the oche, full of vigour and renewed energy.

And then we moved into an unfurnished house.

Yep, me and Angela upped sticks and moved into our own place, finally. A big, two bedroomed, two floor flat in Coventry at a surprisingly good price. This meant that the Dartmate could finally be used for it's purpose-mobile darts-and I could finally construct my dream darts, home cinema, and home bar setup. With a separate oche in the living room with the Eclipse Pro Trainer on it so I didnt have to keep swapping boards. The stuff of fantasy.

Unfortunately, before this could be done, there was shitload of other stuff to do on the house, and even when it was done, I had to gather all the things I would need for my oche setups, and even when THEY were done I had to spend days and days gathering the equipment and installing the home cinema, then finally gathering the materials and building the bar, and then housetraining our new puppies (they've quickly learned to sit BEHIND the oche line.) To put it into context; we only had our housewarming party, when the place was 90% finished, on the 20th of November. And even then the living room was pretty much bare. I only got the pictures etc up on the living room walls yesterday.

All of which means, basically that since the 14th of May, I've only gotten in 110 hours of practice. Thats 110 hours of practice in 126 days. That doesn't sound so bad, but it should be way, WAY more than that on the schedule I set myself.

Still, we are now settled, and so the practice can begin again in earnest, and yes, this blog will start to see regular updates again! One slight change, however, is that after noticing how other projects are suffering-Darts is priority, but I still need to increase my income and have a
couple of ideas to do so that I need to put more hours in on to make a reality, and so I have taken the decision to reduce the target from 4 to 3 hours a day, five days a week. I think that's still a strong amount of hours to get in, and more than is sensible for any human being, but a decision I've had to make with a heavy heart. Since we've moved, our outgoings have not only, obviously, shot through the roof, but in a piece of horrific timing, I've had my friday residency ended and my wages lowered. So I have much more severe financial demands than before, and I have to deal with them, and this needs time. It's not a lack of commitment to the cause, it's a severity of need for my life, unfortunately. Bah. Once it's sorted, back to four hours, man.

But the darts setup..oh baby.

The living room board looks great, but it's the Snakepit Lounge (the name of the darts/cinema/bar room...the kitchen has the pool table in it. I love our home, the poor man's Met Bar, Cllub Smithero. It all sounds expensive, but its not-pool table second hand, for example-and we were living at home for ages so I was able to save up...) oche that really kicks ass. I'll get some photos up soon.

I had a Circumluminator built in america; this is a fancy dart light surround that, as the name suggests, circles the board. It looks great when turned on, and even has 'The Future Of Darts' and 'Club Smithero' on it. I'll be honest, for the money it cost me I'm a bit disappointed with it,
as it's only really good as opposed to amazing (for the price, it needed to be amazing) but people are always thoroughly impressed by it. I have a verysmall flatscreen tv rigged up next to the board, which not only runs a tv feed through from the sky setup in the living room (I like my background shows to practice to) but at the flick of a switch flicks over to the pc I have wired in, controlled by a wireless keyboard that can control the software from anywhere, so I can use my Dartpro and n01 software.

Software which, ladies and gentlemen, is the future of the darts practice.

I've been using n01 for some time, and more recently Dartpro, but well get to that later. It's basically a piece of scoring software, available as a free pc download or as an app for your iphone (if you like to play darts and have a pc or an iphone, GET THIS.) It's great for use when playing
against friends, especially as I''ve downloaded the caller sounds for the home pc; so your score is actually called out, as the scoring is done for you, and the wireless keyboard means no-one is ever in the way. But where it REALLY becomes a vital training aid is when you play against the
virtual opponent that comes with the game.

There are various skill levels to test yourself against, but basically it not only gets you into the mindset of a competition (far, FAR more fun than playing against yourself) but also takes a moment to show you your opponents score going in, dart by dart, so you get more used to the rhythm of a competition. I believe this is something vital to get used to. When you practice by yourself for hours on end, and then have a competitive match where you have to wait double the time you're used to between throws, I believe this is automatically going to throw you off.

Dartpro is a similar program (again, a free download) that, whilst it has no virtual opponent, it vastly more comprehensive stat collecting abilities (meaning you can collect your averages etc over several YEARS etc and have them instantly shown to you in a graph) but more importantly means you can play opponents online. You simply load up Skype, put your webcam facing your board, and set your frames and legs etc up on Dartpro and let it handle your scoring. This is not only awesome, but means I can now play in an online league. I've had 3 defeats, one by the previous champion, and one fairly sound beating, and one game that went right down to the last frame. In all fairness to myself, I've yet to have a game where I haven't been constantly distracted by the dogs, but that's down to a lack of mental toughness and being a dog psychology nerd. (TSST!!)

In other news, I've switched darts again. After realising that Phil Taylor's Phase 5 darts were the same 'bullet' shaped barrel as my Harrows Aliens, and that they were a gram lighter (noticing that whilst I like a heavier weight, my darts have a slight tendency to drop just below the
treble 20, and wondered if a lighter weight might help) I thought I'd give them a go. After a stiff drink and a nice lie down once I discovered they were 70 BASTARD QUID, I justified the cost to myself in the usual way ("Ah, it's fuck all in a 5 year plan") They arrived, and I liked 'em,
but was worried that I didn't have a matching spare set (I have about 9 different sets of darts now, but they're really 'guest' darts for when people come over. I believe you shouldn't use different darts when playing; it's vital to stay calibrated to your own) as I like ot have a spare
set in the van along with the Dartmate. You never know...

So anyway, I discovered a company called McCoy's that make, effectively, cheap knock off versions off the Phase 5s for a mere 25 quid, right down to the black finish. The grip looked a little chunkier, but otherwise, they were the same. I liked them so much that I actually preferred them to the Phase 5s (I preferred the thicker grip) so I sold my Phase on the darts forum I use and bought another set of McCoy's as a spare. If you'd
like to see my comparison video of the two sets (as well as my pathetic sales pitch) then visit the below link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-9d0eOD110&feature=player_embedded

So far, I like 'em. I still have my Harrows should I ever change my mind, but we'll see. And so, to what I said right at the start; why I no longer have my average number of darts to checkout on the blog.

I recently bought a copy of Darts: Beginning To End by George Silberzahn. It's the only comprehensive book I can find that actually attempts to be a full, studied training manual for darts. It's not hard to see why; most people have such individual ways of standing, throwing, and gripping when it comes to the game that you can't really say 'here's the best way to do it' as most people do it individually. BUT, if you're not afraid to listen to advice and decide which to take on board and which to reject, George's is an excellent book as he stresses overall that you have to find your own way. He just waffles a lot. A LOT. And he's american, which is sounds odd to me (to us?) But they do play it, apparently...

Anyway, the thing he makes abundantly clear, over and over, is that you should never, ever, compete with yourself. It leads to negative thought patterns and pressure, and ultimately is a bad idea. He goes to great pains to make this clear, and I find myself agreeing with him. So no more darts to checkout results here, at least not for a while. Maybe this time next year, as a progress check? We'll see.

Something else I've been looking at is darts hypnotherapy.

Ok. I'll give you a minute to compose yourself.

Yes, darts hypnotherapy. As I've stated before in this blog, the weakest facet of my game-and a vital one-is my mental game. I have a fear of victory. It's like once I sense victory within my grasp, I choke for no apparent reason. This needs to be stomped out, needs to be done through
competitive play and mental training. The competitive side is straightforward, but the mental? That's a little harder. And so I turned to the popcorn version of hypnotherapy; iTunes apps. The results were...unproductive. To my rather minimal surprise, there's a gap in the market not
being filled by darts hypnotherapy apps. I have general sporting, mental training apps, and focus developement apps, but no darts apps. I even found a hypnotherapy app, to my utter astonishment, called Improve Your Darts, but it just turned out to be a general sporting app that you could tack your own goals onto, as was utter clear from the minute the voiceover started referring to the goal of the audio as being 'this problem', and sounding so well-bred that he probably would think a dart is always prefixed by the french pronunciation of Object.

