Just for a refreshing change of scenery, the European Tour rolled back into Germany over the weekend – a nation which possesses a firmer stranglehold over this circuit than Greggs have over the British public’s sodium intake through sausage rolls.
This particular stop, grandly titled the International Darts Open, continues to stretch the definition of the word “international” to near philosophical extremes. Aside from Australian representative Damon Heta, the field was essentially wall-to-wall Europeans. In fact, even The Heat now resides in the United Kingdom, making the tournament feel about as globally diverse as a village school sports day sponsored by the parish council.
After five and a half sessions of tungsten-related warfare, the last four line-up left us with three Englishmen – two sporting radically contrasting levels of hair density – alongside a Scotsman whose resurgence this weekend made the resurrection of Lazarus look like he had merely popped to the corner shop for a pint of milk and a Twix. * Other chocolate bars are available.
Onto the semi-finals themselves, where my PDC.TV stream went down than Bonnie Blue on an average Tuesday afternoon. Still, perseverance prevailed. The opening encounter went the full distance as Ryan Searle – proudly representing the long-haired community and traumatised rock drummers everywhere – edged past his follicly-challenged compatriot Rob Cross in a dramatic last-leg decider. Meanwhile, Cameron Menzies sadly failed to lay a meaningful glove on Ross Smith, who more or less swaggered his way into the final with ease.
Quick word too on the furniture-loathing Scot, Cameron Menzies, who continues to rediscover some seriously encouraging form. In truth, this was probably some of the finest tungsten we have witnessed from a Scottish plumber on German soil in years. Even more impressively, no tables, chairs or innocent items of venue infrastructure were harmed during the making of this deeply chaotic run.
Cammy bizarrely decided, against both Josh Rock and James Wade en route to the semi-finals, that gifting elite-level arrow-smiths a 4-0 head start would somehow constitute a sensible tactical approach. Astonishingly, the lunatic methodology actually worked. Menzies roared back on both occasions, dragging himself from the brink with the kind of manic intensity usually reserved for blokes trying to shut a pub before the police arrive.
Against Ross Smith, however, the resurrection act finally ran out of divine intervention. Smudger simply gave the fiery-haired Scot absolutely nothing to feed upon, whitewashing him with ruthless efficiency and bringing the Highland comeback carnival to an abrupt and rather brutal conclusion.
Onto the showdown. Smith versus Searle. Knowing the tournament would crown a brand-new name on the European Tour roll of honour, Smudger finally got the job done, exorcising the ghosts of those previously lost finals in the process. Prior to this weekend, sympathy for the man was admittedly in limited supply. He is handsome, financially loaded, has a fit missus and averages roughly fifty points higher than me at darts. My heart was hardly haemorrhaging on his behalf. Nevertheless, I am genuinely delighted for the man affectionately known in these quarters as Smudgerigar. Congratulations son. Ross Smith is now officially no longer the hairiest-backed player never to win a European Tour title – his words, not mine.
Beyond the eventual champion, there were plenty of other memorable moments across the weekend. Not all of them were necessarily connected to darts.
Yet again, Gerwyn Price withdrew from an event. At this stage, the Welshman pulls out more frequently than a panicking nymphomaniac confronted with the prospect of unexpected parenthood. With Rob Cross and Maik Kuivenhoven already promoted from the reserve list, Christian Kist received the late call-up and, with it, an immediate £3,500 payday (£1500 more than the two blokes I just mentioned) for parachuting directly into round two. Fair play to the Dutchman because it certainly is not his fault, but the entire arrangement still feels about as equitable as a raffle run by the mafia.
Ross Smith’s interviews also took an unexpectedly surreal turn throughout the weekend. Following victory over close friend Joe Cullen, Smudger somehow decided the appropriate post-match revelation was informing half of Riesa that Joe had offered to shave his back. Undoubtedly an affectionate and deeply moving gesture from the Yorkshireman, though perhaps not one requiring public dissemination on stage. Particularly not after Smith elaborated that the area in question apparently resembles a forest reserve. A truly extraordinary exchange of information.
Then, after defeating Ricardo Pietreczko, Smith praised the German crowd for their behaviour towards Pikachu, acknowledging that the home favourite had clearly struggled under pressure. Perhaps Smudger momentarily forgot he was playing in his opponent’s literal homeland, where crowds generally tend to support one of their own. Mercifully, however, there was no follow-up actions towards the previous back-shaving discussion. Small blessings.
Back to Rockstar Joe Cullen, and proof that counting remains an optional luxury in modern darts. Chris Landman managed to produce one of the more bewildering moments of the weekend when, at 5-4 ahead, the Dutchman wandered over to offer Cullen a friendly fist-bump – the universal sporting signal for good checkout mate or last leg incoming. To Cullen’s immense credit, despite looking roughly as confused as an aardvark attempting advanced trigonometry, he simply smiled and patiently waited for Landman to realise he had catastrophically fucked up reading the scoreline.
Once again, we also witnessed the two entirely separate versions of Michael van Gerwen. There is the incarnation where he crashes trebles with terrifying regularity like a possessed scoring machine forged in a laboratory. Then there is the alternate version where, if handed a banjo, he would somehow fail to locate a cow’s backside before assaulting the unfortunate bovine with the instrument itself. There genuinely appears to be no middle ground anymore.
Commentary quote of the weekend undoubtedly belonged to Paul Nicholson. After one player wired all three darts at double, the Geordie Australian delivered this absolute masterpiece: “I can see what he was trying to do.” Cheers Nico. Going out on a limb here, but I suspect the intended strategy may indeed have involved hitting the target.
In fairness, though, Nicholson remains an outstanding commentator and a hugely entertaining presence, even if he occasionally approaches analysis with the emotional subtlety of WWE commentary during a steel cage match such is his passion for that sport.
Overall, however, genuine praise must be directed towards the crowd behaviour throughout the weekend. German audiences have, on occasion, developed a rather unfortunate reputation for producing industrial quantities of whistling bell-ends. Perhaps the people of Riesa simply lack the ability to whistle. Or perhaps they belong to the revolutionary minority who purchase tickets for darts events with the radical intention of actually watching the darts rather than attempting to psychologically torture the players.
Numerous competitors commented upon the crowd’s impeccable respectfulness – including James Wade, a man who distributes compliments with roughly the same frequency a fat kid hands out sweets. At some questionable European venues, sections of the audience resemble discarded extras from The Hills Have Eyes, alongside the odd individual whose hard drive you would very much like examined by the authorities. By contrast, the good people of Saxony largely seemed civilised, welcoming and refreshingly sane.
