If You Can't Run With the Big Dogs....

Bonez challenged me today to a friendly game of darts, a game I have not played for close to two years now. Back when I was a regular player I was so feared by Bonez that he would normally cower and retreat any time the proposition of a game came up, so I couldn't help but be intrigued by his newfound courage. But the truth of the matter is that I haven't so much as touched my darts in quite some time, so I feared that my rusty game would be my ultimate undoing.

My fears soon fell to the wayside, though, as even the opening volley where closest to bull determines the starting player fell strongly in my favor, my dart closer to the target not by millimeters, but by inches. But still my unease overpowered me, the certain belief that I would not prevail in this gentleman's tournament tearing away at me, a constant reminder echoing inside my head.

Once again my fears proved in vain as I tore to an early lead, scoring a handsome 118 points to Tony's pathetic 16, my domination over his game rearing its ugly head once more. You should never count T out too quickly, though, and before long he had amassed a respectable pool of points, pulling into a substantial lead, his resolve strengthened by what must have seemed to him an all but guaranteed victory.

I wasn't out of the game just yet, though, and I managed to score a perfect 180 two turns in a row, a feat almost unheard of even by the measure of my previous overwhelming skill. Not one to quit when the going gets tough, Tony managed to score enough points to bring him within a stone's throw of victory, just one double being all that was required for him to go out.

By now I felt I had toyed with my prey enough and in a series of swift surgical strikes I managed to close out the board and finish the game. In a display of good sportsmanship, Tony extended his hand and complimented me on a game well played. Hard as he tried, he could not completely hide the tears of anguish that built behind his eyes, his inner demons threatening to take hold and shake his confidence back to the bleak pit of despair he so frequently occupied in our previous games.

Shaking his hand, I extended my returned congratulations on a game well played and advised that we must play again sometime, my love for the game rekindled even after a game as quick as this one. T tried to smile and shuffle off, but it was easy to spot his shoulders heaving accompanied by the soft sound of sobbing.

Oh well, it's just a game, as long as we all had fun, isn't that all that matters?

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Every other sentence of this missive is a complete load of shit. Tony beat me pretty soundly.)