Or so I thought, until one day I thought I'd give it a go before bed. As I was starting to drift off to sleep-as I often do with these things, incredibly, being someone who literally has to take drugs to control his sleeping patterns-I heard the word 'darts' come over my headphones! I nearly jumped out of bed! I could barely keep a straight face listening to someone who has clearly never played the game discussing it in his slow....hypnotic....voice.....I listened to it all the way through, then ran downstairs to test it out; and immediately threw two 180s in a row!!

Of course I didn't really, but I've being using it a lot, and as someone who believes in the benefits of hypnotherapy-even if it only works as a placebo-we'll see if any good comes of it.

Well, that's it for now Darts Fans. Again, apologies for the delay-I knew it was long, but none since May? It won't happen again-and thanks for reading. I'll get some photos of the Snakepit Lounge up soon and a new list of competitions for next year. I'll hopefully get another entry up
before Christmas, but just in case I don't, have a great Christmas and a safe new year. And think of me; i'll be at work. And if any of you are on Skype, have a dartboard and a webcam and fancy a game against the Straight Shooting one, let me know; get Dartpro downloaded and I'll see you on the oche.

Stay Hungry,

The Straight Shooter.

Friday 14 May 2010

Day 128-FUUUUCCKKKK, Contemplative Reflection, Dimplex Disaster, Going Hardcore, Let's Play Knockout Darts, Stage One Complete, and The Torture Board

Hours Of Practice-205
Average Number Of Darts To Checkout-29
Miles Walked On The Oche-174.25

Ok, let's get this out of the way first.

I lost The Future Of Darts XI. (See previous blog entry.)

Anything I say to follow that now will only be perceived as making excuses, whining, or trying to put a false spin on what actually happened, and there ARE some things I would like to say about it; so let me say from the off that there was no excuse for losing. None. I won't attempt to try and excuse it. But I WILL say what my feelings about the tournament are, as much of it as I can remember (which, as usual, isn't a vast amount...I'm not the only one.)

I played well in the group stages; and something I realised after the tournament was-to my credit-I was never really aware of any of my opponent's scores. I felt so confident, and was playing at such a good degree that I didn't ever really worry about what they were doing, which for me, with my never-shutting-the-fuck-up mind rattling away 24/7, is a big deal. It came to the semi-finals, and yes, I was a little worse for wear on several pints if Strongbow, but this is par for the course for F.O.D. World Championships. Besides, I played my best darts of the day in that semi; double trouble on the first leg hampered me, and once I was in I was throwing comfortable 80s, but too late. The second leg was regarded by many there as the best leg in F.O.D. history (which, although it sounds impressive, given the hazy recollections of past tournaments is a highly unreliable statement; it was a hell of a leg though.) I didn't play to my best-which is my fault-however, I still played very well, as did my opponent, Craig 'The Lord Of The Board' Nicholls. Bottom line, I was first to a finish, and had three darts at my favourite double. I bent the wire on all three, out my a gnats knacker. He had three at double tops, and hit it on the second dart, taking the place in the final, the rabid, delighted cheers of my alleged friends (fuckers) and a small piece of my soul.

Ouch.

I can't really complain; what can I say? Craigy played really well, reaching his first final in the last five tournaments. He turned up on the day, and deserved to win. I had to produce my best darts under pressure, and unlike my opponent, I didn't. Good darts for me? Yes. Great darts for me? No. And like I say, that isn't to disrespect Craigy; half the skill of being a good darts player is producing your best when you need to. He did, I didn't, and therefore on the day the better man won. Even though he's Ginger.

I was quite surprised at how well I took it, to be honest. I was fine until sat in the Allesley Village Harvester the next day with Angela and, laughing over a barbecued chicken that tasted like dried rubber due to both horrific hangover and shit kitchen staff, realisation fully hit me. I nearly threw up at the table, but again, that could be laid at the door of the Strongbow.

Funnily enough, I'd sent my brother an update text during the tournament saying something like 'Breezing through the group stages, already qualified foir the semis, just Craigy in my last group game for bragging rights.' He said the next day that when he'd received that, he knew I was going to lose. 'Why?' I said. 'Because he was in your head; you'd said beforehand he was the man to watch.' He was probably right; he was the only player I actually felt worried about, due to us practicing together most weekends. Craigy had also been overheard saying in the day, regarding me, 'I know how to beat him.' When I asked Craigy about this the next day, he refused to tell me what he'd actually done, but said he'd noticed a few things about me when I played that he thought he could manipulate a little bit.

This all was entirely new thinking to me. It never would have occured to me to watch a player and think about what I could do to throw him off his rhythm; I was only thinking about getting the darts right. But that's all part of the game, and not only is it something to keep in mind, and something I SHOULD have done, but a positive I took away from the tournament was this: I learned I had a mental weakness in my game. More on this later.

After the tournament, I took a week off practice. After that, the very idea of playing darts made me feel a little bit sick. But of course, the addiction slowly crept back in, and I began throwing again. People were asking 'Do you feel like all the practice has been a waste?' and though I felt crappy about practicing more, I can honestly say the answer was, and is, no. I played far better and with more confidence than I ever have before, and lost in the semi-finals to someone who played a better game. I'll just have to beat him next time. And do it so bad that in generations to come his descendants' first words will be 'Fuck me, The Straight Shooter took our great-great-great-great-great Grandad to school at darts.' And they'll be ginger.

So I'd made a ton of progress; how could that be a waste? I pressed on.

I did of course have to sit back and take stock. What had gone wrong? The first part was obvious. Being a musician/performer, I've always held to the theory that on the day, at best you will only be 80% as good as you are in your best practice days. Therefore, you have to get your practice performance to the standard that is ALWAYS 120% to properly turn up, if you get me.

On F.O.D. day, I probably was at about 70%. 80% in the semi. And when I wrote the last blog, I realised I'd been getting nowhere near 4 hours a day, five days a week. I'd been treating it as something optional, something to TRY and do; I realised that had to change. The main problem was time. With my job, most days of the week I can do as I please (which is nowhere near as much fun as it sounds when you want your life to actually go somewhere) and I never sleep particularly well, so I tended to get up about 10am. Add breakfast, dinner, the fact that Angela gets home about 6ish most days, and if you're playing four hours of darts a day you don't have much time left, or rather, you do your other stuff (I'm always working on some nonsense) and you don't have four hours left.

The answer, therefore, was to get up at 7:30am/8am. Hard for me (I have to take special tablets to moderate my body clock) but it just meant being more consistent with an 11/12pm bedtime (getting to sleep at a reasonable hour is next to impossible without the tablets. Melatonin-which I discovered a year ago-has literally changed my life.) So for the last 3 weeks, that's what I've been doing, and the four hours a day has been achieved.

The result? I finally broke the 30-dart average barrier for my checkouts. Over 100-odd games, my average was 29 darts.

Feeling rejeuvenated, I entered a small level charity tournament two weeks ago in a pub in Sutton Coldfield ('Let's Play Knockout Darts!') that I found on the Uk Darts Forum (an excellent resource folks, no doubt about it...) This is discovering that I'd got the dates wrong for my UK Open qualifier in Solihull. BASSSStard. Some lucky sod waltzes through thanks to me . If you're reading this, you're welcome, but know you are a fraud.

It's was a nice place, and a nice atmosphere, and I felt good; I read a great piece of extremely simple advice in the article 'How The Pros Do It' by Ken Berman (quite simply the most useful one I have ever read. Read it here at http://www.crowsdarts.com/dprosdoit.html I found that via THIS website, which is phenomenal: http://www.dartbase.com/nojs.htm If you're in any way interested in getting into darts, you HAVE to go there.) Simply put, it basically says that even when you throw bad darts, stand up like a champion, and carry on. Don't worry. That sort of thing usually just bounces off my skull ineffectively ('Don't worry, she'll love you no matter how long you take, if you worry you'll only make it WORSE!!!') but that really seemed to stick with me.

