There are sporting stories that inspire. There are sporting stories that make you smile. There are legends who excel.

Then there is Deta Hedman’s story, which basically consists of grabbing Father Time by the scruff of the neck, stuffing him into the nearest wheelie bin and calmly pinning double top while everyone else is still trying to process what just happened.

At the ripe age of 66, a time when most normal people spend Saturday afternoons arguing with pigeons over whose park bench it is, Deta only went and became the Lakeside Women’s World Champion.

Not just any world champion either. The oldest world champion darts has ever seen. Fifty years in the game. Countless visits to Lakeside. Three painful final defeats. Then finally… bang. Job done. If brilliance, longevity and persistence combined were a checkout, Hedman would have finished every leg with a Big Fish.

Let’s be honest, if Hollywood pitched this script, the producers would reject it before the coffee had even gone cold. “So you’re telling us somebody spends decades chasing one title, loses three world finals and keeps turning up year after year, despite enough heartbreak to make an England football fan question every life choice they’ve ever made, before finally winning the whole thing at 66?” Yeah, right!

Yet that’s exactly what happened. Deta didn’t stumble across greatness overnight or ride a wave of youthful exuberance. She earned every ounce of success through the sort of determination most of us reserve for trying to find the TV remote before the adverts finish.

And just when you thought you couldn’t admire her any more, there’s the incredible work Deta does away from the oche too. For more than 25 years, she has served as a patron of Hearts of Darts, an organisation dedicated to supporting disabled children.

During that time, the charity has helped raise more than £200,000 to support youngsters living with cerebral palsy. If ever there was proof that Deta Hedman’s legacy extends far beyond trophies and titles, this is surely it. Rightly rewarded with an OBE with almost certainly the Damehood to follow shortly in the post.

The remarkable thing about Deta is that she’s been around darts for so long she probably remembers when scoreboards were operated by volunteers armed with chalk, optimism and the occasional flask of tea. Somewhere there’s probably a faded black and white photograph of someone saying, “That Hedman lass looks promising.”

The Jamaican-born legend has survived more eras than Doctor Who. God knows how many Prime Ministers or episodes of Coronation Street. She’s watched tungsten improve, flights made from plucking a birds arse, shirts become louder than a stag do in Benidorm and walk-on music evolve from polite introductions into full-scale West End productions.

Through every change in the sport, every new generation of players and every fashionable new throwing technique, Deta has simply carried on doing what Deta does best: turn up, throw brilliantly and quietly ruin somebody else’s afternoon before handing her partner Paul another large piece of silverware to stick in the car boot.

Her nickname is The Caribbean Queen, although The Human Warranty would have been equally appropriate because absolutely nothing appears capable of wearing her out. Most household appliances last five years if you’re lucky.

Deta has lasted half a century at the top end of competitive darts. Somewhere there are washing machines looking at her thinking, “Honestly, that’s just showing off now.” Other players enjoy purple patches. Deta has had an entire violet rainforest.

Across the decades she’s collected titles like your nan collects shopping bags she absolutely refuses to throw away because “they’ll come in handy one day.” Against all logic, they always do. World Masters? Tick. Dutch Open? Tick. Finder Masters? Tick. International honours? More than you could comfortably count without borrowing somebody else’s fingers.

And the thing is, Hedman isn’t slowing down. The girl is like a trophy-obsessed freight train, briefly slowing down only to pick up more silverware. Even the other week, Deta was down at the North Devon Resort on Six Nations duty, captaining Team England to triumph which of course they won. And yeah, she claimed the individual title too.

“Here ya go Paul, two more to squeeze in to the car” That man must have handled more silverware than the Head Butler at Buckingham Palace.

Not just one of the greatest female players in the history of the sport, but a leading spokeswoman too. When darts organisations decided it would be fine to stick blokes in women-only events, a lot of people weren’t happy.

