Similar to walk-ons, professional darts players’ nicknames are a massive part of their character. Pick a banging entrance tune, combine it with a decent moniker and, as long as you don’t throw worse than a drunk arm amputee, you’re laughing.
And just like the songs blasting around arenas welcoming arrow-smiths to the stage, some nicknames are brilliant – others sound like they were created during a three-second brainstorm in a motorway service station toilet.
Josh Rock and Nathan Aspinall are perfect examples. Both world-class players. Both top lads. Yet both essentially looked at their surnames and went: “Yeah… that’ll do.” Rock simply stuck a consonant at the end. Aspinall shortened his surname like a primary school kid trying to sound hard behind the bike sheds.
The Asp works well enough, admittedly. But that formula can become dangerous depending on your surname. If David Dickinson had pursued a darts career using the same logic, the PDC would probably have intervened immediately for public safety reasons. The varnished-looking TV antiques presented would stand on the oche like a bemused aging garden shed wondering why everyone is taking the piss.
Aussie number one Damon Heta also followed the surname route, except he tried to make it intellectual by rearranging the letters into an anagram. Fair play. Clever idea. Unfortunately HETA only contains four letters, meaning most people crack the mystery faster than a toddler putting together a two-piece jigsaw puzzle.
Then you have occupation-based nicknames. Rob Cross became Voltage because he used to be an electrician. Fair enough, I suppose. Better than Crossy by the width of a Rizla paper. At least he made an effort. Probably a good reason why no former gynaecologists play professional darts.
It’s difficult to criticise Raymond van Barneveld becoming Barney. Although I imagine Hanna-Barbera’s legal department briefly sat upright in concern. To be fair, the Dutchman looks absolutely nothing like the small blonde fella from The Flintstones although his wife is as hot as Betty. Unless Barney Rubble started shaking his head a lot and retired every week, that’s where the similarity ends.
World champion Luke Littler opted for the rhyming approach with The Nuke. Smart. Effective. Explosive. The branding works beautifully. Especially now he’s got an MBE. Give it twenty years and if the King gives him half of Cheshire, Duke Luke might accidentally become the greatest nickname evolution in sporting history.
The other absurdly talented Luke – Humphries – went with Cool Hand Luke, based on the 1967 prison film starring Paul Newman. Which sounds classy and cinematic until you realise almost nobody under 45 has actually seen it. By that logic Charlie Manby could call himself The Chocolate Factory because Willy Wonka exists somewhere in popular culture. Doesn’t mean it works.
Gerwyn Price, meanwhile, became The Iceman. Scientifically speaking, humans are made up largely of water, veins and stress. So technically if you locked Gezzy inside an industrial freezer overnight, he would indeed become an iceman. Briefly. Right before the homicide investigation started.
His fellow Welshman, Jonny Clayton’s nickname, The Ferret, dates back to his rugby days and was apparently inspired by his small stature. Hopefully that’s the reason anyway, because actual ferrets are twitchy little creatures that smell like a haunted sofa are created with most of their scent glands suspiciously close to their arse. Still, he seems perfectly happy with it. Which is admirable confidence.
Heading north of the border now and Gary Anderson somehow ended up with The Flying Scotsman. A nickname based partly on his nationality and partly on a famous train. The issue being the actual thing was built in Doncaster and Ando has roughly the same level of interest in railways as a shark has in crochet. It’s iconic though, so nobody questions it anymore.
His mate Peter Wright went with Snakebite because his preferred drink was lager mixed with cider. Which is fine. But thank Christ he wasn’t addicted to Babycham.
Arguably though, Mark Frost wins this entire conversation hands down. Frosty The Throwman is genius. Proper lightning-in-a-bottle creativity. The kind of nickname so good it actually annoys you because you didn’t think of it yourself.
Then there’s Daryl Gurney’s Superchin – a nickname reportedly given to him by former manager Matthew Ward, a man who clearly enjoys taking the piss and honestly deserves some form of national recognition for it. One glance at Gurney’s profile and you immediately understand the assignment. The man possesses a chin the size of a small moon with its own gravitational pull. In fact, you could probably house refugees on it.
Quite frankly, I could write about darts nicknames for hours. There are enough bizarre, lazy, brilliant and utterly ridiculous examples to fill several books and at least three HR complaints. But honestly, I’m not arsed anymore. Had a look at the word count and already thought of something else to pen.
So we’ll finish with Wessel Nijman, who publicly decided darts nicknames are all bollocks and refuses to play that game altogether. Which might actually be the smartest move of the lot. For now then, we’ll just stick with Wes.
