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Cape Cod #2, USA

Cape Cod, Massachusetts II

The other day my wife and I stopped into my local darts supply store (Truman's, 608 Main Street, Route #28, West Yarmouth) to pat the head of the dog that hangs out there, a sad-eyed mixed breed called Jack Daniel's. My wife likes this old fellow. She's always been impressed that he can somehow stuff five tennis balls into his mouth at once. For my part I can't figure out why he'd want to ...

Actually, Truman's is a hell of a darts shop. The owner, George "Truman" Lewis stocks everything you could ever want. The thing is I think the dog is part of a complex sales scheme. Fools like me come in to say "hi" to Jack and end up walking out with a dozen sets of flights we don't need.

But that's the way I am. I wonder about things. I don't nonchalantly accept much at face value. Take, for example, bad darts ...

Now, I don't know about you, but I just can't figure out why bad darts happen. What I can't fathom is why, so damn often, flashes of brilliance are followed by a trip to breakfast. 8T0, 26 -- it just doesn't make sense.

That is, of course, if you've never heard of the so-called "chaos theory". This new fangled idea may just offer the answer to one of the great mysteries of the sport of darts.

According to the chaos theory there is a sort of order to even the most unexplainable events in life. From the ups and downs of the stock market to the unpredictable slumps that frustrate professional athletes -- in mathematics "laboratories" around the world studies are under way to make sense of these most complex, most mysterious, of "systems" around us. Personally I don't think these guys have a clue what they're talking about ... but then I barely made it through high school algebra.

What I do know is that if there is any merit whatsoever to this New Age math then there might be something to my own theory that bad darts happen ... because bad darts ... are supposed to happen! Sometimes the stocks go up. Sometimes the batter just keeps striking out. And sometimes, no amount of practice and no amount of focus will stop three darts from flying to strange places like the four and the twelve.

Take for example what happened to me during league play a few weeks ago at Cousin's Pub (731 Route #28 in South Yarmouth). Now, Cousins is a great darts bar. Five boards. A couple of pool tables in just the right spot -- miles away from the dart boards. The light is low. The crowd is friendly. The beer is priced right. And the chalkboards suck. But what else is new ...

Lately, Cousin's' darts teams have been piling up the awards. Last year's "B" and "AA" teams cooked the competition on Cape Cod. Anyway, my team, Cousins Cannibals, was in a tough match with the only undefeated team in the league. I'd warmed up pretty well so I stepped to the line with confidence for my 301.

I went in strong with a 1T2 and my opponent missed his double. Next I hit a ton. My opponent missed his double a second time. So, I'm looking at an 89 checkout for an eight dart game. Let the chaos begin ...

Ten minutes later, after wiring my way to the Madhouse and after throwing at that little green sliver of slime for what seemed like an eternity, my opponent checked out the double sixteen. Humiliation in the first degree. I was now a card carrying member of the infamous "I blew a 299 point lead club". I never thought it could happen to me.

Next, consider what happened to me (and for that matter, every single one of my friends) recently at Molly's Pub (585 Route #28 in Yarmouth). John Lowe and Cliff Lazarenko were in town for an exhibition ...

Just a half mile up the road from Cousin's, Molly's is the premier darts bar on Cape Cod. Eight boards. Matching chalkboards -- which hardly anybody likes because you have to squirt little bottles of water on them to clean them off after every game (I use Budweiser). It's a great set up though in most every respect and over the years Molly's has attracted some of the best players on the Cape. This was the natural venue to bring in the pros ... and on this night chaos was unleashed big time!

Except for the 82 points I had remaining when Lazerenko checked out the double ten I remember very little about my 501. One of my teammates' memory is even worse. (I'll call him "Phil Hoods" here to protect his identity.) With some 200 people watching from the sidelines, Phil was left with 346 points. Lowe cleaned his clock with twelve quick darts (85, 8T0, T, 136).

At the end of the day I suppose there isn't much to my theory of "chaos and bad darts" that a little more practice, a lot more concentration, a hell of lot less beer -- and perhaps, some more new flights from Truman's wouldn't resolve.

Still, it's comforting to know that somewhere out in the world some squirrelly little guy with a slide rule in his pocket and a computer on his desk is hard at work searching for a better excuse for my deficiencies.

From the Field,

Dartoid

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