Tonight, a large crowd is expected for the Final of the 2015 William Hill World Darts Championship at Alexandra Palace in London, which will see England's sixteen-time world champion Phil "The Power" Taylor take on Scotland's Gary Anderson.
And it seems like the sport is becoming popular again, getting back to the extreme popularity it achieved in Britain in the 1980s.
Back in the 1980s, millions of people tuned in to watch often burly men holding a pint of lager or a cigarette in one hand and a dart in the other whilst large crowds of people, many in fancy dress, cheered them on.
But now, gone are the players supping lager and smoking during professional matches on TV but the fancy-dressed crowds remain.
After losing popularity since the 1980s, the sport is once again on the rise. And it's not just Britain this time where it's popular.
Television ratings are in the ascendant, as is the global audience. Sky TV now has a darts channel and this championship is going out live — for the first time — in Italy and Scandinavia as well as in Japan and Australia.
And it seems that darts is no longer the preserve of the working class. Audiences are getting posher, as was evidenced by the fact that Prince Harry was recently seen in the crowd at this William Hill World Darts Championship.
How darts is suddenly posh, with a loud and very middle-class crowd, joined this week by Prince Harry, writes ROBERT HARDMAN
By Robert Hardman for the Daily Mail
3 January 2015
Daily Mail
Several bananas, a Superman, a Jesus, seven dwarves (some over 6ft tall) and a bearded Snow White are all on their feet in the cheap seats and mocking the £50-a-head crowd at their trestle tables for not making enough noise. ‘Boring, boring tables!’ they chant.
Oh yeah? A dozen Sound Of Music lookalikes, four people in stripey convict uniforms, four Lego men and the Flintstone family jump up from their tables and chant back at the £40-a-head mob: ‘You can’t afford the tickets!’
It’s boisterous but thoroughly good-natured. Both camps then unite in a chant of ‘Stand up if you love the darts’ — to the tune of Go West by the Village People. And pretty much the entire auditorium here at the William Hill World Darts Championship at Alexandra Palace in London, all 2,500 of them, rise up and sing along — just as they were doing earlier this week when Prince Harry joined the party.
'Stand up if you love the darts' is one of the favoured chants at this year's William Hill World Darts Championship at London's Alexandra Palace
Up on stage, impervious to it all, two stout, stooped figures in loose-fitting shirts maintain an awesome focus while the noise gets louder and the beer keeps flowing in staggering volumes.
For staggering is the word. Since a quarter of a million pints and 50,000 tickets will have been sold during the course of this competition, which ends tomorrow night, it means that the average fan quaffs five pints a time.
So far, so darts, some might say. But, in reality, this is a sport transformed from the days of pot-bellied, chain-smoking geezers performing for the benefit of pot-bellied, chain-smoking geezers. True, no one will have much trouble distinguishing between any of these players and your average Olympian, but they are certainly a leaner, more serious breed.
Scotland’s Gary ‘The Flying Scotsman’ Anderson, 44, admits he is not exactly sprinter Usain Bolt — ‘I need to get the belly off me’ — but he’s recently taken up cycling, follows a careful diet and was in bed by teatime before Hogmanay. It paid off with a New Year’s Day victory which took him through to tonight’s semi-final.
He hasn’t touched anything stronger than coffee since this tournament began. But then the winner of tomorrow’s final will walk away with £250,000. The stakes are high.
Scotland's Gary Anderson, left, admits that he is not exactly Usain Bolt, but he is watching his diet.
Television ratings are in the ascendant, as is the global audience. Sky TV now has a darts channel and this championship is going out live — for the first time — in Italy and Scandinavia as well as in Japan and Australia.
But the most striking transformation has been among the fans. Some nights, as many as 75 per cent will be in fancy dress.
And, as Prince Harry’s presence indicates, the darts demographic is right across the board. Monday’s appearance by the prince (in plain clothes) at a table with England rugby star James Haskell, was not a first.
He was here in 2011, when he ended up being kissed by a victorious and emotional Adrian Lewis. The Prince’s cousin, Zara Phillips, has been here before, too, with her darts-mad, rugby-playing husband, Mike Tindall (former England captain), and his pals.
Tonight’s crowd includes plenty of women — chanting with the best of them — and plenty of families, too. Overall, the audience profile is certainly younger than at say, Wimbledon’s Centre Court or a Twickenham international.
But I would also argue that ‘the darts’ are every bit as posh as either of those.
