Thud
The board was lit up like a Christmas tree. The reds and greens shined through my beer like I was alone, in my apartment, with my Christmas tree still up, and it was April. I watched in awe as the giants came up to the line. With such grace and with such determination, they lunged these four inch steel rods toward a plastic board. Thud, thud, thud you would hear, and then there would be a small window of silence. These men weren't playing for millions of dollars in endorsements and signing bonuses. They were playing for pride, they were playing for sport, and most of all they were playing for fun. If one of them had a bad week, it didn't matter; they would still be treated just the same. Now if they had two bad weeks, they were stoned to death, and fed to any dog who happened upon the dumpster behind the local Kroger. But seriously, is there better an event held in this free country of ours then in the bars of White County and its surrounding areas? Not that I've heard of. Nothing I've ever read in a Sports Illustrated or a Playboy Magazine has ever excited me more then those three little sounds. Thud. Thud. Thud. Now NBC has for the last few years been known for their Thursday lineup as "Must See TV." I feel as though in those bars and taverns in the areas in which I've already mentioned, Thursday nights have no such must-see TV qualities. Thursday nights are held in regard as some hold Sunday mornings, or how others hold Super Bowl Sunday. They feel like their weeks have finally ended on the conclusion of that night's match, and that sadly, there is another entire week before the next match starts. Some people have their religion, and some people have their hip-hop music, but for me, although I've never actually attended a match or thrown better than a 0.25, every Thursday I feel reborn, as though I lunged back inside my mother, and then burrowed back out again. To you men and women of the dart league, I say Hooray, and can only hope that I will someday drive a Lamborghini.