To suggest Scottish darts is very much on the rise would be a colossal understatement. In fact, I’d go as far to say it would be like describing the North Pole as “slightly on the chilly side”.

While the football may not exactly be going to plan, the proud tungsten nation’s youngsters are absolutely ripping it up on the oche. At this rate, Scotland may soon decide to stop bothering with grass altogether and simply replace every football pitch with forty dartboards and a reasonably priced bar.

With legendary tartan throwers Gary Anderson and Peter Wright now entering the twilight of their excellent careers, are we soon to witness a changing of the guard?

For decades, Scotland has enjoyed a deep, rich history of producing some of the greatest players ever to grace the oche, usually while looking as though they had just wandered in from a working men’s club and accidentally become world-class athletes.

Naturally, the first name that springs to mind is Jocky Wilson. Flamboyant, charismatic and, admittedly, a little bit short — perfect for a window cleaner who specialised exclusively in bungalows. Nonetheless, he was an absolute genius when you put three darts in one hand and a pint in the other, which was basically the accepted sports-science programme of the era.

Then there was the great Les Wallace, the 1997 BDO World Champion and, very much alongside Jocky, one of the forefathers of Scottish darts. These were the men who helped build the foundations, long before professional players had nutritionists, psychologists and somebody employed specifically to tell them not to eat a full fried breakfast twenty minutes before a quarter-final.

Of course, you also have Big Hendo, who I affectionately call “The Hunk of Huntly”. A World Cup winner and an all-round top bloke, John Henderson remains one of the most popular figures in the game.

Then there is Robert Thornton, a two-time PDC major winner and an absolute freak of nature when it came to hitting maximums, usually with the facial expression of a man waiting for the kettle to boil. But a pure gent and exactly the sort of fella you’d want beside you in the World War II trenches if Germany had challenged Britain to a doubles match. Forget tanks and fighter planes, just hand The Thorn three darts and point him towards Berlin.

And then we come to Ando and Snakebite, who have enjoyed the sort of careers that allow you to walk away into the sunset and quietly tell yourself, “Yeah, I did pretty okay.” Multiple world titles, major crowns, huge victories and enough prize money to ensure they never have to check the reduced section in Tesco unless they genuinely fancy the thrill.

But now, a new generation is arriving, led by Mitchell Lawrie and Owen Bryceland. They are just two members of a whole galaxy of young tartan stars currently making their way through the ranks, armed with frightening talent, ridiculous confidence and none of the back pain that comes with trying to stand up after the age of forty.

Everybody knows about Wee Sox, of course, a player seemingly destined to become a World Champion. He is the kind of once-in-a-generation whipper-snapper whose parents probably realised from day one that they were not raising a child so much as creating a long-term storage crisis for an ever-growing mountain of trophies.

Then you have The Bandit who, amazingly — and rather startlingly — is still only twelve years old. Twelve. An age when most children are still forgetting their PE kit, losing one shoe and treating deodorant as an entirely optional extra.

At that age, I was still eating dirt and awkwardly attempting to speak to girls. This kid is smashing it up on the oche. If he manages to excel at school to the same standard he does at darts, he will probably be running NASA before he can legally drive, while simultaneously completing double twelve to win a youth ranking event during his lunch break.

Right now, Anderson and Wright still have more left in the tank. Admittedly, perhaps not a full tank, because Father Time waits for no man and is particularly ruthless with professional sportsmen who have spent several decades standing under hot stage lights. Even so, The Flying Scotsman on his day remains utterly unbelievable.

Although, if Anderson were running the PDC, every European Tour event would probably be transformed into a fishing competition, ideally staged at one of his four lakes. The prize fund would remain the same, but the first player to land a decent-sized carp would qualify for the Grand Slam.

As for Snakey, sadly, he cannot seem to rediscover his mojo. It is certainly not through a lack of trying, because he changes his darts as often as drivers in India change lanes. Barrels, stems, flights, weight, length — the only thing he has not yet tried is throwing three sharpened teaspoons and hoping for the best.

That said, nobody can argue with Peter Wright’s darting résumé. He has won shedloads of titles by continually chopping and changing, proving that while most players search for consistency, Peter prefers to approach equipment selection like a contestant on Changing Rooms after six espressos.

But if Peter does eventually go on to play Vivian in the upcoming revamped version of The Young Ones, he will not need to do much with his hair. More importantly, he can walk away safe in the knowledge that the future of Scottish darts is in incredibly safe hands.

Much safer than the hands of Scotland’s national football goalkeepers, anyway.