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Ruralite Cafe: Published 4/20/00By Rose HooperDartists hang tighter than Queen's corset |
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Lynn is out of the office for a few weeks and graciously agreed to share her column space. Her writing about Scott and his fish and Lisa's story about Niki and the wallpaper prompted me to write about my son, Charles, who now lives in Cary.
This weekend he and a bunch of his buddies came to Asheville to compete in the Fire in the Mountain Classic Dart Tournament. O.K., I admit I don't know much about this sport that obsesses Charles. But after three days of being with all those dartists, I did learn a few things. Like forget first names. Everybody has a "game name." Charles goes by Mr. Clean - after his shaved head. When the announcer called out, "On board four it's Rodeo Girl and the Big K.C. and on board six it's Hamlet and DJ's Choice," I was reminded of horse racing... "In gate four we have Best of Show and on the inside gate it's Sea Biscuit." Then I thought for sure we'd be going outside to some field when the announcer said, "Next match up is men's singles cricket." I learned fast that even if they are playing mixed triples, when they refer to "three is a bed" it doesn't mean a mad dash back to the motel room. It's three darts on the same number. If you were just listening to them talk, you'd think they were pharmacists or drug dealers. "25 grams is best." "No, you need at least 30." "But you can't exceed 55 grams, no matter what." Turns out to be the weight of the dart. The different throwing styles amazed me. One player I watched consistently brought his dart up to the level of his right eye before throwing. Charles, excuse me, Mr. Clean told me the sport involved hand-eye coordination, but I'm not sure this is what he meant. One rather large fellow, nationally ranked in the top 20, must have really had his ying in balance with his yang. He leaned so far forward that I thought he'd pitch over, but he managed to maintain his form, even after much liquid refreshment, and his feet never went over the line. I learned how you throw is not important. What's important is consistency. Women are treated as equals in this sport, and all ages and the handicapped can play. You don't need any fancy sporting clothes; wearing distinguishable shirts can be to your disadvantge. Like when the announcer called out, "Sancho - yes, he's the one in the green Champions T-shirt - Sancho was last night's low scorer. That's Sancho - one and done!" While clothes don't matter, shoes do. Never wear sandals, a top thrower from Raleigh told me as she retrieved her darts from the board and one fell on her foot. Look out, Mel Gibson and Danny Glover, darts can be lethal weapons. I bet you aren't allowed to even carry them on school grounds. The camaraderie among dartists impressed me. After mixed triples I asked a player how his team did and he said, "We had our backs against the wall once or twice, but this group of blimey blokes held together tighter than the Queen Mum's corset." When you are playing darts, time can slip away, Mr. Clean, who won more matches than he lost, told me. "But you know you've been up all night playing when you walk out the club door and greet early morning joggers," he said. |
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