The latest WDF event took competitors all the way to Western Australia where Blake Hatchett and Christine Richardson triumphed at the 2026 Darts Australia Pacific Masters.

I say it took competitors all the way there. By that, what I actually mean is a load of Australians from a country roughly the size of Jupiter all climbed into their Utes, loaded enough snacks to survive an apocalypse and embarked on what was essentially a fortnight-long pilgrimage to the town of Stirling, just outside Perth.

In Australia, popping down the road usually means driving for eleven hours and only seeing three kangaroos, two emus and a bloke called Gazza fixing a fence.

Before we jump into the action, the Stirling Adriatic Centre played host to the event. Which is a wonderfully misleading name considering the Adriatic Sea is absolutely nowhere bloody near Australia. It’s in Europe, sandwiched between Italy and the Balkans. Whoever named the place clearly failed Geography with spectacular commitment.

So if you accidentally ended up at the actual Adriatic, congratulations. Somewhere around Ayers Rock you made what experts describe as “a bit of a balls-up.”

Anyway, that’s completely irrelevant. The people who actually needed to be there somehow found it, despite Australia having approximately four roads and each of them being longer than the M6. Seeing as I wasn’t playing, I’m perfectly entitled to sit here taking the piss out of the venue’s name while wondering why they didn’t simply call it the Stirling Indian Ocean Centre and save everyone a mild identity crisis.

First into the winners’ circle was Christine Richardson, who defeated Tiarna Dorotich 6-3 in the ladies’ final. And if my AI-generated image of Christine is anything to go by, she definitely knows where the doubles are far better than she knows where the camera lens is.

When I say she’s a Victorian lady, I don’t mean she spends her evenings churning butter, washing clothes in the river and serving up an under-seasoned rabbit stew while discussing the Industrial Revolution. I’m referring to the Australian state.

After absolutely strolling through her group with all the urgency of someone taking the dog for a Sunday walk, Richardson won every single one of her eight matches. Signs it was going to be her day were pretty evident from that I’d say.

Into the knockout stages she continued treating opponents with the sort of mercy usually shown by a crocodile after a hunger strike. Jordie Clarke, Natalie Carter and Julie Lewis were all whitewashed before the incredibly talented Alyssa Moody at least managed to make Christine break into something resembling a sweat, eventually going down 5-3 in the semi-final.

Then came the decider.

Locked together at 2-2, Richardson simply flicked the switch, reeled off the important legs and romped home 6-3. Clinical stuff. If she’d been any calmer she’d have needed checking for a pulse.

Onto the men’s event, where honours went the way of Blake Hatchett, who did exactly what his surname suggested and chopped his way through the field like a bloke clearing gum trees before breakfast.

Being from Western Australia, Blake probably spent about twelve months less travelling than everyone else. Mind you, that’s still only classed as “local” by Australian standards. Their sat-navs don’t calculate journeys in miles—they measure them in packed lunches.

No stranger to the Australian darts scene—and thanks to my guest appearance on DSL Live, no stranger to me either—Hatchett has apparently won the Friday night competition around thirty times. At this point they’re probably considering renaming the event after him.

Hey, maybe most the players can turn up with shirts of his face on them as oppose to Ben Hunter’s. Friday evenings at the Silver Sands looks like a weird beard convention at times, not a darts event.

Rumour has it Blake has got his own parking bay outside. Mind you, it rarely gets used because, like any self-respecting Aussie darts player, he’d rather enjoy a couple of pints than spend the evening explaining to the local constabulary why he smells like Carlton Draught.

Similarly to Ms Richardson, Blake breezed through the group stages, losing just two of his nine matches. The other seven opponents spent the evening wondering whether darts had always been this unpleasant.

Apart from surviving a tricky opening knockout against Nino Galunic, Hatchett gradually shifted through the gears before edging Shannon O’Brien in a cracking last-leg semi-final that had enough tension to snap a didgeridoo.

Waiting in the final was Joe Comito, better known as The Waterboy.

Now I’ve been to Australia several times, and I honestly can’t remember seeing anyone voluntarily drink water unless the pub had temporarily run out of beer or a gun placed to their head. Beer? Absolutely. By the bucket load. Water? Usually just something fish live in.

Mind you, The Lager Lout probably wouldn’t look quite as appealing on sponsor boards. Unless Foster’s fancied a comeback. Though judging by what Australians think of Foster’s, even they would politely decline.

Talking of nicknames, Tim Pusey goes by The Magnet.

Now, to look at Tim, your first assumption probably wouldn’t be that women are mysteriously being pulled towards him from fifty yards away. Although, to be fair, I’m sure he’s received plenty of interest from nearby sheep. Rural Australia does have a reputation… and I’m certainly not helping it.

Back to the final before I receive several strongly-worded emails.

After an even opening exchange, Hatchett suddenly slammed the accelerator through the floor, rattled off three successive legs and eventually secured a deserved 7-4 victory over Comito.

And if Hollywood ever decided to make Harvey Joe Story, Joe Pesci could play Comito without the make-up budget even noticing. Small? Tick. Italian heritage? Tick. Looks like someone who could either beat you at darts or ask where you hid the family money? Tick.

I’m just saying… the resemblance is there.

Anyway, it’s a fantastic victory for Blake, who now has an AU$3,200 cheque to stick in the bank. Although if he wakes up tomorrow morning to discover a horse’s head on his pillow after all those Mafia jokes, at least he won’t have far to travel to get home. One advantage of actually living in Western Australia. As does Comito handily enough.

Congratulations to both champions and everyone involved in another cracking weekend of darts. Even if the venue still sounds like someone dropped a pin on entirely the wrong continent.