Plus, I felt better with my actual darts. Before the tournament, I'd been played with leaf shaped, dimplex flights (dimplex being an almost mini-'bubble wrap' effect on the surface of the dart. Apparently it reduces spin, if you want that. I found this out after I'd been using them for a while; I like spin.) All I knew was that Dimplex was supposed to be a good thing, and I'd given these flights a try and stuck with them. My last set of those got damaged, so I started using the flights I had left, some Ameri-thon brand, non Dimplex kite-shaped darts (I now have an overwhelming amount of stems and flights. I will never allow this running-out-of-shit situation to happen again.) I liked these, and found I played better with them. Then I had a brain wave. Played well with Dimplex leaf shaped flights? Played BETTER with non-Dimplex kite shaped flights? Play BEST with Dimplex kite shaped flights!!

So I ordered some two weeks before F.O.D. After the tournament, when I just couldn't seem to get my game quite right, I tried the smooth Ameri-thons again, and marked the point in the checkout dart tally where I switched flights from the Dimplex ones; 36 games. To test it, I played 36 games with the Ameri-thons. My average was one dart better with the Ameri-thons. Doesn't sound like much, but it is.

Bastard.

Anyway, my darts case was now stuffed to bursting with Ameri-thon flights, and in the warm-up I swas playing out of my skin and feeling good. Angela, bless her wonderful soul, had driven me there so I could drink, and didn't complain once when it turned out the start was delayed by two hours. She's either a wonderful girlfriend or I'm a really amazing boyfriend. I think we all know which it is, darts fans.

Tournament atmosphere is great; hustle and bustle, drink and banter. Lots of people who love their darts, some deadly serious, some who are up for a chat. Bullshit flying around the room. Great. The guy I was chatting to keep coughing. 'You alright?' I said. 'Yeah. Just recovering from bronchitis.' The professional singer wished he'd warmed up on board 5.

My opponent clearly played a lot of darts; I'd seen him warm up, and he knew his stuff, team shirt, the lot. I'd had three pints, felt just right, and felt happy. I lost the first leg, after playing far better than I had at F.O.D. I won the second, and despite an extremely close few legs, he went 3-1 up in a best 0f 7 game. But to my delight, I still felt ok. If there's one thing I know about darts, it's that comebacks are common. Especially when I knew that I hadn't let my head drop, and I was winning the leg despite him throwing first. If I could win this, suddenly it'd be 3-2 and wide open. I missed my finish, and he produced a big finish to win the leg and the match.

But I didn't mind. I'd played in a tournament and kept my head, and played better than at F.O.D. Being the loser, I had to score the next game.

It was a wake-up call. The standard was fantastic; constant tons, a few 180s. It was interesting to observe the 'danger' player fall apart once he went behind. I spoke to the winner when he came to get his darts. 'Is that your usual standard mate? That was brilliant!' 'I'm shaking, to be honest mate,' he said, only a few years older than me. 'That guy's a really good player.'

I came away with a feeling of optimism, and I realised something. I'd completed stage 1. I'd gotten my average checkout under 30 darts, I'd kept my head and played confidently in a tournament-better than other players there I'd watched-and had started solid, consistent practice. Hell, look at the number of hours played in the five weeks since the last blog.

But I'd seen where I needed to go next. I was, and still am, slotting 3 darts into the 20 with a fair amount of ease. That will win a lot of pub games, and that is something. But...the reason I lost that game was even though I literally was scoring 60, 60, 60, and my opponent fluffed a few arrows, he was hitting the TREBLE 20 more than I did and that made that 10% difference to win. The guys I'd seen after me were hitting it at least once every 6 darts, and that's WITH hitting the 20s, and I knew that I'd been settling for too little. I'd been happy with just hitting the 20, and hoping to hit the treble, but realised I needed to start gambling more and TRAINING to hit the lipstick, and risk more resultant 5s and 1s. I really had a feeling of 'Ok, you've reached the top of the first stage; now you're at the bottom of the second stage.' And that felt good.

And right on cue, about a week later, a darts catalogue came through my door. Amongst the myriad of other darts crap I bought (any old shit. I'm such a sucker) I saw the Eclipse Pro (the board I use, and the one they use in the Premier League) next to the Eclipse Pro Trainer, which somehow cost more. I couldn't see why, but then found it has 40% thinner doubles and trebles. This was a revelation to me. What a great idea! Train on that until it feels normal, then a NORMAL board will feel like a walk in the park! Though obviously it would utterly and catastrophically fuck my checkout average, if I could nail the action for a solid treble 20 hit on that bad boy, I'd be sorted. I paid up. ("Including a special micro bull for extra training torture!" It literally says that on the box. No joke.)

The first game I played on it I envisioned weeks of hell on this bastard. Even double 16 seemed harder to find than anyone other than a woman who would say Sarah Jessica Parker is fit.

But after about 4 games, a funny thing happened. I don't know if it was just the extra focus that came with knowing I was playing on such a hard-to-hit board, but I suddenly felt like I was playing on a normal one. The double were dropping in, and even if the trebles didn't, they were landing where they would be in the treble on a normal board. Hell, today I even threw two 22 darters, an 18 darter, and a 180 (this is the difference the extra practice made; before the true 4 hour adjustment, 180s never happened. Now they've started to creep in, and today's was the first one on the Pro Trainer.) I think this board is the best bit of training kit I've ever bought.

In fact, the above average is taken from BEFORE the Pro Trainer. I haven't done it yet, but the majority of checkouts are in the 20s, undoubtedly. However, there's a handful of 40s in there that may shaft the average...sod it, I'm gonna go work it out now. I'm no mathematician, butu to me, if it's 40% harder to finish and score big on, if my average is below a 40% increase, then I'm laughing. Right?....Right? Sod it, let's check.

Fuck me ragged.

Over 96 games, my average number of darts to checkout-on a harder board-is 28.

I've IMPROVED it by one dart.
I need to keep that board up.

It couldn't happen at a better time; after finishing work at probably about 2am, I'm driving to Wales at 7:30am on Sunday to play in the Welsh Open.

Well...Angela is. Wish us luck.

And join the blog as a follower, it only takes a minute!

Stay Hungry,

The Straight Shooter

Thursday 8 April 2010

Day 93-A Hated Sabbatical, The Mystery Man, The Dartmate, The Summer Gauntlet, and of course, The Future Of Darts XI

Hours Of Pratice-130

Average Number Of Darts To Checkout-31

Miles Walked On The Oche-110.5

Far, FAR too long in between updates; this is because I record the number of darts taken to checkout for EVERY game of solo practice I play, and when it comes to add all the scores up and work out the average, it takes a long, long time. I hate the idea of doing an update without it, and so it was one of those things that kept getting put off. I think the answer is to maybe not update the average EVERY blog; we'll see.

That said...in the last 8 weeks, as you can see, I've shaved 6 darts off the average. Not too shabby. Getting it below 26 darts is slowly becoming a possibility...

So what's changed in the last 2 months? Well, for starters, I've left my old practice haunt in The Plough, Cramlington, simply because my girlfriend and I are now living in Derby whilst we find a house to hopefully buy (the pain of a stiff gazumping has not yet left us.)  This is a double edged sword; not having a nice boozer close by with an often-free board has meant I've had to sort out a home darts set-up (more on that later) which has lead to an increase in practice hours (more on THAT later)  but it's also meant I'm not really getting out of the house in the week. This is...troubling. Cabin fever and I have never been the best of friends. I need to address this somehow, and soon, especially as Captain Howdy keeps whispering to me in my sleep that I need to redruM Angela before she tells all the bad people all my special secrets...maybe thinking about strapping the old stomach-injury protecting belt and getting back in the gym might be a good idea after all.

Most annoyingly, shortly after the last blog injury, I caught an illness that laid me low for a good two weeks, during which time not one dart was thrown. When I nervously made my comeback on the dartboard, my average was shot. Badly. It took a long, depressing further two weeks to get back onto winning ways, and annoyingly, my encounter with Steve The Mystery Man came just before I'd really corrected my form.

