"A moment of magic in John Henderson's bedroom!"
4.5.2020
Translation: machine translated
While the sporting world stands still, darts is the game of the moment. The dart throwers duel from their bedrooms or basements on the PDC Home Tour. A tournament in which slow TV merges with Big Brother.
At the beginning, everything is mud. Dan Dawson greets us from the pixel mash that should be a stream. The commentator is sitting at home in Birmingham. The sponsor's logo floats like a crown above his head, which is framed by two dartboards. The man has made himself comfortable in his makeshift booth. It's day 17 of the PDC Home Tour, which thrives on the charm of authenticity. On Day 1, the stream started so early that World Champion Peter Wright was still busy uncorking his bottle of wine.
There is no prize money. Nevertheless, there will be professional players who will be connected from all over the world. Instead of dueling directly with their opponent on stage, they aim at their training disc alone. The split screen shows where the arrows land. Sometimes better, sometimes worse. Depending on the webcam.
Every evening, a group of four players will choose the winner who will qualify for the next round. This continues for a good two weeks until the tournament winner is decided. Some favourites struggle to cope with the unfamiliar situation, while outsiders come up trumps. Competing in your own bedroom, basement or kitchen seems to be a special challenge. Especially when the opponent on another continent is perforating the disc and every puff can be heard.
Flowing faces, flying arrows
If anything can be heard at all. I miss the opening interviews with the players because the sound hangs to match the melting faces. Never mind, the names Henderson, Heta, Kciuk and Blades mean nothing to me anyway. I'm not a darts fan. Apart from Phil "The Power" Taylor, Michael van Gerwen and Raymond van Barneveld, I don't know any players. I just remember that this guy with the mohawk became world champion and a blonde woman was the big player of the world championship until she got knocked out. But I'm a sports fan and can get excited about almost anything from football to curling. Today, due to a lack of alternatives, there are darts, the Big Mac of sports. Frowned upon and loved.
When the stream is finally up and running, the first darts are already flying. The game is "best of 9 legs". Whoever wins five legs wins the match. The players are not visible on the split screen. A blue-bordered disc on the left, a red-bordered disc on the right. The commentator is the size of a postage stamp in the centre. Highlander versus Unicorn. Or something like that. No, the "Highlander" John Henderson, of whom only a stocky forearm in a black T-shirt can be recognised, is playing against Krzysztof Kciuk from Poland. Fight name "The Thumb".
I'm picturing these guys to the voices and forearms as Henderson manages an 11-darter in the second leg. That's good, but kind of irrelevant. Who are these two? Henderson must be a Scottish closet. Kciuk's wristwatch would only fit around his thumb. As time goes on, the players give more than their scores away. They slowly become friends with this intimate stream round.
Like an evening in the pub
"Oooh, rubbish! 9!", moans Kciuk after a failed attempt and gets a laugh from commentator Dawson. At least he hit the disc. Henderson counters with 180 before he himself only throws 27, which he laughingly accepts. It's more like an evening in the pub than the big wide world of sport. All the "real athletes" who are currently running their marathon on the balcony, completing a triathlon in their own four walls or pole-vaulting in the garden seem locked up. And ghost games in football are not called ghost games for nothing. They are sad events.
In contrast, the atmosphere at darts is harmonious. A disc on the wall in some basement, murmuring, dim lighting. It fits. It's very close to the spectator, who is presumably hanging out on the sofa like me and enjoying the entertainment. Actually, in May, championships would be decided, the Champions League would set pulses racing and entire city centres would be drowning in a sea of cheering fans. Darts on stream is simply tock, tock, tock. Decelerating, almost meditative. And occasionally funny.
A moment of magic in John Henderson's bedroom!
I don't imagine John Henderson, the man with the Popeye forearms and a harsh Scottish accent, to be like Cupid. But he's better at aiming his arrows in the bedroom at home at the start. The match gets exciting because Kciuk manages to catch up before Henderson holds his nerve at the decisive moment. I am rewarded by finally being able to see the athletes in the interview after the duel. Henderson is no Armor and no closet, but a menhir. Huge and oval. But nervous about playing at home, as he confesses. This mixture of home story and sport has something about it.
"Are the kids in bed?"
The action continues with Gary Blades from England against Australian David "The Heat" Heta, for whom the new day has already dawned. There's a bit of small talk before the first leg. "Are the kids in bed?" asks presenter Dawson. Then the darts are thrown again. Tock. Tock. Tock. Blades doesn't even have a nickname, but a shining LED ring around the disc. An eye-catcher, but it doesn't help him. The Englishman has no chance and loses 0:5. Next match. I stick with it, for whatever reason. The arrows are flying, and so are the hours.
Take away all the staffage, the fans, the arenas, the drawn-out Oooooonehundredandeeeeigtyyyyy! What's left is the naked game. Two men and their arrows. Their puffing. Tock. Tock. Tock. Interrupted by a few sayings and curses. Wonderfully boring. Like an evening with good friends who hang out with you without anyone expecting the big show. At around 11 pm, David Heta, the heat from down under, is crowned group winner. Who would have thought that? Not me. And it's still going on.
"Idiot! Aaaaah!" moans Blades, who I suspect won't stand a chance against Henderson. When he's already hopelessly behind, the two simply don't finish the last match. They miss and curse until they both have a depressing two points on the scoreboard.
Somehow the air is out. When slow TV merges with Big Brother and sport, this is what you get. Do I really want to watch it? Apparently you do. And I'm obviously not the only one. On the very first day of the series, up to 347,000 viewers were online. I'm dull, but I'm in it until the last arrow. When almost everything else falls flat, the evening is a disc.
Michael Restin
Senior Editor
Michael.Restin@digitecgalaxus.chSimple writer, dad of two. Likes to be on the move, shimmies through everyday family life, juggles with several balls and occasionally drops something. A ball. Or a remark. Or both.
