Bullseye Britain

It’s been a depressing few months, hasn’t it? The papers are full of stories about British decline. In such trying times it’s a comfort to turn to an activity in which Britain still rules. I speak, of course, of darts. Most of the world’s greatest games were made and built in Britain but in football and cricket and rugby and so much else the rest of the world long since over-took the original masters. That’s the problem with globalisation.

Darts, however, remains a Great British Success Story. For all that darting missionaries preach the gospel of the oche overseas, this country still reigns supreme on the dartboard. The rise of China threatens to overwhelm Britain’s traditional supremacy in snooker, but even though a Japanese darter won a preliminary round match at this year’s championships, Britain retains its comparative advantage when it comes to barrel-chested middle-aged men flinging 20 gram pieces of tungsten at a tiny target.

A trip to the PDC World Darts Championships at Alexandra Palace in north London offers a reminder that this country can still do some things rather well. Here the modern anthropologist will witness tribal rites peculiar to these islands. There, for example, is the authentic dress of the British male at play: large men dressed as babies, policemen, poncho-wearing Bolivian bandits, a gaggle of superheroes and, in the corner there, a chap dressed as a banana. Outside the arena, there’s a brisk trade in ‘Bellies and Bullseyes’ darts-shirts that will cover, if not flatter, even the most fashion-backward figure. Drink is sold by the pitcher and for just £15 the worst pizza you’ll eat all year is delivered to your table. It’s useful for soaking up spilt lager.

There are times, particularly in the evening sessions after a hard day’s drinking and darting, that the crowd reminds one of the Duke of Wellington’s verdict on his own army: ‘I don’t know what effect these men will have on the enemy, but by God, they terrify me.’