The vibe here is certainly more rugby club than football terrace (soccer shirts are banned). Besides, this event is taking place in a Palace. True, it’s Alexandra Palace, but the Ally Pally is still older than Twickenham or Wembley, thanks very much.
As Prince Harry's presence indicates, the darts demographic is right across the board. The prince was with his pal, England rugby union star James Haskell
I may be a newcomer to this sport but in the course of talking to at least 100 foot-stomping, well-refreshed spectators over the course of a long evening, I find that at least half are university-educated professional types in their 20s and 30s.
So why are they here? Is this just a passing fad?
One metropolitan commentator repeated a familiar moan that Prince Harry was typical of a middle-class breed who come to dip a toe in working-class culture and then regale dinner parties with hilarious stories of their wild night out amid the common people.
The prevalence of bankers holding office parties at the darts in the run-up to Christmas might add to the notion of rich kids having a laugh. But you could level exactly the same charge against horse racing.
It really is nothing of the sort tonight. Most people here have a genuine knowledge of and appreciation for the game.
And I quickly understand the addictive appeal of the central dynamics — deadly accuracy mixed with rapid mental arithmetic. Players throw three darts at a time in quick succession and the first to score precisely 501 points (you have to finish on a double score), wins a leg. The best of five legs wins the set, and the best of 13 sets wins tomorrow’s final.
Most fans have been before and they follow plenty of other sports, too. They simply regard this as a great night out.
Just as millions of children flock to Jack And The Beanstalk at this time of year, so this is panto for sports fans.
‘It’s great entertainment but it’s great sport, too, just like boxing. We’re here to see some big matches,’ says Mark Wyss, 29, who knows about putting on a show as he manages bands and has organised his own events at Alexandra Palace.
Robert Hardman, centre, said he quickly understands the addictive appeal that is central to darts
He hasn’t come in fancy dress but happily ends up sitting among yet another Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs contingent (all Germans) and a team of Power Rangers from Stowmarket, Suffolk, who make an annual trip to this event.
They range from a company director to a soldier and a bricklayer. And they all agree that this year’s choice of a tight-fitting all-in-one costume which stretches over their heads has been a disaster.
‘It’s an absolute b****r to pee in this thing,’ says builder Terry Felgate, 29. ‘I wish we’d come as The Avengers.’
Inside the auditorium, you can barely see the dartboard up on the stage, let alone a dart. But it’s a slick production. Huge screens zone in on every shot while players are led out through the crowd to pumped-up music and dancing girls, egged on by Master of Ceremonies, John McDonald.
The former Para, who has been a regular compere at rugby, football and golf’s Ryder Cup, says that darts fans are a breed apart. ‘They’re probably the best crowd in sport because they know their game, they get right into it and they create this unique atmosphere. I love some of the mickey-taking.’
Every seat comes with a placard for fans printed with ‘180’, which is waved whenever a player lands all three darts on the highest-scoring part of the board, the tiny triple-20 box. But the back of the placard is left open for fans to write messages aimed at the television cameras.
Every seat comes with a placard printed with 180, which fans hold aloft when a player hits the maximum
Earlier this week, one man was seen holding up a sign with an arrow pointing to his companion saying ‘Wife For Sale’.
John recalls a troublesome ‘Jesus’ who had to be ejected after overdoing the holy grail. ‘We don’t get many like that, but Jesus was a nuisance and he had to go,’ he says. ‘Then one of his mates held up a sign saying: “Jesus Will Be Back At Easter”.’
The drinking is relentless. No one is howling drunk, but the floor is sticky underfoot wherever I go (with the exception of the Press area, it must be said, where booze is banned).
Most fans opt for beer, and seem to save time buying it by the £16 four-pint jug. There are alternatives.
Jonathan McDermott, 25, a sales executive, is clutching a dartboard in one claw — his prize for his lobster outfit in the ‘best costume’ competition run each night by the organisers — and a jug of ‘Rock ’n’ Roll Juice’ in the other. ‘It’s Jack Daniels and Coke but it’s not very strong,’ he assures me.
He is one of a five-strong group who were all at university together in London and span the fancy dress spectrum from the Bible (another Jesus) to Jessie from Toy Story.
I meet another university gang, all teachers and accountants in their 30s, who have come in full-body Teenage Ninja Turtle costumes and are having the same regrets as the Stowmarket Power Rangers. ‘It’s just taken me 20 minutes to go to the loo!’ says London teacher Doug King, 32.
