As arguably one of the sport’s most naturally gifted talents, Corey Cadby was unfortunately also one of the most controversial.

On the oche, a genius. You’d want him on your side all day long. But if you fancied robbing a fast food restaurant, you’d be better picking someone else. Ideally someone who had at least watched Ocean’s Eleven once rather than treating armed robbery like they were popping into B&Q for a bag of compost.

In Confessions Of A King, we learnt the best way to perform a heist on a Hungry Jack’s isn’t to walk in unmasked, higher than the bloke swinging from the rafters at a rave and simply ask for the safe. No. You need to put effort into it and a bit of common sense.

Or even better, do what any normal person does – and just ask for a burger and fries. That was Corey’s first spell in jail. His second was a little more sympathetic, breaking into his Aunt’s house and assaulting her fella who was mentally abusing and torturing her. Understandable.

So, once again, I caught up with the Tasmanian scoundrel, who, because he’d put on a bit of timber, I decided to call Corey Cadbury. He chuckled, then called me a few expletives, all ending with the word “mate” on the end. I’ll leave you to use your imagination as to what those other words were. If you’ve ever met an Australian, it won’t take much imagination at all.

Right buddy – tell me a little about life on the inside?

“Well, after the Hungry Jack’s incident, I was banged up in Tasmania where I’m from. The second time around, after the thing with my Aunt’s fella, I was in Port Phillip Prison in Victoria.

“It’s one of the hardest jails – third hardest in Australia – maximum security facility. They put you there first.”

Not entirely sure how one would determine exactly “how hard a prison was“. I assumed it had nothing to do with structural integrity but more to do with the kind of people it housed. I was right.

I don’t think there’s a Tripadvisor ranking for correctional facilities. “Lovely atmosphere. Decent security. Cell service could be better. Three stars.”

“In total, I’ve spent time in five different jails. But it wasn’t that bad. It made me into a man. The only thing I missed when inside was my family. Need that in your life.”

Absolutely, cob – which I heard is a term of endearment permitted by us Pommies when the situation arises. I certainly felt that sentiment was befitting of such an occasion.

When asked, though, Corey explained who visited – and who didn’t:

“I wouldn’t let my daughter go along when I was in jail in Tasmania. Then, second time around, when I was in Victoria, my Dad lives in Melbourne, which is in the same state, so he came. My Mum did once but she’s in Western Australia, so that was a four-hour flight and a few more travelling for her. To be honest, I didn’t want them coming and seeing me inside.”

Being a particularly affable cheeky character, and speaking from personal experience, I asked him if he managed to buddy up and whether fame helped. Not the fame you get for being a dickhead asking for a safe in a burger joint. That’s called infamy.

“I made plenty of mates. A few of the screws [prison wardens] knew me but I didn’t like to talk about it.”

Well, it didn’t sound too bad inside. Not that I was tempted to test that theory myself, mind you. Orange has never really been my colour. But Cadby was unremorseful:

“I don’t regret what I did. If anyone fucked with my family, I’d do the same again.”

Fast forward to January and Corey was out. I say fast forward, but given it’s July and we are reflecting back in time, that’s a little confusing. But you know what I mean. Time travel has never really been my strong point.

As a former professional darts player, the bug was still there. And immediately the Davenport desperado was keen to find out if he still had the magic touch. Of course he did.

“Yeah, so that tournament was only a few weeks after I got out. Before that, I hadn’t picked up a dart in almost three years.”

Now this was a question put to me by a friend. Did Corey play darts in jail? Immediately, I replied, “Don’t be a muppet. Of course not.” But I asked him anyway.

“Don’t be a muppet. Of course not. Just cards. I was trying to organise something but wasn’t allowed. Dangerous items and all that. Although I did used to throw a few apple cores in the bin – didn’t miss much.”

I guess lobbing fruit into a trash can could be considered to offer a similar skillset to darts where accuracy is key. Yet, not quite the same. Mind you, if prison officers ever introduce the Apple Core Open, Corey is already seeded. Get it? Nevermind.

So about this tournament. How long was it exactly after you were you Nelson Mandela’d, mate?

“Just a few weeks I reckon. It was doubles with my brother Ashley. I didn’t expect us to win, just go along, throw some arrows and have fun. But I played okay. Averaged in the nineties and threw quite a few 180s, including about five in the final.”

