I found myself in a bar but I hadn’t been drinking, only enjoying the company of my friends. I spied a couple of my friends playing darts, so I joined their game. The aim (literally) of the game was to hit three of each 20,19 etc down to 15. I think they call it cricket, but I’m not entirely sure if they are just saying this. Anyway, it’s all I play when I play darts here, so it is essentially a game of darts. Which I found myself playing. Now, when i play darts, I think myself to be quite a good player. I hit what I want to hit most of the time, which I think is reasonably good in bars. I don’t really know, but the happy grunts that everyone else made at my throws were my indicator that it was ok. So inevitably I threw the winning throw. That was the game. I had won it. But I wasn’t happy. My darts weren’t flying in an elegant manner. I would throw the dart in the right place but it flopped about through the air without grace.
I don’t know why, but it bothered me. It bothered me a lot.
So I threw darts at that dartboard for another hour. I tried a lot of different throwing, from different angles, from different foot locations, with different hand pressure, with different hand alignment, within my line of sight, from my chest, from my shoulder, in an arc, direct, with an emphasis to spin, with an emphasis on directness, with a long follow through, with no follow through in the spirit of open-minded dart throwing. I wanted to emphasize the beauty of the dart sailing through the air, its grace and majesty completely irrelevant of it’s destination. I wanted it to fly from my hand and for those few moments as it cut the air, leave a mark of its elegance. Instead, they all flopped around in the air and landed at odd angles.
People would come up and watch me from time to time and offer encouragement. Or advice. Well usually it started with the first and soon turned into the second when they saw how unhappy I was with the results. They’d say “well you’ve gotta hold it between your thumb and your finger like this, and then throw it with a full follow through” and so then I’d try it and the dart would flop about and they’d say “oh nice shot” because it happened to hit the bullseye. But they missed the point, it was an UGLY bullseye.
Now I know that the whole point of darts is to hit stuff and get the highest score. Yeah yeah. But if you abandon the art of the throw then you may as well throw mud. I’d try to tell everyone that it is a thing of beauty but no-one seemed to understand. I’d explain it, I’d think that they understood, but then I’d throw a horrible 20 and they’d say “oh nice”. So I’d have to just focus and try not to let their words distract me from my real purpose. Eventually they’d get bored watching me and then I’d be alone with the darts again.
The longer this went on, the more it bothered me. Because here was another person telling me “oh no, see you have to turn your body at a right angle because you naturally want to throw across your body” and all their darts went straight and true, but mine were still flopping about wildly. Sometimes they flopped to the right, sometimes up and down, sometimes straight, sometimes in a circle. It seemed like everyone threw with a style, everyone had their throw which they told me a hundred reasons for throwing and they always threw it. But I just wanted mine to be beautiful. They talked numbers. I talked about grace. I was the only one concerned with matters of beauty and yet I had the ugliest thrown darts in the whole bar.
For fleeting moments there, I would throw a beautiful dart, see it spin through the air, following its natural arc before solidly striking the board. It was when I indulged the flight of the dart through the air. When I allowed it to fly and not just do my bidding, it was as though I had released it from its burden and it was free to sail as it wished. However, throws like that, while beautiful, lacked any ounce of accuracy and even less consistency. I would try the same throw but try to make it hit the 20 and it would flop wildly. Some more time went by. People began to ask me if I was ok. I guessed I was. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to throw an accurate dart beautifully. I’d like it to fling from my hands like it was following a path of destiny, a winged messenger from heaven with its final gift a high number value. But usually I just want to win and so I’ll flip flap it any way to the board.
Eventually my friends convinced me to let go of the darts and leave the bar.
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