This biggest cheer of the night isn't for a Brit, but for the Dutchman Michael van Gerwen, pictured
Several intrepid expats have flown from Qatar for this event in matching his ’n’ hers hippy costumes. ‘We play in a darts league in Doha,’ says New Zealand-born teacher Sandy Sheppard. ‘Tonight is a really big deal.’
There are many family groups, many work groups and some are a bit of both. City lawyer Jamie Crystal is here with his secretary, Mary Handley, her husband, her 15-year-old twins and her brother-in-law, Joe. All have all made a magnificent effort with their Austrian mountain costumes but they are also all mad-keen darts players back home.
In the auditorium, the biggest cheers are not for a Brit but a Dutchman, world champion, Michael van Gerwen, 33. There is also raucous English support for Scotland’s Peter ‘Snakebite’ Wright, 44, even if he does look like an ageing football mascot designed by the SNP — bright yellow tartan trews, tartan tattoos and Saltire-blue Mohican.
This is not an overly partisan sport, though ‘sport’ it unquestionably is since being formally recognised by all the UK sports councils in 2005. But it is unlikely to join the Olympic fold, not least for political reasons. An Olympic sport can have only one world body. Darts has two, the Professional Darts Corporation, which organises this event, and the British Darts Organisation, which runs the rival world darts championship at the Lakeside Country Club in Surrey.
Surprisingly enough, not all of the fans at the Alexandra Palace in north London are men
Even so, darts could teach a thing or two to some of our more illustrious sports. Immersed in this booze-fuelled bear-pit, I suddenly realise what a bunch of drips those golfers and tennis players really are. How dare they demand total silence every time they line up each shot? Pathetic!
Just try having to score a triple 20 with 2,500 people right behind you dressed as super-heroes, spilling beer over their feet and leaping around to the Nineties dance hit No Limit.
Is it distracting? ‘Hats off to them all,’ says Gary ‘The Flying Scotsman’ Anderson. ‘If you’re playing well, you don’t hear a thing. It’s what makes darts darts.’
The Netherlands' Van Barneveld (right) watches on as England's Taylor closes out the semi-final 6-2 in sets on Saturday night.
Taylor will now be aiming to win a 17th world title
Van Barneveld (left) congratulates Taylor on his semi-final success on Saturday night
And it seems like the sport is becoming popular again, getting back to the extreme popularity it achieved in Britain in the 1980s.
Back in the 1980s, millions of people tuned in to watch often burly men holding a pint of lager or a cigarette in one hand and a dart in the other whilst large crowds of people, many in fancy dress, cheered them on.
But now, gone are the players supping lager and smoking during professional matches on TV but the fancy-dressed crowds remain.
After losing popularity since the 1980s, the sport is once again on the rise. And it's not just Britain this time where it's popular.
Television ratings are in the ascendant, as is the global audience. Sky TV now has a darts channel and this championship is going out live — for the first time — in Italy and Scandinavia as well as in Japan and Australia.
And it seems that darts is no longer the preserve of the working class. Audiences are getting posher, as was evidenced by the fact that Prince Harry was recently seen in the crowd at this William Hill World Darts Championship.
How darts is suddenly posh, with a loud and very middle-class crowd, joined this week by Prince Harry, writes ROBERT HARDMAN
By Robert Hardman for the Daily Mail
3 January 2015
Daily Mail
Several bananas, a Superman, a Jesus, seven dwarves (some over 6ft tall) and a bearded Snow White are all on their feet in the cheap seats and mocking the £50-a-head crowd at their trestle tables for not making enough noise. ‘Boring, boring tables!’ they chant.
Oh yeah? A dozen Sound Of Music lookalikes, four people in stripey convict uniforms, four Lego men and the Flintstone family jump up from their tables and chant back at the £40-a-head mob: ‘You can’t afford the tickets!’
It’s boisterous but thoroughly good-natured. Both camps then unite in a chant of ‘Stand up if you love the darts’ — to the tune of Go West by the Village People. And pretty much the entire auditorium here at the William Hill World Darts Championship at Alexandra Palace in London, all 2,500 of them, rise up and sing along — just as they were doing earlier this week when Prince Harry joined the party.
'Stand up if you love the darts' is one of the favoured chants at this year's William Hill World Darts Championship at London's Alexandra Palace
Up on stage, impervious to it all, two stout, stooped figures in loose-fitting shirts maintain an awesome focus while the noise gets louder and the beer keeps flowing in staggering volumes.
