Generational shift

“I’m thinking of retiring.”

Jesus, another one.  They’re all going, first Phil Taylor, then Barnie, seems like every world champion of yesteryear is suddenly giving up the fight. Generational shift they call it.

“Retiring! You can’t be serious. You’ve got years left in you.”

“Yeah, years of slow decline, years watching my ranking drop lower and lower. That bloody Welsh kid overtook me this month, he’s never even made a semi final.”

“But you’ve still got the darts. I mean, you made the Milton Keynes finals.”

“Milton Keynes, it’s chickenfeed, one final all tour hardly pays the hotels and travel. It’s years since I’ve got anywhere in a major, I spend my life on the road. I hardly see the wife and kids. Darts is relentless.”

“Still, you only need one good run. That’s all it takes, one good tournament and you’re sorted, hotel expenses covered, wives happy, kids bought off with the latest telephonic gadgetry.”

“But will I get another good run? It’s been years now. My average is slipping, my seedings are sliding, my earnings are plummeting, everything's heading in the wrong direction.”

“Still, the money’s got to be better than the next best thing. What did you do before becoming pro?”
“Barman. It’s where I started playing. So I have a viable trade - I reckon I could buy a pub, make it darts themed, you know - use my name to draw a crowd, former world champion and all that.”

“These things don’t pay. The hours you have to put in, the paperwork, when have you ever done a 14 hour day.”

“I do a 24 hour day every day, I spend my life in the spotlight, always on the road, always going nowhere. It’s got to be better than this, people asking for selfies every time I’m out in public.”

“You just said it’d be a darts themed pub, you’d be living off selfies. Anyway, a bar! Those things don’t pay. Jeff Hewson tried that, lost a packet. You have to spend a fortune doing up a pub, then a few weeks of low custom and it’s all gone, your life’s savings, your life’s work.”

Silence.

“This is all there is. The circuit. The Game. If you beat Ian White tonight then you play Jamie Lewis tomorrow and then you get to play a Dutchman, probably THE Dutchman. That's your future, that's the best you can wish for, the hope of possible dutchmen, there is nothing else.”

There was a knock on the door. “Two minutes,” someone shouted.

“We’re on,” I said. “Forget about the pub, it’ll never happen, forget about retirement. Just win some games, everything’ll be all right.”

I chalk my hands before leaving the dressing room. I always do, it's my routine. I look at my reflection in the mirror.

Am I going mad? Talking to myself?

“Yes,” I reply, “You’re completely hatstand. Open a pub, what were you thinking?”