TV VIEW:AS THE one and definitely only Sid Waddell once said of an epic darts encounter, "We couldn't have more excitement if Elvis walked in and asked for a chip sandwich".
And that's how it was again on Saturday evening: if The King had been sitting on his lap in his Ally Pally commentary box while crooning Are You Lonesome Tonight?and chomping on a butty, Sid wouldn't have noticed. He was too electrified by the clash of England's Phil The Power Taylor and Wales' Mark The Plumber Webster.
It was Goliath meets David’s microscopic little brother, Sid reminding us that, for the past 20 years, Taylor had “dished out massive” en route to his 15 world titles. “The greatest darts player to ever tickle tungsten or to draw the breath of the big man upstairs,” he said.
A popular tungsten-tickler he is too, as his second-place finish, behind Tony McCoy, in the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards proved. “I’d have never thought in a million years I’d come second – genuinely, on me father’s gravestone,” said Taylor.
Trailing him in the awards were Lee Westwood and Graeme McDowell, who possibly split the golfing fraternity’s vote. But the outcome had Ian Poulter tweeting furiously. “Darts comes second in the BBC SPOTY voting . . . get a grip . . . farce . . . that’s b****x . . . I can’t believe I didn’t get a vote for winning the world tiddlywinks championship, I’m gutted.”
Taylor, though, stoically rose above the criticism, refusing to allow it ruin his big moment. “I would have to climb Everest, swim the channel and win the Grand National to be more thrilled than I am,” he said.
Besides, those with connections to neither sporting camp might argue that they have a lot in common, eg, bad clothes and never having to break in to as much as a trot.
Others, of course, would claim that getting a lift from a horse around a big field is as sporting as getting a spin from a Formula One car around a track. But we all define sport in different ways, the most accurate definition, perhaps, “a pursuit one follows when one isn’t talented or fit enough to play football”.
What The Power has in abundance, though, is accuracy. While a fair percentage of, say, Nani’s free-kicks end up in downtown Oldham, “William Tell could take an apple off your head, Taylor could take out a processed pea”, as Sid told us. “Like throwing three pickled onions into a thimble.”
So, when Taylor arrived in the arena on Saturday evening for his World Championship quarter-final against Webster, accompanied by a blonde lady with a bust that would turn Dolly Parton Kelly green, the crowd went wild. Literally.
“Walking in a Taylor wonderland,” they bellowed, the bouncers having to step in on more than one occasion to stop Taylor’s tungsten from being tickled as he neared the stage.
“My husband is as sexy as The Power,” read one of the banners, “Tyrone Loves Sally” read another, and beside it, “SAVE OUR BOHS”.
Then Taylor . . . wait . . Save Our Bohs? At the Ally Pally? D’you know, that was one of the wackier examples of colliding sporting worlds.
At this point we half expected Taylor to undress and submerge himself in a bath of milk while his darting minions fed him grapes.
And all the time Webster, who looks like a cross between Harry Potter and Leo Varadkar, waited on stage. “Mind games,” declared Sid, “Mark’s not happy!”
He wasn’t either, and his displeasure heightened a tad when, as he waited on the oche, The Power began bopping with the two dancing girls on stage.
Not that Webster was without support. “I see daffodils! I see Welsh flags! I see leeks – but the plumber will deal with the leaks,” said John Gwynne, prompting Sid to let out a groan that sounded a bit like our pipes during the thaw. Blood-curdling.
And then what happened? Well, Webster burst Taylor’s pipes. He beat him, 5-2, so sensational a Power-cut it left Elvis nigh on choking on his butty.
Sid was gobsmacked, this was almost as astounding as Keith Deller’s 1993 triumph over Eric Bristow. Remember? “Deller’s not just an underdog, he’s an underpuppy,” Sid had said of the World Championship final encounter between the pair.
And who should turn up on Sky's Times of Our Livesbefore the Power v Plumber clash, only Sid, Keith and Eric.
It was nostalgia heaven, the trio reminiscing fondly about the days darts players chucked their arrows through a haze of smoke while swaying on the oche having downed several gallons of ale.
Like Jocky Wilson. “He had an amazing talent,” said Sid, “he won darts matches when most people would have been in intensive care.”
Where’s Jocky now? Bankrupt and living as a recluse in a one-bed flat in Kirkcaldy, suffering from depression, diabetes and arthritis.
Apart from that, he’s grand.
