Darts and Death Threats

As a wide-eyed seventeen year old from a good neighbourhood, there were parts of our city I’d never been to and only knew from their notorious reputations.

When I joined the ladies darts team at my local pub, I thought it would be fun, lighthearted and where winners and losers would shake hands and maybe share a drink before the visiting team left.

I was wrong.

So wrong.

My then boyfriend was a darts and pool fanatic and as his regular practice partner, I somehow got good at both games. As I began beating him, I attracted the attention of the ladies darts team captain and she invited me onto the team.

My first game was a home game we won easily against the team at the bottom of the league. There were scowls on all six sour faces as they tossed back their drinks, grabbed their coats and bags and left without a word. I was shocked. It was just a game.

Wasn’t it?

By the time I’d played four or five matches, I was hitting my stride and threatening to nudge my friend Julie off the top scorer podium, but I was still just having fun and shaking my head as each opposing team showed every sign of being sore losers.

And then it happened. We were drawn against the team with the most notorious reputation in the regional championships and there was silence as my team mates took in the news. I looked around at their worried faces, still bewildered at how seriously this whole thing was being taken.

The captain turned to me:

Alex, I want you to sit this one out, love. There might be trouble.

What? No way!

She exchanged looks with the more senior players and they each in turn did their best to dissuade me. I was having none of it, I wanted to play.

My boyfriend too, was worried, even more so when the shocking news of just how far this pub would go to get back at anyone who beat them, reached us. Their men’s team had lost their first round championship match and one of their supporters had set fire to the opposing team’s minibus!

Shit! For a game of bloody darts?! What the hell!

Our game was the following week, on their turf not ours, and our captain was clear about the plan for the night. We were to sit as close to the exit as we could, nobody was to go to the toilet alone, nobody was to drink too much or look at the other team in a way that could be deemed antagonistic or gloating.

She asked me again if I was sure I wanted to play. I did.

The drive to the rough part of town was almost silent and as we drew closer, I looked out at the rows of graffitied boarded up shops and council houses, abandoned cars and sofas in front gardens. I was mesmerised. I’d led a sheltered life.

Our minibus driver told us he would stay in the bus and around the time he anticipated us finishing, he’d run the engine until we appeared.

Bloody hell, a getaway driver, what the hell was this!

As we filed into the pub, there was silence. As I looked around at the sea of unfriendly faces, I realised then that this wasn’t a game to them and it wasn’t about darts.

The game began and I was throwing well, as was my friend Julie. A couple of the older ladies were intimidated and it showed, so we lost the first of the three games. There were sneers and jibes but we ignored them and the second game began. This time we were all playing well and we took the game decisively.

I was first up in the final game and you could’ve heard a pin drop as I threw 100. Julie followed me with another solid 100 and suddenly the tension in the room was palpable. I flashed a look around the room and saw that the bar was full. Not one face was anything but hostile.

Mid-game there was a break as one of their players wanted to change the dartboard, saying it was too soft and darts were falling out. Ours weren’t, but our captain had no objections and theirs headed off somewhere to get a different board.

Realising I was desperate for the toilet, I grabbed Julie and we slunk off to the Ladies. I was washing my hands when three of their meanest looking players came in. One of them came straight to me, her coal-black eyes on mine and her hard, lined face pulled into a grimace. She grabbed my wrist, raising my hand until it was between our faces.

Wouldn’t it be shame if anything happened to these lovely young fingers?

Her voice was quiet, calm, and all the more threatening for it. This was serious shit.

Or worse, much worse, whispered one of the others.

I swallowed.

It’s just a game, not life or death. I tried to keep my voice lighthearted.

We’ll see about that, won’t we!

Their captain poked her head round the door to say we were ready to resume and I grabbed Julie’s shaking arm and pulled her behind me.

The new board did not reverse their fortunes or ours and by the time it got round to my turn again, I needed 51 to end it. I stood for a moment, considering the potential ways I could go out, as it’s called.

I opted for single 11, double twenty.

I took a deep breath and tried to shut out the now oppressive feeling of malevolence in the room. My first dart dropped into the 8 below the 11. Damn. Next dart went clean into the middle of the 3. I paused and threw for double top.

It skimmed the wire, landing just above.

They still needed more than 200, making a finish impossible, but their player did brilliantly, leaving a possible easy out for the lady who followed her.

But she never got a chance. With a look that said, let’s finish this, Julie nodded, stepped to the board and bang, a perfect double top.

We left our drinks on the table, our captain approached theirs and said thanks for the game and we headed, as one unit, for the door. My heart was in my mouth. Would they let us leave?

My black-eyed foe, stepped in front of me and I stopped.

Leave it! I said through gritted teeth, moving round her and out the front door. I sounded much braver than I felt.

Our minibus was waiting right outside and we scrambled in, still closing the doors as the driver sped away.

Their best retaliation was the sound of a bottle breaking on the rear doors.

The following season they were barred from the league.