The true sport of kings!

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by fish-head, Jan 4, 2005.

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  1. Never has so much class been in the same room at the same time. Why this sport does not receive more televised coverage I will never know.

    Darts is the true sport of kings.

    There was a rumour that both Burberry and Elizabeth Duke had stalls at the door and were doing a roaring trade. Obviously, the players themselves cannot be seen to wear something so garish, they have those tops, class, the best guys have their name on the back and matching flights on their ‘arrows’. Perhaps we can consider adopting the shirts as some kind of uniform and matching weapon covers. It would be great.

    I am a little bemused with the balance aid that some of the players seem to be wearing. I am sure those sovereign rings are not decorative, the better and richer the players get the more weight they seem to sport on their knuckles.

    Imagine the car park, it must be creaking at the edges with all those top notch motors, no boring sensible cars, they will all be unique and customised. With sylish exhausts and chic lowering jobs, the place will be a delight. It seems strange though to make all those cars travel from Essex to… anywhere else.

    But this afternoon, it reached its climax for me, literally. The ladies were on the box. Such a bunch of posh totty is unlikely to be seen out of Kings Road normally. It was a pleasure to sit and wait while it over-ran into the start of The Heros of Telemark’.

    The way darts has gone from being a game that some fat bloke played down the pub, to an event, filled with the finest men and women, fit to draw international audiences is a credit to mankind.
  2. Not just an event, it's a sport you know....
  3. Geezer wot I new from Robinson, Cantab used to go with friends for a few years when it was in Essex and Play Bromhead - "I'll have my man clean your kit", "Think I outrank you, old boy", etc.

    Tried it in Avonmouth (Brisl) on a course with the local CID and was shoepied.

    Verdict - Hook's the man for you!

    Wooster Tricky NDBollock VFRunt FAWB
  4. Darts is the sport of CHAV! They're taking over scummy buggers. The next tournament is going to be sponsored by Elizabeth Duke and Burberry! You watch and see! Fat Burberry clad darts players with huge customised signet balance rings. ARRAZ!!!!!
  5. 'Kin Shite

    I need to get that BBCi b0ll0cks to see the final. I mean really, why do I pay my license fee?
  6. It would be easy to be fooled by the demeanour of what some might imagine to be the 'average' professional dartist. They have to dress in the Burberry gear on TV to conform to a sponsorship deal which the broadcasters have done, and most of them hate it.

    In reality, pro-dartsters are an elite brotherhood of warrior-monks who are given up at birth by some of the most aristocratic families in the country and transported to a Buddhist Monastery in the foothills of the Tibetan Himalaya. There, after being exposed on the icy slopes of Kanchenjunga for their first night, the survivors are initiated into the ancient martial art of Ah-Rers. Over the next twenty years, every waking hour is spent either throwing darts or learning transcendental meditation mind-control techniques which will allow them to throw straight and true, despite having consumed fifteen pints of Tennents Super with Jack Daniels and Bacardi chasers.

    The final test is awesome: the initiate monk must consume two family variety buckets of KFC and a deep-pan Pizza Hut large meat feast; drink twenty pints of Strongbow; and throw a nine-dart finish, blindfolded and with white-hot 'arrows', whilst neither wetting his pants, following through nor vomiting. Thereafter, the survivors receive the symbols of their order: a gold sovereign lookalike ring, a Peugeot 106 with spoiler and extra false exhaust pipes, and a wardrobe of simple, monkish, lycra darts-shirts. The newly recognised members of the order then pledge allegiance to the Grand Master of their order, the Earl of Essex.

    Hard is the path and long is the road.

  7. Still a f*ckin game played in pubs by fat chavs.