Whilst the majority of North Americans are quietly going about their business, completely oblivious that a major football tournament is happening on their doorstep, the pragmatic Canadian aficionado of the oche, Jeff Smith is carrying on in the way he has always done – collecting shiny silver things for winning darts tournaments. While millions are arguing over offside decisions and pretending they understand expected goals, Jeff is busy treating trophies like a magpie with a gambling addiction.
Over the weekend at the NDFC Canadian Open in Quebec, The Silencer hushed a field of almost all compatriots – with enough Irish in attendance to request a Guinness tap for the venue – to be crowned champion.
New Brunswick’s second most famous son – sorry Jeff, got to give that to Donald Sutherland mate, the 50-year old tungsten genius only faced blokes from his own nation. One by one, they fell like lemmings off a cliff, thankfully, not ending up in death or dismemberment, just consoling one another at the bar.
After edging past Nick Smith – no relation – in a thrilling last leg deciding semi-final Jeff overcame a Canadian with like so many of his countrymen, a French flavoured name in Jean Michel Legault 5-2 to claim the glory and adulation that he should be getting even when spanked to nil in his opener. In truth, Canadians would probably still queue politely for selfies if Jeff lost 6-0 to a traffic cone. They’re nice people. Disturbingly nice. The sort who say sorry after you’ve reversed into their car then punched them on the nose.
Now I have covered the event and his triumph, it’s time to praise and then have a bit of a giggle with someone who I genuinely feel is one of the nicest blokes in darts. Think of him as a Jonny Clayton but with more knowledge of Ice Hockey and enjoys maple syrup far more than The Ferret.
Jeff was born in a stable, about a 20-minute walk from Saint John in New Brunswick. Shortly after being born, three wise Canadian men (Justin Bieber clearly not the benchmark for intelligence in that country) appeared and handed his Mum three gifts. One was a set of darts. Sharp pointy metal things being the perfect gift for a new born child. Might as well have given him a drumkit and a chainsaw.
About a week later after Jeff’s Dad had bought a board for the stable, the baby had banged in a plethora of maximums, each time, shrieking with joy. Eventually the father got so frustrated, he told his new-born son to be quiet. That’s how The Silencer nickname was born.
After school, Jeff would nip into the local village and after turning water into wine and parting the Saint John River, much to annoyance of local fishermen, he would enter darts events and clean up. Local residents grew so accustomed to miracles they barely batted an eyelid. A bloke could’ve walked down the high street riding a moose and somebody would’ve simply nodded and muttered, “Bit chilly today pal.”
Then years later, found himself in the PDC and playing for his country at the World Cup. A lot happened in between but I don’t want to harp on too much. Simply put, Jeff is to darts what Wayne Gretzky is to hockey in Canada. Granted, not quite as decorated but just a legend. The great John Part will always be the forefather of North American tungsten talent. But I like to think Jeff can sit on Darth Maple’s right hand side and discuss who has the worst nickname. FYI – it’s Part.
The bloke has become one of those silver-haired foxes who somehow improve with age. Most men reach fifty and start collecting garden centres, comparing blood pressure medication and making strange noises every time they stand up. Jeff reached fifty and decided he’d rather collect trophies. His joints might occasionally sound like somebody shaking a box of Weetabix, but his darts still behave like heat-seeking missiles.
So congrats mate. The British Prime Minister has just resigned so if fancy it, there’s a house in London waiting for you mate. Let’s face it, you can’t do any worse than that w***er! Even Matty Campbell would be an improvement. He’d certainly lower the tax on alcohol which would make him almost immortalised in the UK.
Jeff. We salute you. The 2026 Canadian Open Champion. And always a champion in our hearts.
Not just because of the trophies either. In a sport full of egos, tantrums and social media meltdowns that make Love Island contestants look emotionally stable, Jeff remains one of the genuinely good lads. A bloke so nice that if he accidentally ran over your dog, he’d probably buy you a new puppy, pay for its vaccinations and then apologise to the dog.
Long may The Silencer continue but loudly and picking up silverware.