The majority stayed quiet for fear of upsetting the bosses. Perfectly understandable. Many did nothing and kept their opinions to themselves. But not Deta. No way! She almost single-handedly led the revolution for the ladies in a game she lives and breathes.

Eventually, the powers that be introduced the rule that women’s darts is for women only. For exactly the same reasons why a cheetah can’t enter the Grand National. Deta risked fines and suspension by forfeiting matches, but she didn’t care. She took the risk, took the rap and, in the end, she won.

For years, the only thing really missing was that elusive Lakeside crown. For decades it became darts’ equivalent of waiting for Britain to experience a week of uninterrupted sunshine or hoping your train might actually arrive on time.

It always felt possible, but somehow never quite happened. Close. Agonisingly close. Then close again. Every near miss simply added another chapter to what was becoming one of the sport’s longest-running sagas. Eventually, people began referring to Deta as the greatest player never to win Lakeside, a title no professional actually wants. It’s a bit like being voted Britain’s Best Driver Who’s Never Passed Their Test. Nice compliment, completely useless.

Then boom. At the back end of 2025, Hedman defeated Lerena Rietbergen to finally stop chasing that rainbow and collect the pot of gold at the end. When she lifted that trophy, it felt as though the entire darts community collectively breathed out after holding its breath for thirty years.

As disappointed as Lerena undoubtedly was, even the brave runner-up could surely appreciate that Deta had finally earned the moment she so richly deserved.

Even supporters of her opponents probably found themselves smiling. You know you’ve become universally respected when the people desperate to beat you are secretly delighted you’ve finally had your moment.

Every season brings another group of exciting young talents full of confidence, fresh hairstyles and enough energy to power a small village. Then they run into Deta. It’s rather like turning up to your local five-a-side expecting an easy kickabout before discovering the opposition have secretly signed Lionel Messi for the evening.

Experience counts for plenty in darts, and Deta possesses enough experience to qualify as a listed historical monument. In fact, if you want to build a housing estate around the legend, you can’t get planning permission because she is a heritage asset.

Perhaps the greatest compliment you can pay her is that she’s never relied on hype. She doesn’t need smoke machines, fireworks or enough pyrotechnics to frighten livestock in neighbouring counties. She strolls to the oche with the confidence of somebody returning an item to Argos knowing full well they’ve kept the receipt. Then she simply gets on with the job. Clinical. Efficient. Ruthless when required.

Of course, becoming world champion at 66 isn’t simply impressive. It’s gloriously inconvenient because it completely destroys everybody else’s excuses. “My shoulder’s a bit sore.” Deta’s still winning world titles. “I’m feeling a little tired.” Deta’s still averaging enough to send you home wondering whether crown green bowls might be more your sport.

Her Lakeside triumph wasn’t simply another trophy for an already bulging cabinet. It completed one of the greatest careers darts has ever seen. The missing piece had finally slotted into place like finding that one rogue Lego brick that’s been hiding beneath the sofa since 1998.

The label of “greatest player never to win Lakeside” disappeared overnight. In truth, the monkey didn’t just climb off her back. It packed its suitcase, booked an Uber and emigrated without leaving a forwarding address.

Deta Hedman now sits exactly where she belongs – among the genuine legends of the sport. Not because she shouts the loudest, courts the biggest headlines or floods social media with motivational quotes over photographs of sunsets, but because she has spent decades letting her darts do the talking. A true pioneer for our wonderful game.

To a lady with more titles than you’d find in the British Library, I literally don’t have the time to list them all. Suffice to say, it would be quicker to mention those you haven’t won. I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here! and Strictly Come Dancing spring to mind. And I don’t think you’ve won on The Chase yet.

And a nod to her partner, Paul, who must have clocked up more miles on Britain’s roads than the entire fleet of Eddie Stobart drivers. If you see Mr James, give him a wave – and perhaps a coffee.

So, Deta Hedman OBE, we salute you. Thank you for the memories, and thank you for the ones still to come.