The art of darts

I don’t watch television, which – given I’m a TV producer – is a little unusual. I suppose, just as professional chefs so often confess to living off cheese toasties, there is little joy to be had in bringing the office home. I make only one exception: the darts, which I am confident in saying is television in its purest and highest form.

What makes it so compelling is that it is, fundamentally, a character-driven sport. The players choose their own walk-on songs, outfits and nicknames. And while not every player will go the full Peter ‘Snakebite’ Wright (who coordinates wacky outfits with his multi-coloured mohawk for every game), many create larger-than-life personas.

But unlike the scripted characters churned out by TV writers’ rooms, the men and women on the Ally Pally stage are beautifully three-dimensional, their skill matched only by their raw vulnerability. Despite substantial winnings and not insubstantial fame, as a general rule players come from working-class backgrounds. Bradford-born Joe Cullen used to work as a postman, and Jonny Clayton was a plasterer for a Welsh council when he won the Premier League.

The pressure of this sport is unrelenting.  Resilience is rewarded. Tournament after tournament, the next hot young talent comes up against one of the game’s old hands. Inevitably, after a set or two of astonishing scoring, the seemingly unbeatable junior will start to buckle under the bright lights and the pressure of the crowd to be beaten by a player who has built up fortitude over years.

Even seasoned pros are not immune. Last year, former number one Gerwyn Price returned to the stage 2-0 down wearing comically large ear protectors to block out the sound of the audience, who were doing their best to distract him.