Annoyingly brilliant, isn’t he? As a natural talent, having witnessed first-hand a bloke who rocked up at a German airport with a set of darts and no case, looking as much of a player as I do an astronaut, what he did beggars belief.

Not only did he start lobbing maximums at a rate of Hungry Jack’s employees running for cover every time Corey is in the vicinity and feels peckish – he won a Tour Card outright on only day two.

It would have been day one had the flamin’ galah shown up with a set of flights that didn’t look like a hamster had been dining on them.

Interestingly, and somewhat deliberately, that took me onto something which wandered into my path. From out of nowhere – well, I say nowhere, I’m guessing the next room, which wasn’t in view on FaceTime – his daughter wandered in with a guinea pig.

Bit random. Not the pet you’d associate with a violent criminal. But this is one who watches Home & Away, so any hardened reputation he had was lost the moment he admitted to watching that shite. Somewhere, Alf Stewart was probably very proud.

I was introduced, somewhat bewilderingly, to the small furry animal and decided to seek further information. For reasons, whilst typing this up, I am still not entirely sure of.

“Isn’t she cute? Her name is Hazel. We have a couple of boy ones too – both long Johns.”

Er yes, guinea pigs are cute. That’s why people tend to have them as pets as opposed to moths, I guess. I just had to know what the “long John” reference was all about. Are both boys called that, mate?

“Nah! Their names are Teddy and Bear. They just have huge cocks.”

If there was ever a time to change the subject, that was it. I didn’t want to start discussing the penis sizes of rodents with anyone, let alone this drongo. Knowing him – and also how equally weird I am – it was a conversation that could have gone on for quite a while.

Before you know it we’d have been comparing squirrell bollocks and debating whether gerbils were more generously equipped than guinea pigs. Thankfully, common sense prevailed. Well… eventually.

So instead, I changed the topic and moved onto darts. More specifically, the upcoming World Matchplay, and asked Corey who his pick to go all the way was.

“I reckon Gary [Anderson] will win it.”

Nice. I like a direct answer. Not so much the next one when I asked him for his reasons, to which he simply replied, “Dunno.”

Never a great retort from an interviewers perspective. So I simply stared at him, shrugged my shoulders, kinda hoping he’d give me more. Then sensing my gesture, he did:

“Honestly though, reckon when it comes to tournaments like that, Gary shines. Knows when to pull it all together. I know he says he doesn’t practice, and he’s not lying. But for a tournament like this, he will probably spend an hour or two each day on the board.

“He’s due a big TV win. And when he’s on, he’s on.”

Cadby does make a good point. Anderson is a great player and capable of winning any event – especially if he hits top speed. When the Flying Scotsman gets into fifth gear, scoring becomes about as effortless as one of Corey’s pets trying to get laid.

He then added: “Everyone there has potential. I’d give over half the field a genuine chance of winning. I was out with mates last Wednesday and told them I fancy Gary to win it.”

Feeling the whole guinea pig cock-size conversation was now firmly in the rear-view mirror, I ploughed on and asked him for his four semi-finalists. This was after sending him the draw brackets.

“I am going to say Littler, Gary, either Cross or Humphries and Nijman. Then I’m going for an Anderson versus Luke Humphries final.”

There you have it. Corey thinks Anderson beats Littler in the quarters, then goes on to lift the title. You never know. That’s the beauty of darts. It’s a sport that can change quicker than a chameleon who own’s a fancy dress shop.

Then, going back to the Aussie’s time on tour – which admittedly was brief – who were his mates?

“Obviously Kyle [Anderson]. Then I really got on well with Nathan [Aspinall] too. Me and MVG used to take the piss out of one another and have the banter. Dobey is a good lad – I love that bloke. Then Rob Cross was always someone good to have a chat with.”

Anyone else?

“Yeah. For teaching me things, it was Jelle Klaasen who told me if I’m on 271, to go for the 19s. It was obvious once he said it!”

Stunned it took Jelle to point out basic mathematics to one of the greatest naturally gifted darts players I’d ever seen. However, given his previous examples of not really thinking straight, I let that one go.

To be honest, prior to this, Corey would have just banged in a max and taken out the 91 next shot anyway. Some players study combinations for years. Corey just seemed to bully numbers into doing what he wanted.

So what’s on the agenda next? Plans for 2027, assuming you won’t do anything daft again!

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I wouldn’t mind travelling around Australia on the ADA circuit next year. Teach them all a lesson and smack their bums. They just see me as a bad boy.”