One evening, upon arriving at The Plough, one of my two pseudo Plough chums (two guys that came in and sat at the bar every day I practiced there. Casual grunted hellos turned into brief conversation and saying bye upon leaving as the weeks progressed, and then questions-"Do you play for a team of something?") turned to the man I was surprised to see on the Oche (normally always empty) and said, "How, Steve, this fella'll give you a game", pointing to me.  I had no idea who Steve was, but even though Steve seemed a bit reluctant to play, we shook hands and started playing, during which time he got more into it once he realised I was reasonable competition. It did become clear, though, after a few games that Steve was a better player than me; if he needed to correct an uneven score, 50% of the time he could hit a treble to correct it in style. I couldn't do that; even now, I'd say it was about 25% of the time that I manage it. But what made it really interesting was that throughout our marathon (19 games in total) three separate people asked Steve, as they entered the pub, questions along the lines of "Oh, Steve, right, you've taken up the darts again?" with mildly excited tones. Every time, Steve dismissively waved his hand and looked at the floor. "No, no..."

Who was this Steve? Why was his comeback to darts a minor league big deal? My mind raced with the possibilities. Former local darting hero? A FALLEN hero perhaps, maybe one who left the sport after killing an innocent spectator with a wild dart thrown in a rage...either way, the final score was 7-12 to Steve. A respectable score for me, I though, against a superior player. I'd love to play him now, see how I'd do.

Anyway, since temporarily moving home, realising that four hours a day (a hard target to hit at the best of times) is next to impossible at home without a dart board and a Mother terrified of even the smallest changes to her home, and also realising that generally I wasn't getting enough practice in when away on weekends working on gigs, I decided it was time to consider investing in a mobile setup. And so I bought a Dartmate (The F.O.D.atron 4000):

http://www.a180.co.uk/shop/product.php?xProd=542

One of the best investments I've ever made, frankly. The difference it's made to my practice is phenomenal. Being able to walk into your living room and throw as opposed to heading to the pub speaks for itself, plus being able to take it anywhere for a game is a big blessing. As you'll see, the number of hours practice I've racked up is nowhere near four hours a day; until I bought the Dartmate I was averaging about an hour a day. The only reason it's as high as it is the amount of extra hours I've gotten in since the few weeks I've had it.

Practice is going well; I've moved on from Round The Clock Doubles to Round The Clock Ledgendary Endurance. I won't go into the rules today, it'll take too long, but I've only done it twice and it took an hour and a half each time. You bust out so much I had a light sweat by the end from the constant pacing. 

I know I said I was going to explain this time why I'm a PDC man through and through, but that's gonna have to wait agai; there's more important news to say. Well, important news, and VERY important news.

Important news first. I have a list of my first tournaments for this year, all throughout the summer. Here it is:

April 5th-Lincolnshire Open

May 2nd-UK Open Regional Qualifier

May 16th-Welsh Open

June 6th-Worcestershire Open

June 20th-Nottinghamshire Open

26th June-England Open

Not too unrealistic, I think; the UK open is particularly exciting. Get tothe last 32 in that one, then I get to play in the Pro qualifiers...unlikely, but hey, fuck it. And yes, the Lincolnshire Open was last week. I paid my £10 entrance money...and forgot it was on. 

But anyway...the BIG news. This saturday is The Future Of Darts World Championships XI. My first tournament test of any kind, and something I want very, very badly to win. 

On paper, it's sewn up. I've practiced 20 times as much as everybody else involved, I was arguably the best player in it even before all this (4 titles, 5 finals, 9 semi-finals. My nearest rival has two titles) and I'm playing the best darts of my life, being easily three times the player I was before.

But then...but then...

Played a few saturdays' pratice with Craigy and Briggsy, and yes, the constant banter and chatting doesn't really allow for a true, focused, competitive game of darts, but the results have ranged from me whitewashing them both, to a draw, to even me taking a loss. Don't underestimate the important of silence and concentration on a proper game, but just knowing that those days weren't always one sided weighs on me a tad.

But then...but then...

The record minimum number of darts taken to checkout at a Future Of Darts World Championships is 15. This has stood for many years, being equalled once but never broken. In the eyes of FOD players, 15 darts is eye-poppingly good, as in everyone in the room screaming drunkenly good. It's usually more like 35-40 darts. Tonight, just for the purpose of this blog really, I played 21 games of FOD Rules darts (can't score until you've hit a double, then 301 down to a double finish) then worked out my average. It was 24 darts, including a 16 and 17 darter.

A few people have said "If you lose the Future Of Darts thing, are you just going to quit?" No, of course not. I'll be gutted, humiliated-and make no mistake, it can happen; it's been a long, long time since I played any deadly serious competitive darts, and all it takes is for the head to go and it's all in the shit-but I'll simply have to see what went wrong and fix it. And then save F.O.D. retirement for another year :-) But if I DO win, one thing I WILL quit will be being a competitive F.O.D. player...a genuinely sad thing.

That's it; if I lose, it can only be self-sabotage. That's it.

Either way, needless to say, I cannot fucking WAIT for saturday, and happily, I'm definitely not the only one. It's been too long since the last F.O.D, and the boys are pumped. It's just a shame that I'm going to have to fucking crush and mangle them all into whimpering little bitches. Pressure? Yes. I've waited-and you could argue-trained for this for a very long time, and this is-again, arguably-my first proper step on the road I've taken. It's a tournament, and for all the fun and hilarious, wonderful nonsense that comes with it, the actual darts played is deadly serious. It's a perfect day for me, and I say that genuinely. Come on boys.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C5LFoe6fblI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52K5tBIg-7c

I'll let you know how I did next week.

Stay Hungry,

The Very, Very Excited Straight Shooter.









Friday 12 February 2010

Day 38-The Long Walk To Greatness, The Rematch, The Aftermath, and An Unexpected Challenge

Numbers Of Hours Practice-60
Average Number Of Darts To Checkout-37.28
Miles Walked On The Oche-51 miles

Now, you may be reading that last line and thinking, 'Hang on, 51 miles? That's a long way! But still 10 times less than The Proclamers would walk!...plus 1 mile. Where are you getting these figures from Luke?' Well, my darting chums, I'll tell you.

On thursday I bought a pedometer, and did a typical hour's practice. At the end of the hour I wrote down the number of steps I'd taken during practice, the obviously got on with the other 3 hours of hardcore darting action. Later, at home, I measured my typical step length, and did the maths; I walk 0.85 miles back and forth on the oche every hour. 60 hours practice therefore equals roughly 51 miles.

Now, that sounds like a lot, but think about it. The average human walking pace is 3-4 miles an hour. Now, that's the speed I'll be walking to the board and back, but I'm stopping every ten seconds to throw darts, so the distance I cover in an hour would be about a third of what it would be normally, which would be 180-240 miles. So all of a sudden, 51 miles sounds about right, doesn't it? You could say people walk all over the place in a day, but, I'm doing that plus the extra walking, which in a 4 hour practice day is about 3.4 miles. That's a lot of walking, and that would explain-laugh all you like-why I've lost weight since I started playing darts. (Although that 8 pint experiment day probably wasn't a contributing factor to that.) Either way, though it's obviously absolutely NO kind of cardiovascular exercise, as long as you're not sinking pint after pint, you ARE getting more walking done than most. Hell, the game involves standing, walking, throwing, and a high level of hand to eye co-ordination. Anyone that says it isn't a sport (even though it's recognised officially as such by all four governing sports bodies of the UK, making it OFFICIALLY a sport) legitimately is an idiot or opening their mouth without looking at the facts. What REALLY winds me up is when you say 'well, it's a sport because X, Y, and Z, so why ISN'T it a sport?' And the best they can come back with is 'Well...it just isn't.' You'll have to better than that, twats.

Anyway. The darts, eh? Just look at that checkout average. Just look at it. Take a moment to absorb it. That 13 DARTS shaved off my checkout average in just 31 days (practice only started on day 7.) That's pretty good going in my book.

