Many of the professional darts players on the circuit naturally gravitate into little friendship groups. Whether it’s stable-mates, fellow countrymen, players of a similar age or lads throwing the same manufacturer’s arrows, they all tend to form their own tiny travelling gang like tungsten-flavoured versions of secondary school friendship circles. Except instead of swapping football stickers cards behind the bike sheds, they’re comparing flight setups and arguing over who’s paying for the Nando’s.

When it comes to Chris Dobey and Nathan Aspinall – the unofficial Bert & Ernie of the PDC ProTour – they tick virtually every box imaginable. Similar age. Similar humour. Similar career paths. Both football obsessed. Both signed to the same management (twice). Both Target players. And both the sort of blokes who look like they’d accidentally get banned from a Toby Carvery for laughing too loudly at something incredibly immature.

So let’s have a look at the people behind the darts shirts rather than the tungsten-chucking machines seen on television every week.

CHRIS DOBEY

Hailing from Newcastle means Dobes occasionally requires subtitles during interviews. Sometimes he speaks, and it genuinely feels like your Sky Sports subscription has accidentally switched language settings halfway through the sentence. I’m fairly certain it’s English, but it’s English that’s been left outside in the rain for forty years drinking Newcastle Brown and shouting at seagulls.

Only joking, of course. He’s a proud Geordie and, like most people from up there, football is treated with the seriousness of a royal banquet. When he’s not away playing darts or spending time with his family – you’ll usually find Hollywood at St James’ Park watching his beloved Newcastle. Or in Barcelona seeing them getting battered!

Chris comes across as one of those blokes you’d absolutely love to have a few pints with. Proper down-to-earth, good laugh doesn’t take himself too seriously and just happens to possess the ability to throw darts like an absolute psychopath when in full flow. The sort of lad who’d probably spend half the night taking the piss out of you while simultaneously buying the next round.

Dobey and Aspinall were also both heavily linked through the whole management and manufacturer merry-go-round involving ZXF, Target and eventually MODUS. When one moved, the other essentially came as part of the package. A bit like reluctantly agreeing to take your girlfriend’s irritating ginger kid to the cinema because deep down you know refusing would end the relationship.

NATHAN ASPINALL

Again, another genuinely top bloke. Another normal lad who somehow throws 180s for fun while most of us struggle to throw a tea bag into a mug from three feet away. However, Nathan does possess one deeply troubling character flaw. He supports Manchester United.

Now, to be fair, it’s mildly more acceptable because he’s from Stockport, which is at least geographically near Old Trafford unlike half their fanbase who live in Indonesia and think Salford is a type of kitchen worktop. Ain’t that right Gian van Veen?

Before discovering he was outrageously good at darts, Nath was actually on Manchester United’s youth books as a goalkeeper, so in fairness he satisfies at least some of the criteria needed to avoid being labelled a full-blown glory hunter. Although, given the current state of United, supporting them nowadays is probably less “glory hunting” and more emotional self-harm with occasional European fixtures thrown in.

The two-time major champion also didn’t exactly overcomplicate things when choosing his nickname The Asp. You can just imagine the brainstorming process lasting about seven seconds before he shrugged and went: “Ah fuck it, just use the first three letters of my surname.” Probably wise really. Because if television gardener Alan Titchmarsh had followed the same logic, weekday afternoon TV might have looked very different.

One thing many people might not know about Aspinall, however, is that he is apparently terrified of sheep. Yes. Sheep.

Those fluffy, harmless creatures that spend most of their lives either standing in fields looking utterly confused or wandering into roads completely pissing off motorists. We’re not talking about sharks, grizzly bears or king cobras here. We’re talking about animals whose biggest ambition is usually finding slightly greener grass. Certainly not carrying out contract hits on Manc darts players like some sort of axe-wielding Rambo.

Honestly, sheep rank somewhere near Phill Barrs with a hernia chasing you on the all-time list of terrifying physical threats. They spend most of their lives aimlessly wandering fields looking like startled clouds with legs. Being frightened of one is a bit like being intimidated by a tea towel or threatened by a mildly aggressive slice of toast.

There must be a logical explanation somewhere. Childhood trauma perhaps. Maybe one looked at him funny once in Wales and he’s never emotionally recovered. Because if there isn’t a proper reason behind it, then being petrified of lambs is one of the most spectacularly random fears in professional sport.