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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.