As previously mentioned,I bought an inexpensive dart board a few months ago, and put it up on the wall in my shed. I took shot after shot at the bulls-eye and numbers around the board  for 40 minutes or so – thoroughly wearing myself out in the process, and that was that.

I had dart-elbow the next day, and when it faded I promptly forgot all about the dart board. Well, almost forgot about it. You see, late at night I began hearing strange thump, thump, noises. At first I dismissed it, putting it down to a branch bumping the roof or a new game, all the rage with the possums in our roof. But, after a while it began to bug me, and as I snuck a peek out of my window to investigate, I saw the light on in my shed and a strange shadow dancing across the floor.

‘The Dozer’ was secretly hanging out and playing darts late at night.

This covert behaviour carried on for many nights. Sometimes I’d even wake up to the same thumpy-thumpy sound in the early morning too – rather like water from a dripping tap thumping onto a cold steel basin.

My suspicions were stirred and I was wondering if he was readying himself to challenge me to a serious match. After a good long time, time enough for me to have grown use to the new sound and forget my suspicions, he was ready. And one night after he’d thrown a great round, ‘The Dozer’ invited me for a impromptu game.

“Sure” I said, grabbing my gumboots.

We decided on the rules of our game, and I was given the good darts to have a few throws first, to get the feel of ‘em. Taj and Mazie (our dog, and the neighbour’s dog) were tangled around our legs, but we began.

Without warning, I shot out in front, and won the first game. Shaken and shocked, ‘The Dozer’ gathered up all his concentration and fought back, even resorting to psyching me out, to throw me off my aim.

But game after game, I kept winning. 5-0.

An astounding result, seeing as he is all precision eye and made of muscle, while I’m all softness. However, it did take all my brain power, every ounce of focus, and I ended up drenched in sweat.

We called it quits for the night. But ‘The Dozer’, needing to regain his confidence and big brotherly pride, issued a rematch for the next night (a man can’t be losing to the ‘lil sister, and all that.. especially after all his practising).

Out next match started out dismally for me. I had weary muscles and a tired focus. But, after I fell into my stride, and regained a comfortable stance, I claimed another victorious round of games.

It was a while before we had another match. And this time my focus was patchy, and I dipped down, but then powered through to win again.

In a fit of frustration ‘The Dozer’ played his last card and challenged me to one final game. An extra round, where the winner would take all and be crowned the champion of the whole three matches.  

I was pale and exhusted from the effort of my third win, but I took up the challenge. 

 ’The Dozer’ designed a new game. He had to hit every dart segment in sequence eg. 1, 2, 3. I had to hit every third segment in a clockwise direction. Then to win, he had to finish with hitting the inner bulls-eye, while I had the hit the outer bulls-eye, or get three darts into the one segment, in one go.

He can get bull-eyes at will (though obviously it much easier to do when I’m not around), but I’ve never managed to hit the bull-eye, nor hit three darts in one segment, no matter how many tries I’m allowed.

We commenced the winner takes all ‘final world championship round’ and with fire in his belly, ‘The Dozer’ quickly outstripped me. Then suddenly, I had a lightening streak and got three correct segments in one go. But couldn’t repeat my success.

Meanwhile he got stuck at number 13, giving me the smallest breathing space. I progressed again. And he remained stuck.

Finally, I was all caught up, it was my go again and all I had left to do was to hit a bulls-eye.

I tried three times, and failed. By then The Dozer had leveled with me.

I had one more chance before he too would be shooting for the bulls-eyes.

We both knew he’d win with his next dart, he had the fire burning and churning, and one dart would make up for losing all three matches.

With my one last chance, I changed tactics. I decided I’d try to get three in one segment. With a tired arm I aimed for the bull-eyes in hopes of my arm dropping and the dart landing in the ’3′ segment.

And, that’s what happened. I made it.

We both caught our breathes, as I quickly attempted to repeat my glorious  success. Unbelievably, the second dart followed the exact same trajectory and landed… in the previous dart!

“Wa!!! No way!” We both exlcaimed.

But then the world went silent and time stood still, because there was still one more dart to go, and how could I fit the third dart around the double-decker one, and how could I repeat my (already repeated) impossible feat!

I thought of the line the previous dart took, and put an extra little bounce in my knees to try and give the dart a slightly higher arc to ease it over  the first two, while still landing in the ‘3′ segment on the board.

The dart left my fingers and wavered a little side-to-side, then miraculously landed right where I had envisioned it would.

Rapturous squeals and jumping around erupted, and lots of “I can’t believe it!”’s and “did that really just happen”’s.

The ‘Dozer was the proud big brother he always is, and like the big kids we are, we rushed in to regale my Mum with the whole story.

These photos are the true and real evidence of my greatest sporting (and perhaps, personal) achievement.

 

I’ll never play darts again.

…… plus, I don’t think ‘The Dozer’ wants to play any more.