But anyway. You want to know how the rematch went after the beating that threw my game temporarily into chaos. Chris and Craigy, the Paul and Barry Chuckle of the West Midlands darts scene. Nah, that's disrespectful, but if you read the previous blog you know full well the psychological damage they inflicted on my good self and my game, making my hours of practice all seem for nought.

This week, Briggsy came along too after following this very blog and eager for his pound of flesh too. Briggsy is no slouch in the darts department, and I would say that on his day he is a better player than the other two, so I was interested to see how this would go. Having been through the psychological doldrums and out again, and back to a higher level ala Rocky 3, I felt relaxed and even excited.

Me and Chris started before the other two got there, and I checked in straight away. I raced away, throwing big darts, and got to a finish well ahead of chris; 83.

Now, a better player would have automatically have gone for treble 17 (51) then the professional's favourite, double 16. But hitting those trebles on demand is extremely difficult, and I had a point to prove; I HAD to be the winner this week. But as I said to Chris at the time, this is practice, and you've got to go for it...and I HAD been hitting the odd treble in practice (other than treble 20, obviously, they're fairly common now) So I went for it. I missed it, cleaned the odd numbers up, got to a finish, and was stuck there for about 18 darts whilst Chris slowly caught up and checked out cleanly. One down. (There's a reason for going into this detail, you'll see why shortly.)

However, the previous week had taken all the toll it could, and I was able to shrug it off, and in the next game, funnily enough, I had 83 again, with three darts to do it. Again, Chris and I looked at each other, shrugged, and I went for it; I hit the treble! Two darts at double 16 and the finish was wrapped up, a great checkout, and beautifully, I did all of this just as Craigy and Briggsy
walked in. It couldn't have been sweeter.


After that, they couldn't get me off the board. I was checking in-and out-with my first dart pretty much every time. I was on fire. Chris was champing at the bit to get back on the oche and have more chances at revenge, but with four of us up there it took longer to get back to the board. When he did get on the oche, I think he had a dose of what I'd had last week. His head was shot, to the point where, in one game, he got that frustrated at his continued inability to check in, he missed with his first two darts and just randomly threw his dart into the board in a rage. I didn't feel any smugness. I could relate. The score at the was Luke 7, every other motherfucker 1. That 1 being Chris' win. The other two didn't get a look in. The call to my girlfriend afterwards was obviously giddy. Vindicated, I was. Vindicated.

Anyway, obviously practice on Monday started with a bang, and I was pleased to realise that I'm now going Round The Clock Doubles in the about the same time it took me to go Round The Clock singles. But the REAL story was on Tuesday.

As I was in Coventry to take my turn running the Whitefriars tuesday night pub quiz, I got my practice in on the excellent darting set up they have at The Chestnut Tree in Chapelfields (they have a buy-4-pints-get-a-fifth-free-stamp-your-loyalty-card system going. Good idea) and towards the end of the third hour I noticed two 40 something chaps come in carrying darts cases. One of them being a particularly large gentleman.

I actually recognised him; about a year ago I was drinking in there with a friend, and their pub darts team were in there practicing. He'd been the team captain.

My first thought was (knowing the Chapelfields league is on a wednesday; we used to be in it, in my first brief run around with darts) it must be a team practice night, and therefore they're not going to want a stranger taking up darting time on their board that could be used by their players.

But then I stopped. Every day when I practice I wish someone would come and say 'Fancy a game, mate?' just to have some competitive practice. Here was a golden opportunity to not only get that, but to play someone who I knew was of a good standard. Someone who a month ago I knew would have beaten me. I really didn't want to, feeling very awkward, but I could see they were thinking 'We've come to play darts, and this guy-handsome as he is-is taking up the board,' but not being rude enough to claim their turf. So I nodded nervously at their cases and said 'Fancy a game?'

They accepted immediately, and whilst they threw some warm-up arrows, I frantically bought a pint and began to chug it. No nerves. No nerves.

They introduced themselves as Jay and Andy, and I played Jay, the former team captain (their team doesn't play anymore, but according to the landlord, he and Andy were in there most nights.)

He threw big darts. So did I. I beat him.

I was over the moon. I didn't really know what to do though; I wanted to be respectful on his turf, so I held my hand out for the traditional shake. He'd already turned his back to get his pint, however, and I was left standing there with my hand out. Just when I thought 'Shit...is this stupid?' he turned around and saw my hand, and there was an awkward pause. Then he said 'Nah, nah, we don't shake hands yet, there's loads more,' and I felt, frankly, like a penis. I just hadn't wanted to seem cocky in victory, like I was brushing him aside once I was done.

As we threw for bull to see who throws first, like an idiot I tried again. 'In all fairness, I'd had a lot more of a warm up than you.' It was meant to be magnanimous, to be gracious in victory, but it just came out wrong. It sounded like I was patronising him. Again there was a bit of a silent pause from Jay whilst he faced the board, and eventually responded with 'Well, it's a funny game, isn't it.'

Was he pissed off? Was he saying it's a funny game because he'd lost?

We played again whilst we waited for Andy, and Jay won this time, after I'd struggled to check in and raced back with big scores, but not fast enough. I scored Jay and Andy's game (surprisingly nervously; I was concerned about getting it wrong, even though I can score effortlessly now.)

I beat Andy (a good player, but on the day worse than Jay) and as I realised Andy was an extremely friendly and affable guy, I realised I nothing to worry about with Jay either. I should have just shut my mouth and got on with it, and the atmosphere was very pleasant, Jay and Andy taking a fag break and asking if I wanted one etc. I told them I found smoking offensive and I liked my lungs exactly the way they are, thankyou very much. Of course I didn't.

Either way, I beat Jay on the return leg, and by the end of the session, the scores were 6 to me, 2 to Jay, and 1 to Andy (not including the scores they took off each other; they are purely the scores between me versus each of them.)

I was absolutely elated. Genuinely overjoyed, for here was progress, and big progress at that. I'd convincingly beaten two guys who I wouldn't have been able to beat a month ago. This was pub league standard, and I was now one of the guys in a pub league that people would have been nervous about playing. I had-have-taken the first step on the ladder. Definitely, definitely, a Big Cock Day. Again, the phone call to the other half was breathless. And I was happy about the darts too, ba-bum tish. And God bless her, she was chuffed to bits for me. And I realised something else; this is not a fad. I'm going all the way. Because the interest isn't waning, isn't fading, it's getting bigger. I love playing darts. And I sincerely hope that you, dear reader, stick with me to the finish.

I've a story to tell about how I've worked out my route into the Professional Darts Corporation, but I've written enough for today, and that's a long one, including my feelings about each of the rival organisations, the PDC and the BDO (British Darts Organisation) and why I'm a PDC man all the way. Phil Taylor is shitting himself.

But I've got to get to practice.

Thanks for reading, and Stay Hungry.

The Straight Shooter.





Thursday 4 February 2010

Day 30-Out Of The Lipstick And Into The Doldrums, Nutritional Experimentation, The Phoenix From The Ashes, and The Comeback Kid

Number Of Hours Practice-45
Average Number Of Darts Thrown To Checkout-Read on...

Ups and downs, peaks and troughs. And Jeez Louise, I have been in a trough, although there may be a light at the end of this tunnel...

The best way I can tell the story is to illustrate it with averages. On the afternoon of Saturday the 23rd of January, my average number of darts thrown to checkout on a game of 501 was 42.3. That's another 1 darts shaved off my previous average. Chuffed, I was, and feeling highly confident about my practice games against my mates Chris and Craigy later on, due to the many hours of practice I had put in compared to their zero hours.

But I reckoned without the pressure factor.

Though I felt confident, I threw badly at first, thinking to much about my throwing action as opposed to just focusing on the board and doing it. I lost the first game; and after that, I went to pot. The pressure on myself was immense; surely I should be crushing these two goofballs? And now I was a GAME DOWN to these people, when I should be crushing them beneath my heels. The frustration began, and every three bad darts I threw it got worse. So did the anger, which fortunately I didn't direct at my two grinning opponents. I did, however, throw my darts into the wooden floor at one point. I make no apologies.

