Jay Resha’s Westword Sports: Darting From Tim to Lauren to Dave

Mid-winter lacks a catchy nickname like summer’s “Dog Days.” But there is no doubt that we’re in it now – and will remain so, until the late February sun creeps high enough to begin loosening that cold grip from the north.
 
Without much snow, everything seems gray and brown, cold and damp, lifeless and listless. Sports are helpful at times like this. NFL playoffs in the headlines; basketball and hockey, college and high school sports abound. With the Olympics on the horizon next month, we’ll also be talking about figure skating, speed skating, skiing, bobsled, curling…and so many more.
 
But I’m not talking about any of those today; I’m here to talk about something totally different, and that is no bull!
 
Bull? Yes, bull, as in bulls-eye!
 
Rewind. I have loved playing darts since I was a little kid and my parents foolishly put a dartboard in the basement. I became passably proficient at darts over those next few years, but I was also a horrible child who was never actually diagnosed with anything treatable. So my bad shots were often followed angrily by tantrums – loud curses and subsequent throws which were even more wayward. To further illustrate this, just understand that in about a ten-foot radius of that board, there were more holes in the wall and ceiling than Lennon and McCartney ever saw in Blackburn, Lancashire. My friend from up the street…let’s call him Timmy, since that is his real name, and you might remember him from some of my pyromania memories…contributed to more than a few of the punctures.
 
Tim, if you’re reading this: the damage we did to that wall was probably the LEAST destructive shenanigans we got ourselves into, wouldn’t you agree? “We didn’t start the fire” never applied to us, buddy.
 
Fast forward a score of years. There was a certain period of time. I was done with school and married to the Gem. Before the house, before the kids, before a lot of the real responsibilities. We had good jobs, low expenses, full freedom, and I dare say (it must be said, since she caused it) I had become a little more fun than when I was in my early twenties. It was a particularly memorable time in my life. It lasted about three weeks.
 
But anyway, it was during this high Camelot that I played golf one afternoon with The Gem and her brother…let’s call him Chris since that is his real name…plus a friend of his. Afterwards we ended up at a bar with a bunch of Chris’s friends. We were a few years older – but remember, I still had a few days remaining of being cool!
 
Some in the group started playing darts, so naturally I joined right in. At one point I ended up teammates with a girl named…let’s call her Lauren, since that is her real name. During the game, she remarked that I was a pretty good shot, and asked if I wanted to learn a more technically proper way to throw, since she was a real student of the game. Impressed, I quickly said, “sure!” (hey, I am always thirsty for knowledge that will help me beat Chris – in any game, any sport, anytime, anywhere!)
 
In a nutshell, you turn 90 degrees to the side and wrist the dart outward from the elbow, rather than face the board and throw overhand. And what a difference it made! I have been forever grateful to Lauren for that advice, though we’ve rarely seen her since. Hey, some people just come into your life for one important moment, right!?
 
Lauren, if you’re reading this: this shout-out is the best way I could think of to thank you, since I didn’t actually become good enough to hustle people and share any winnings with you. Darts has given me great fun but no “easy money!”
 
Fast forward another score of years.
 
In this era, many of my good friends are parents of my kids’ friends and classmates, having been in my life only for the last 10 to 15 years. And my thoughts often dart towards my buddy and fellow Eagle…let’s call him Dave, since that is his real name. Dave lives close by and we’ve known each other since the kids were little. But some of my favorite memories of Dave involve dartboards and Billy Joel music. We’ve had some epic battles in our basements. We would sneak downstairs for a beer after a kids’ school event, or get together to watch a ballgame – but then one of us would ask, “cricket?” and we would spend the rest of the time engaged in the kind of rivalry-to-the-death battle I usually associate with Westwood vs. Holliston.
 
More than once, I staggered home after losing one of these matches. Though, uh, sometimes that was simply me showing good judgement and burying my keys after “a bottle of red, a bottle of white.”
 
Dave likely has the upper hand in our all-time scoreboard (hey, Lauren did the best she could with what she had to work with!) But it stings a tad less when losing to a worthy adversary. Dave, if you’re reading this: our best memories are the ones we still have yet to make. My arm is ready to toss the dart. My foot is ready to kick the butt. See you soon.
 
Am I the best darts player around? Hell no! But I’m always up for a game, especially this time of year, so (apologies to The Piano Man again) “I’ll meet you any time you want”…in a house or restaurant.
 
And that’s no bull!
 
Questions, comments, mistakes caught? Any and all feedback is welcomed! You can reach me at jayresha@comcast.net any time!