For staggering is the word. Since a quarter of a million pints and 50,000 tickets will have been sold during the course of this competition, which ends tomorrow night, it means that the average fan quaffs five pints a time.
So far, so darts, some might say. But, in reality, this is a sport transformed from the days of pot-bellied, chain-smoking geezers performing for the benefit of pot-bellied, chain-smoking geezers. True, no one will have much trouble distinguishing between any of these players and your average Olympian, but they are certainly a leaner, more serious breed.
Scotland’s Gary ‘The Flying Scotsman’ Anderson, 44, admits he is not exactly sprinter Usain Bolt — ‘I need to get the belly off me’ — but he’s recently taken up cycling, follows a careful diet and was in bed by teatime before Hogmanay. It paid off with a New Year’s Day victory which took him through to tonight’s semi-final.
He hasn’t touched anything stronger than coffee since this tournament began. But then the winner of tomorrow’s final will walk away with £250,000. The stakes are high.
Scotland's Gary Anderson, left, admits that he is not exactly Usain Bolt, but he is watching his diet.
Television ratings are in the ascendant, as is the global audience. Sky TV now has a darts channel and this championship is going out live — for the first time — in Italy and Scandinavia as well as in Japan and Australia.
But the most striking transformation has been among the fans. Some nights, as many as 75 per cent will be in fancy dress.
And, as Prince Harry’s presence indicates, the darts demographic is right across the board. Monday’s appearance by the prince (in plain clothes) at a table with England rugby star James Haskell, was not a first.
He was here in 2011, when he ended up being kissed by a victorious and emotional Adrian Lewis. The Prince’s cousin, Zara Phillips, has been here before, too, with her darts-mad, rugby-playing husband, Mike Tindall (former England captain), and his pals.
Tonight’s crowd includes plenty of women — chanting with the best of them — and plenty of families, too. Overall, the audience profile is certainly younger than at say, Wimbledon’s Centre Court or a Twickenham international.
But I would also argue that ‘the darts’ are every bit as posh as either of those.
The vibe here is certainly more rugby club than football terrace (soccer shirts are banned). Besides, this event is taking place in a Palace. True, it’s Alexandra Palace, but the Ally Pally is still older than Twickenham or Wembley, thanks very much.
As Prince Harry's presence indicates, the darts demographic is right across the board. The prince was with his pal, England rugby union star James Haskell
I may be a newcomer to this sport but in the course of talking to at least 100 foot-stomping, well-refreshed spectators over the course of a long evening, I find that at least half are university-educated professional types in their 20s and 30s.
So why are they here? Is this just a passing fad?
One metropolitan commentator repeated a familiar moan that Prince Harry was typical of a middle-class breed who come to dip a toe in working-class culture and then regale dinner parties with hilarious stories of their wild night out amid the common people.
The prevalence of bankers holding office parties at the darts in the run-up to Christmas might add to the notion of rich kids having a laugh. But you could level exactly the same charge against horse racing.
It really is nothing of the sort tonight. Most people here have a genuine knowledge of and appreciation for the game.
And I quickly understand the addictive appeal of the central dynamics — deadly accuracy mixed with rapid mental arithmetic. Players throw three darts at a time in quick succession and the first to score precisely 501 points (you have to finish on a double score), wins a leg. The best of five legs wins the set, and the best of 13 sets wins tomorrow’s final.
Most fans have been before and they follow plenty of other sports, too. They simply regard this as a great night out.
Just as millions of children flock to Jack And The Beanstalk at this time of year, so this is panto for sports fans.
‘It’s great entertainment but it’s great sport, too, just like boxing. We’re here to see some big matches,’ says Mark Wyss, 29, who knows about putting on a show as he manages bands and has organised his own events at Alexandra Palace.
Robert Hardman, centre, said he quickly understands the addictive appeal that is central to darts
He hasn’t come in fancy dress but happily ends up sitting among yet another Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs contingent (all Germans) and a team of Power Rangers from Stowmarket, Suffolk, who make an annual trip to this event.
They range from a company director to a soldier and a bricklayer. And they all agree that this year’s choice of a tight-fitting all-in-one costume which stretches over their heads has been a disaster.
‘It’s an absolute b****r to pee in this thing,’ says builder Terry Felgate, 29. ‘I wish we’d come as The Avengers.’