Looking back, I should have known it was a doomed effort; I've not been practicing long enough, nor have I nailed my action enough, for it to hold up under pressure. Plus I was playing a against two former Future Of Darts World Championship opponents who have EVERYTHING to gain by beating Mr Four-Hours-Practice-A-Day, whilst I have everything to lose. They could play with a sense of fun and excitement. I could only play with fear. It was like being on the oche with the Sword Of Damocles swinging over my head. The final score was Chris 7, Craigy 3, me 2. The only consolation was the last two games of the night had me beating the pair of them.

It sat very heavily with me, despite knowing that I'd lost through a poor (equally important) mental game as opposed to being beaten by superior players. It had come down to them having a strong psychological advantage, and I had been good enough mentally to beat it. Plus Chris suddenly played the best darts of his entire life. You won't see THAT again...

Plus, it revealed a major flaw in my game, and one I half expected; there's no practice like competitive play. Thankfully-and perhaps this is unwise-the three of us are going to continue our saturday meets.

Either way, come the following week, I threw myself, and my darts, back into practice with a renewed vigour. But something was different. I was consistently analysing my throw for what I believed had gone wrong. I had been applying the finger flick enough as I released, or wasn't throwing my forearm over my elbow straight enough. As the 26s kept landing repeatedly, the frustration came back within 5 minutes of practice. It wasn't fun, it was torture, and I couldn't work out what the hell was going wrong. It was maddening. Where had all my new skill gone? Why the hell couldn't I sink three into the 20 anymore? Why wasn't my new technique to find the treble 20 working? All that kept happening was the dreaded Bed And Breakfast (single 1, single 20, single 5, all in a row. 2 and six, the once-upon-a-time price of a B and B) and it was enough to make me want to scream.

Something had happened in my head, and I was staggered that the amount of damage one horrific evening of darts against two chumps had done. Overnight, I'd gone from looking forward to practice to dreading it, from delighting in my progression to feeling helpless and confused. It may sound ridiculous, but when you put hours into something, and you suddenly just go shit and don't know why and even worse, can't fix it, then it is deeply unpleasant. My checkout average slumped to 49.2. Drastic steps had to be taken.

I had to calm my head. It was time to experiment with booze.

I took my life in my hands on the thursday and went into Angela's village's working men's club. In Newcastle. In the middle of the day. And I'm not a member. But I could see through the window they had two great boards, so I figured it'd be worth it. And apart from a pleasant conversation with two toothless gentlemen playing pool ("Ah wah jus' seeyin to him like, ah said, ee's a shit at daaahts as we ah at poo-al") I had no other interaction with the locals. All was well.

My thinking was the classic darts player's approach: A few pints to relax oneself and clear the mind, then get started. I had two pints of strong cider before I started, but still felt the same anxieties I'd developed. I realised I perhaps needed another, so got one and carried on playing. But that didn't quite calm the mind either, and the B and B's were still falling. The problem wasn't being fixed. So I had another. Four hours later I'd had 8 pints of Bulmer's, my darts were even worse than when I'd started (114 darts to checkout at one point) and I was fucked. The experiment had achieved nothing, except getting me drunk by myself and leaving me the best part of 25 quid lighter.

On paper, at least, it had been a waste of time. My average was still well into the high 40s, and by the end I could even hit a single 20 out of 9 darts (at one point I hit a 7) and I realised it was probably time to go home, to stagger back to a wonderfully understanding Angela ("Well, in that case, I'll have an amaretto and diet coke." Good on you, gal. :-) ) But it was only very, very late in the session that I realised I'd changed a part of my practice that was probably vital.

In an effort to come back guns blazing after my defeat, and get my average checkout down to new levels of greatness and prove my worth, I'd thrown out the Round The Clock Doubles I'd been playing every five legs, sticking simply to 501. I realised in my drunken haze that this was probably having a very negative effect; the extra focus required to hit the doubles all the way round the board and into the bull would obviously spill over into the next five legs I would play, meaning a better game. Plus, it breaks up the monotony of the repeated 501 game, and helps keep the focus there. Upon realising this, I had a game of Round The Clock, and the following 5 legs proved the theory correct-36, 25 (best yet is 24, done that a few times on other days, but 35 on such a terrible session shows the difference Round The Clock made) 25, 42, and 41.

Ok, 42 and 41 aren't going to set the world on fire, but they're respectable for me at this stage, and either way there was an improvement. Plus I learned something else about my throw.

As I became more drunk, and therefore more lazy, I found the 'release rather than throw' thing seemed to work best when I almost casually swung my arm at the board, more like a cast than a throw. When it was done right, it found the lipstick. This goes utterly against my previous, lifelong (well, darting lifelong) belief of throwing your forearm directly in line with your elbow.

I'd had the theory (backed up by Roland; read his always interesting reflection of yankee doodle life here at rolandhulme.blogspot.com) of releasing rather than throwing half-right. I was doing it, but in a way my arm was uncomfortable with. It wasn't natural. Working, flat viewing, and, more cripplingly, travelling schedules over the last few days stopped me getting onto the oche until yesterday, but in a more sober frame of mind I applied these two revelations into the days practice.

To my great surprise, the cast-throw made the biggest difference to my finishing. I had a far, far happier session, my enjoyment and, more importantly, my confidence returning as the numbers fell and the darts consistently thudded three at a time into the 20, so well in fact I finished the day with a new record checkout average: 40.9. In fact, it was only topped by one of the so-far nameless pair of guys that come into the Plough at about 5 o'clock every day saying 'You should plee-ay for a teeem mee-ate.'

Although he does see me play darts by myself for hours on end most days, so I suppose it's to be expected.

So, to sum up, it appears my day of getting drunk wasn't so fruitless after all. In fact, it could be argued it was a mind-expanding experience that led me to discover hitherto-uncovered facets of my game that have taken me to another level. This can only mean I need to have session ripped to my tits on LSD, trying to hit that pesky treble elephant lawnmower.

Still no tournament shcedule for this year yet. I know, I know; but I WILL do it. And I suppose I may as well mention at least one definite calendar entry for this year.

In possibly the shortest retirement in darting history, I have been cajoled-mainly by Chris Revill, backed by Craig Nicholls and Keith Lawrence-back into the Showcase Of The Immortals. I am officially announcing my return to the FOD for the next Future Of Darts World Championships XI. It's been argued that I need a swan song, and a chance for everyone else to have one poke at me after months of practice, in the hope that I will fold like a minimum wage worker in chinese dry cleaner's under the pressure. I have to admit, I'm extremely glad, and I agree with the logic; I'm not going to be unbeatable to them by then, and it will be a great test. And what better way to kick off a quest to be the future of darts than by winning The Future Of Darts XI?

April 10th. Two months. I want to be well into the 30 checkout zone by then.

Thanks for reading, and Stay Hungry.

The Straight Shooter

Tuesday 19 January 2010

Day 14-Zen Darts, Finding The Lipstick, And Different Kinds Of Targets

Number Of Hours Practice-25
Average Number Of Darts Thrown To Checkout-43.8


Number Of Hours Practice-25
Average Number Of Darts Thrown To Checkout-43.8

The Good News: The pain is pretty much gone, to the point where I only now get a little bit of neck stiffness and a few complaints from the lower back.

Also, as you can see, with only an extra 17 hours practice, I've shaved 9 darts of my average checkout number. I didn't know that figure until I sat down to write this, and only just worked it out; my intial reaction is pleasure that it's a big drop, mixed with disappointment that it's not bigger. This is because I've worked out the way I need to be throwing to find 'the lipstick' (treble 20) more often; and funnily enough it actually came from doing a bit of research into what I could do to avoid the pain in my elbow.

Apparently, a common mistake is for beginners to release the dart and stop their arm moving at the point they let go. Not only is this a mistake in terms of looking after the joint, but also in terms of technique; it's better to let your arm follow through with the throwing motion.

