02 Oct The Darts Match
Our pub darts team was unusual in that every player played under a pseudonym. We were called the Sherborne Sudos. There was Hobsy the landlord and captain, then the two Asian lads Jasper and Pray adaptations of their proper names which were too complicated for our English tongues. They had a building business and on the side of the van it said ‘You’ve tried the cowboys now try the Indians’. Pasty was a chap from Cornwall. Magic maintained it was a name the girls in his village gave him when he was younger. Chalky was me because my name was White. Paddington was a bear of a man. Then there was Donald his sudo was Hard On. When he played his Dad used to cheer him on with ‘Come on our Don’ hence the name.
Thursday was darts night. Home and away games alternated each week. Our selection of names always got a laugh when we chalked them up on the board. The games were the best of three. We had a team talk before the match when Hobsy asked who you played last time and how you got on.
“I played that tall guy with the moustache and I won.” I said. Magic surveyed the opposing team
“I played the shortarse with the glasses and I lost”
“Jasper, Pray who did you play?” they looked at the players, then at each other.
“We don’t know, you all look the same to us”.
The team talk was over amid much laughter.
The match was under way and the chalker was calling out the scores and keeping tally, when suddenly the door opened and a rather plump Nun came in. It was Sister Mary from the St Roses Hospice for children with special needs. Fund raising was a very important part of their work and a small army toured the pubs on darts and skittles nights, taking advantage of the good feeling and comradeship that the evening created. Everybody dug deep in their pockets for such a good cause, especially if their team was winning. Come to think of it the Nuns couldn’t lose.
Anyway, Hard On was playing and his game was at a crucial point, one all, so they were on the decider. He threw his first dart, treble twenty, a good start, then a single twenty, concentrating with his tongue licking his lips, he launched his third arrow. It hit the wireon the dartboard, rebounded and with a graceful parabolic curve headed back from whence it came. Stepping smartly aside, Hard On, avoided the missile. Unfortunately Sister Mary was just behind him and bending over with her collecting tin. The dart landed squarely in her gluteous maximus with a stifled cry of “Oh my goodness” she dropped onto her knees and elbows in a dead faint, like a felled ox, with Hard On’s dart proudly sticking out of her bum! Silence descended on the room.
“Blimey Hard On I think you’ve killed her” said Hobsy.
Then the chalker, seeing his opportunity for greatness, called out “ONE NUN DEAD AND EIGHTY!”
NOTE: No Nuns were killed or injured in the writing of this story.