I watched Premier League Darts: the professional tossers

I was surfing on the remote control the other day and amongst all the millions of television people who live in the magic little machine I came across a dart competition. And you know what? I watched Premier League Darts for you.  It drew me right in, right. In the way that a car crash draws you right in and demands your attention just enough to call emergency services.

After watching 35 seconds of the internationally-broadcast, Liverpool-hosted Premier League Darts competition on Foxtel, I was hooked. 

Yeeeesssss, innit

If you were to go there in person with a ticket, presumably a Darts Biatch is standing at the entrance with a breathalyser, and if you are intoxicated with alcoholic beverages to a state of being over the absolute tosser limit, you are welcomed with open arms. Come in, lads!

The first thing I noticed was the crowd. It was hugely huge. Huge even. Actually, quite big. You could say huge-gantic. So many lads. Why are you so obsessed with the crowd size? Move on, man. There’s other things in the world than the size of your crowdhood.

Anyway anyway, look, I know Liverpool is cold, rainy, boring and, well, Liverpool at this (any) time of the year but, jesus people, it’s darts. There are at least three other decent things you could be doing with your Saturday afternoon in Liverpool and you picked this one? I really must stop judging absolute tossers. Or cut down a bit at least.

The fun thing about televised darts though is you can’t help but notice the drunken lads in the background, which is refreshingly entertaining because watching darts is extremely dull. I mean, honestly. As it turns out, being intoxicated with alcoholic beverages at a professional darts competition is an absolutely crucial component in being able to tolerate watching professional darts for hours.

So the dart-tossers stand a few metres away from the board and somewhere in the middle of that stands the referee/compere/adult which made me nervous until I realised that dart tossers are actually very good tossers and only very occasionally nail one into the back of the compere’s head. Look, I imagine there are plenty of ways to die in Liverpool on a Saturday afternoon, and a dart in the skull is a relatively tame way to go, I"m pretty sure.

Much like many sports to me, the scoring makes no sense whatsoever. No-one else knows what’s going on either it seems, which accounts for all the fireworks, the drunken football crowd singing and the disturbingly sober cheerleaders. But this sport is clearly a BIG DEAL and I’m quite scared of drunken or sober Liverpudlians so I’ll let them have it, innit.