I incorporated this into my practice, and though it felt a little odd at first, I found I threw with better precision, and learned at which point releasing gives me the best odds of hitting the treble. I'm finding it-and getting three darts into the 20 bed-with much greater repitition now. And with that has come the knowledge of how best to adapt that motion for the upper, middle, and lower parts of the board. So that's good too. It;s just that I've been doing it so much more I half expected my average to be in the 30s somewhere. But it's obviously not happening enough. (I know it's only halfway through the second week, but still...)

And also in the good news column, I'm still waking up every day excited about playing darts. I'm still thoroughly enjoying the practice, although I've struggled sometimes in the evening sessions to find pubs with dartboards that aren't being used (and often sometimes pubs that have a board at all, these two factors meaning only an hour's practice one day last week.)

I've also discovered what I think of as the Zen factor of darts. As someone who is generally anxious a lot of the time (usually manifesting itself in the form of guilt, or that I should be doing something more productive even during times set aside for watching a film etc, or that there is something I should be doing but I can't think of what it is) I take a great, great pleasure in losing myself in the board. All I'm there to do is get the darts inbetween the little wires, and concentrate on the technique required to do so. Then there's the logical cognitive process of the deductive scoring, and working out the best finish to checkout. Again, nothing else to worry about there. Just me, the board, and knowing that's all I have to worry about for the next two hours. And yes, I'm serious about all that.

And my finishing is improving to the point where I've stopped doing normal Round The Clock and have started playing it with doubles. I've even gotten two doubles out of three darts a few times, and I really feel like I'm learning the best way to throw to each individual one. So that's good too...

Ok. The bad news...

...isn't really that bad actually. It's just my usual problem of focus.

Yes, I train with an iPod on to keep it interesting (plus, I think this is good training for working at a distraction, as you'll never play in total silence) and this doesn't unfocus me as a rule. What does is that, on occasion, with my ever-chattering-away brain, my mind wanders. And of course, I don't realise this until I wonder why three darts are in the 9, the wall, and my groin respectively. It means I throw without concentrating, or just start rushing my throws without realising, and this costs my average dearly. Having realised it, I've started a rule: Never throw until I'm utterly certain and aware what I'm throwing for, and have told myself so. It's kind of a double check, and although it's easier to say rather than remember, I'm getting better.

And my thumbtip has healed after being cut up by repeatedly catching the burrs on the dart barrels. That should go in the good news column...

However, I've learned how far I have to go just to get to the 'Pretty Good' level.

In the book 'Murder On The Darts Board' by Justin Irwin that I'm reading-a true story by the guy who attempted to do what I'm doing, and a thoroughly good read so far, I highly recommend it-he goes to a county tournament, at which there's guys from amateur to semi-pro level, and roughly works out the average number of darts to check out across the tournament. It's 24 to 27 darts. Look above for the comparison.

Yes, I've shaved off 9 darts in a week, but I don't expect it to continue going down at that level. I should imagine that as I go on, shaving those last few off will get harder and harder. But we'll see.

I'm going to get online and look at the open county and regional tournaments coming up across the year, and set out a calendar of events I'm going to take part in, hopefully progressing further with each one as the year continues. I should hopefully have that VERY exciting (for me, anyway) list ready for next time.

Plus, there's early rumblings of my FOD retirement lasting less than a fortnight; I announced it as I felt I'd have an unfair advantage in terms of practice, but more than one FOD member has expressed a desire for me to play in one last tournament to a: give me a proper swan song, and b: for the crack of watching me buckle under the immense pressure of being the man who has played four hours a day, five days a week for several months. But it'll have to be the majority, so we'll see...

Sorry to write such a factual, here's-what's-been-going-on blog tonight. I know that's kind of the point, but I like to add a bit more of my thoughts and other factors that have been going on, but I'm pushed for time again and I have to get the important stuff out. Basically, leaving it so long inbetween blogs has meant I have a lot of updating to do here (due to an utterly avoidable laptop screen breakage that will cost £140 to fix, bastaaaaaaaaard) and therefore not allowing much time for meandering. Don't worry; there will be much meandering in future. Lucky you.

Stay Hungry,

The Straight Shooter

Tuesday 12 January 2010

Day Seven-The Actual, Physical Agony And The Ecstasy

Total Hours Practice: 8
Average Number Of Darts Thrown To Checkout: 52.4

My entire spine hurts.

My neck is stiff, my lower back aches, my trapezius muscles crunch, and either side of my right elbow is starting to complain. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Darts Pain Barrier.

This is as a result of the first two days of the new, four hours of practice a day darts regime. I had suspicions of possible elbow complications (during my first time around with darts, I got carried away and played one day in the flat for hours. I strained the tendon in my elbow, and went out and bought an elbow support. I love darts accessories with a burning, gullible passion that is an salesman's dream, but that is a blog subject for another day) but never expected the spinal issues I'm currently experiencing.

I think this is due to A: being slightly too short to have a comfortable view of the board (just scraping 5'10 in good shoes; I think 6 foot plus and your head is at an ideal height to view the whole board, with minimal neck strain should you be there for hours at a time) thus giving me the neck strain and B: discovering I throw better with more of a lean from the oche line, thus giving me the lower back pain.

To be honest, these should pass, but bloody hell this was unexpected.

But anyway. The regime itself.

I'd forgotten how much I love to play. Darts is a fantastic game, and every throw is an opportunity. There's nothing like it, in my book. But even if you disagree, I've thoroughly enjoyed the initital sessions, even if I know there will be a time when I can't stand the sight of tungsten. I may even develop an allergy. That'd just be typical...

I've started a simple system of practice: five games of 501 (throwing three darts at a time and totalling up your score, then deducting it each time from steadily downwards from 501. You must reach zero with your last dart hitting a double. Anything over zero and you go back to whatever your score was before your last turn) and then one game of Round The World/Round The Clock (throwing upwards to 20 by hitting sequential numbers-1,2,3-then outer bullseye then centre bullseye to finish.) Then repeat the whole thing for two hours, at which point I have something to eat (either in the pub or some sort of packed lunch; so far it's all been pub) and then switch venues to another pub so I don't get cabin fever and go on a claustrophobia induced naked killing spree.

You may have noticed I'm playing in pubs, not at home. Yes, playing at home is possible, but speaking from experience, being in the house all day is a bastard (for those of you that don't know, I only work weekends as a singer. It's a nice job, but shit for your social life) so I decided to make this interesting by playing in different pubs every day (two hours in two pubs.)

I've been keeping a record of how many darts it takes me to checkout (finish) on 501 with each leg, the idea being that I can find out my average score and hopefully watch it get smaller over time, giving me a record of my progress. A bust-out is classed as 3 darts taken. The scores have ranged from the-at this stage-sublime (24) to the ridiculous (109.) Admittedly, the highest and worst scores have all come from-you guessed it-The Madhouse.

To the unititated, The Madhouse is a double 1 finish. Not only does it mean you've played a fucking shit leg of darts (as the odds are you kept hitting the single versions of whatever double you were going for-and therefore missing-andc slowly worked your way down to a pitiful double 1) but it means you're in for a nightmare. If you missed any other double on your first dart-say, double 16 (32)-and hit the single 16 instead, obviously, you'd be left with 16. This means you still have a chance of finishing on that turn with your other two darts (hit a double 8, and if you miss and hit a single 8, you can go for double 4, etc)

But with double one, you're fucked. You hit a single 1, that's it, there isn't a double 1/2; it's back to the oche. And it's the most frustrating thing in the world...

But anyway, here's the scores from the last two days (8 hours). You don't have to read this bit if you don't want to, you can just skip to the average score, but here it is, direct from the text I saved on my phone:

88, 108, 35 (64)-the number in the brackets means a decent checkout, in this case 64-44(55), 47, 42, 44, 44, 52, 58, break for dinner, 102, 33, 33, 64, 50, 75, 52, 32, 42, 54, 57, 33, 56, DAY TWO-104, 59, 47, 91, 27, 36, 32, break for dinner, 34, 61, 40, 46, 45, Change venue, 98, 47, 38, 57, 41, 40, 42, 48, break, 57, 67, 31, 40, 42, 24 (152)-we'll come back to this in a second-33, 100.