Inside the auditorium, you can barely see the dartboard up on the stage, let alone a dart. But it’s a slick production. Huge screens zone in on every shot while players are led out through the crowd to pumped-up music and dancing girls, egged on by Master of Ceremonies, John McDonald.
The former Para, who has been a regular compere at rugby, football and golf’s Ryder Cup, says that darts fans are a breed apart. ‘They’re probably the best crowd in sport because they know their game, they get right into it and they create this unique atmosphere. I love some of the mickey-taking.’
Every seat comes with a placard for fans printed with ‘180’, which is waved whenever a player lands all three darts on the highest-scoring part of the board, the tiny triple-20 box. But the back of the placard is left open for fans to write messages aimed at the television cameras.
Every seat comes with a placard printed with 180, which fans hold aloft when a player hits the maximum
Earlier this week, one man was seen holding up a sign with an arrow pointing to his companion saying ‘Wife For Sale’.
John recalls a troublesome ‘Jesus’ who had to be ejected after overdoing the holy grail. ‘We don’t get many like that, but Jesus was a nuisance and he had to go,’ he says. ‘Then one of his mates held up a sign saying: “Jesus Will Be Back At Easter”.’
The drinking is relentless. No one is howling drunk, but the floor is sticky underfoot wherever I go (with the exception of the Press area, it must be said, where booze is banned).
Most fans opt for beer, and seem to save time buying it by the £16 four-pint jug. There are alternatives.
Jonathan McDermott, 25, a sales executive, is clutching a dartboard in one claw — his prize for his lobster outfit in the ‘best costume’ competition run each night by the organisers — and a jug of ‘Rock ’n’ Roll Juice’ in the other. ‘It’s Jack Daniels and Coke but it’s not very strong,’ he assures me.
He is one of a five-strong group who were all at university together in London and span the fancy dress spectrum from the Bible (another Jesus) to Jessie from Toy Story.
I meet another university gang, all teachers and accountants in their 30s, who have come in full-body Teenage Ninja Turtle costumes and are having the same regrets as the Stowmarket Power Rangers. ‘It’s just taken me 20 minutes to go to the loo!’ says London teacher Doug King, 32.
This biggest cheer of the night isn't for a Brit, but for the Dutchman Michael van Gerwen, pictured
Several intrepid expats have flown from Qatar for this event in matching his ’n’ hers hippy costumes. ‘We play in a darts league in Doha,’ says New Zealand-born teacher Sandy Sheppard. ‘Tonight is a really big deal.’
There are many family groups, many work groups and some are a bit of both. City lawyer Jamie Crystal is here with his secretary, Mary Handley, her husband, her 15-year-old twins and her brother-in-law, Joe. All have all made a magnificent effort with their Austrian mountain costumes but they are also all mad-keen darts players back home.
In the auditorium, the biggest cheers are not for a Brit but a Dutchman, world champion, Michael van Gerwen, 33. There is also raucous English support for Scotland’s Peter ‘Snakebite’ Wright, 44, even if he does look like an ageing football mascot designed by the SNP — bright yellow tartan trews, tartan tattoos and Saltire-blue Mohican.
This is not an overly partisan sport, though ‘sport’ it unquestionably is since being formally recognised by all the UK sports councils in 2005. But it is unlikely to join the Olympic fold, not least for political reasons. An Olympic sport can have only one world body. Darts has two, the Professional Darts Corporation, which organises this event, and the British Darts Organisation, which runs the rival world darts championship at the Lakeside Country Club in Surrey.
Surprisingly enough, not all of the fans at the Alexandra Palace in north London are men
Even so, darts could teach a thing or two to some of our more illustrious sports. Immersed in this booze-fuelled bear-pit, I suddenly realise what a bunch of drips those golfers and tennis players really are. How dare they demand total silence every time they line up each shot? Pathetic!
Just try having to score a triple 20 with 2,500 people right behind you dressed as super-heroes, spilling beer over their feet and leaping around to the Nineties dance hit No Limit.
Is it distracting? ‘Hats off to them all,’ says Gary ‘The Flying Scotsman’ Anderson. ‘If you’re playing well, you don’t hear a thing. It’s what makes darts darts.’
The Netherlands' Van Barneveld (right) watches on as England's Taylor closes out the semi-final 6-2 in sets on Saturday night.
Taylor will now be aiming to win a 17th world title
Van Barneveld (left) congratulates Taylor on his semi-final success on Saturday night
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