I wonder why! Some people aren’t prepared to give second chances. And at this stage, Cadby has had more than a few. But in a stable relationship, with a sweetheart of a daughter, a baby on the way and a few guinea pigs – two of which are apparently exceptionally well endowed – he seems to be on the straight and narrow. Long may it continue. Genuinely, because darts is simply a better place when talents like Corey Cadby are throwing tungsten rather than causing prison governors unnecessary paperwork.

“I’m hoping to get sponsorship. Can’t do it on my own without backing and ideally get an Aussie manager to look after me,”he continued.

I am sure there’s a darts lover with a forgiving heart out there – and a good few bob – willing to stick a few quid on Corey. Yes, it’s not without its risks given the lad’s previous. And he’s not daft; he understands that.

Yet, for the right person, it could be a particularly enticing investment. If he keeps his nose clean (no pun intended), the upside is enormous. If nothing else, he’ll certainly keep your Christmas party conversations interesting.

If the Tasmanian native does excel on the ADA, then a World Series spot would be available. I actually emailed Matt Porter, Chief Executive of the PDC, to see if there’d be any issues with Cadby playing should he qualify. His reply was:

“Currently the DRA doesn’t have any outstanding sanctions against Corey, so assuming that doesn’t change, we would not stop him competing.”

Sweet as. Then Corey reminisced about a World Series final that got away. Judging by the look on his face, it still annoys him about as much as a fly buzzing round your bedroom at three in the morning.

“Ah, Kyle [Anderson] shouldn’t have beaten me. I was something like 9-6 up but missed too many doubles and he nicked it!

“But I’d absolutely love another crack at the World Series again.”

You can tell it still stings. Darts players have memories like elephants when it comes to missed doubles. They couldn’t tell you what they had for breakfast yesterday but can vividly recall every dart they butchered five years ago. Although with Corey, it’s both.

We then had a giggle at a story he told me:

“It’s actually quite funny cos when I won the PDC World Youth Championship, Cash Converters were the sponsor and paid me a good few quid. Then over the years, that shop has been my main source of income fencing items. So I used to still get a regular cash pay-out from them.”

I think the word is ironic. You couldn’t make it up if you tried. Actually, with Corey, you probably could – nobody would believe you anyway. The lad has done so much fencing, he could have single-handedly built the Aintree Grand National racecourse.

Naturally, I had to bring up the mind-boggling, ridiculous black spiked hair look from days of old. Something I labelled him as “a Gothic Lesbian“. Corey laughed then said:

“In all my criminal life, nothing comes close to doing anything as stupid as that hairstyle!”

I am sure there are judges in Tasmania who would disagree, mate! Then again, if fashion police carried handcuffs, he’d probably have got a longer sentence for that barnet than anything else.

We then spoke a little about my new novel. And it turns out I wasn’t the only budding author on the phone.

“I actually started writing a book in jail. A life story which I called The Story of the King. Was hoping to make some money off it. But I only wrote twelve or so pages then chucked it in the bin.”

A dozen pages. Hardly War & Peace, but it was a start. Corey said, if he still had it, he’d send it over to me to “fix up“. That’s like sending me some flour and asking me to make a wedding cake. Perhaps. But somewhere they’d be a very pissed off bride.

It was then Cadby reminded me of a footy game that was starting soon. Not what us Brits call football – the Aussie Rules version which, after counting, he told me was eighteen a-side. Bless. Only Australians could look at twenty-two blokes chasing a ball around a field and think, “You know what this needs? Fourteen more.”

But just before we wrapped things up, completely out of left field, he gave me another pet-related pearler:

“We once had a kitten and thought initially it was a girl. Gave it to a good home to care for it and found out it grew balls.”

Bizarre. But we did decide a good name for him would be Noa-Lynn. Just male Cat Darts events only for that fella when he learns how to throw.

Again, great catching up with the blighter. Delighted to see him doing so well. Let’s hope it stays that way.

Because underneath all the daft stories, questionable life choices, bizarre conversations about well-endowed guinea pigs and hairstyles that should probably have carried a fashion warning, there remains one undeniable fact. Corey Cadby is one of the most naturally gifted darts players I have ever had the pleasure of watching. And albeit not what many would like to hear, but a guy I am proud to call a mate.

If he can finally keep life pointing in the same direction as his darts, then perhaps the story of the King still has a few chapters left to write. As long as it’s me and not him writing them!

Cheers, Cor.