That's right; a 152 checkout. That was treble 20, treble 20, and under self-induced pressure, a double 16 to finish. I was so delighted that I couldn't stop myself from spinning around with my arms spread to face the 6 guys at the bar. They hadn't noticed either the throw or the spin fortunately, as I realised once I'd done it that it kind of looked like I was offering them all out.

Anyway, by workings (which may be wrong) the average number of darts taken to check out from those legs played is 52.4.

It's a start.

Now for my muscle soak bath. What an athelete.

Thursday 7 January 2010

Becoming A Professional Darts Player-Day TWO

First things first; I need some new darts.

Technically, I don't NEED new darts as such; I have a very nice set, and actually probably three or four other sets left with me by friends after various tournaments, but I've never seemed to get on with these narrow, straight barrelled, more modern ones. I need a set like the set I played my best darts ever with, the set that won me three back to back FOD World Championship victories. I need a set with a lil' curve in the barrel.

Unfortunately, darts buying is a surprisingly harsh minefield. You buy them online ('Ooh, they look nice, just the right size and shape') then they turn up and they're not as heavy as advertised, too short, etc etc. You go to your local JJB and the selection is either A: Shit, B: Sold out, or C: mainly brass darts as thick as lead pipe. For the unititated, modern darts tend to be a mix of 80% tungsten and nickel, the high density of tungsten meaning that you can get the right weight with a thinner barrel. It's also very hard wearing. And I fully intend for these fuckers to be getting a lot of wear.

This means, therefore, the best place to find darts tends to be small, privately owned, sporting accessory stores; they have a better selection that the chain stores generally, and more variety. A quick Google search on 'sports shops Derby' revealed the suspected JJB's and Argos...es (Argi?) and one promising looking gaff in Borrowash. A 20 minute drive later revealed a small outlet full of cricket pads, football studs, whistles, snooker cues, etc. Perfect.

Except they had one packet of darts in the whole fucking shop.

And he had to get them out of the back.

Apparently they tended to order in, which was annoying, and even more annoying the barrels were the perfect shape. For a second, I got very excited, but then I saw the weight; 21 grams. No good. I'm a 27 gram man. (Not literally. I was up to 13 stone last year.) I tend to have a more lobbing, lift-and-drop throw; lighter darts can't drop the way I need them to. Blast.

However, he very kindly recommended a shop a 15 minute drive away in Long Eaton (thank God I got a stat nav for christmas) and as the guy in the other place had rightly claimed, there was a big stand full of the things great.

Straight away I saw the perfect set-the only ones on the stand that were the right shape, and only one packet left at that. Naturally, my heart sank as I realised the odds of that one remaining packet of the one correct shape being the right weight were less than zero.

Incredibly, they were 27 grams.

Elated, I snatched them up, only to hear the guy behind the counter say 'Do you wanna try them out? ' I looked to my right, and there was a dartboard set up.

This, I should point out, was the stuff of fabled times gone by. Back in the days of my first time round with darts, in the days of playing for one season with the Whitefriars pub team I started, the older guys used to talk about a shop in Coventry that had a board set up specifically for the purpose of trying before buying. This was always during times when we had a go with each other's arrows, seeing which were better than others, and lamenting just having to buy darts of the shelf without seeing if you actually got on with them. The idea of this board in a shop with modern, pre-packaged darts that could be taken out of the boxes, tried, and then put back if you didn't like them was unthinkable.

"Ok," I said to the fella (who probably really didn't give a shit seeing as it turned out he was filling in, usually working in the bike shop next door) "If I can throw..." I thought about it. Keep it realistic, for God's sake. "...over 40 with three darts, I know I'm off to a good start and I'll take them." He shrugged, doing a good job of seeming nonchalant despite his massive internal excitement.

Thud, thud, thud. 58.

"I'll take them."

An outer bull (good line, bad height; wasn't ready for the weight) a recalibrated after the first shot 20 (right on the wire of the treble) and a random 13. Hardly electrifying, admittedly, but at last they felt right in my hand. Haven't had that for a while (which would explain a dip in form in the last FOD...)

Either way, I have my arrows of outrageous fortune (22 bastard quid?? Aah, the sponsorship money will cover it.) Getting the rest of this week out of the way, and rigorous discipline starts Monday. RIGOROUS. DISCIPLINE.

4 hours a day, minimum 5 days a week.

That's a lot of darts.

Tuesday 5 January 2010

Becoming A Professional Darts Player-Day One

Fuck it. It's time to get serious.

After 10 classic tournaments-and still being the only man to win back-to-back FOD World Titles, not just once, but three in a row, and the only one of two men (well, one man and one half man/half dog) to win more than one title, and the only man to win more than two tournaments (becoming a four time FOD World Champion)-it is with a very heavy heart that I am officially announcing my retirement from the Future Of Darts world championships.

OBVIOUSLY, I shall still organise, compere, and attend the event (as it extremely dear to my heart, and still the best crack to be had in a room full of men) but I shall no longer be entering as a player.

No doubt this will be met with a mixture of dismay (no one gets to test themselves against the man) and delight (with one of the biggest guns in the FOD organisation gone, everyones road to the top gets that little bit easier) but I feel I should explain my reasons.

Finding myself watching the lamentably now small-time BDO World Championships (again) and getting excited about Darts (again) and thinking about Justin Irwin's 'Murder On The Darts Board' again, I've decided to commit.

For those of you that don't know, I heard about Justin Irwin a couple of years ago, before his book came out. It's his own true story, based around one simple assumption; that if you put the hours of practice in, and have a modicum of ability to play the game, you can compete in Darts at the top level. The resulting novel is a story of his journey. I don't know how it turned out (I should imagine, due to not seeing him in the Premier League, it probably led to failure) but I'm not going to let that put me off. I thought it was a great idea when I heard it, and though I hate to copy ANYONE'S ideas, I'm having a go.

I kind of started this about the same time I first heard of Mr. Irwin, but it lasted about a week, due to a time of major upheaval in my life, so it's time to make it this year's project. Last years is day's away from completion (finishing the second draft of my novel) and I'll be following that up this year with attempts to get the sodding thing onto the right desks of the right people, but taking centre stage is going to be the Darts.

Hence my departure from the FOD World Championships; the amount of practice I'm going to be putting in (four hours a day) will frankly be vastly more than that put in by the other competitors (barring, of course, the week before the tournament when every one goes nuts with the practice and pretends they haven't, leading to sudden, unexpected, dramatic upturns in skill level. Steve Revill, I'm looking at you) and therefore it would give me a major and unfair advantage. I could lie, and keep it secret, but not only do I respect the tournament too much to do so, but it would only make me a paper champion, and lord alone knows the last thing we need is another one of those...

Here's my thinking, anyway. I have all the free time in the world, all week, every week, due to being a professional musician and singer on the weekends. So there's that; I have a MAJOR advantage over anyone wanting to get into Darts. I have the time.

And if I were to get the skills necessary, what do we currently have in the world of professional darts? Fat, old, boring, unattractive men that have zero charisma (barring Taylor. In terms of charisma and boringness only, obviously.)

Then you have me, and let's be blunt here, compared to the faces we see on the TV I'm Brad Pitt. I'm young, not unattractive, slim, and though you may argue with the other bits there, there's one thing that can't be denied; put me on the microphone and I'll talk so much outrageous, arrogant, wrestling bad guy shit that people that don't even watch Darts will be tuning in to see either what I've got to say or to see me get my ass handed to me. I'd be so different, I'd be massive. I'd do for Darts what Alex Higgins did for Snooker.

Obviously, though...that's all a far way off. So here's this year's goal.

Within the next 12 months, I intend to enter-and win-an amatuer level open regional tournament.

If you're at all interested in following my progress, then sign up as a follower, then I THINK you get email notifications of anything new. Alternatively, you might just not give a fuck.

Wish me luck.

The Straight Shooter

PS While you're at it, go to YouTube and type in Future Of Darts to see some beautiful montages to music of drunken men in the throes of sporting glory.