Bully for you, ma’am (From York Press)

Bully for you, ma’am

8:20am Saturday 21st January 2012 in TKO Tony Kelly By Tony Kelly, Deputy sports editor

TO pinch a melodic line from the Calamity Jane musical, arrows have flown “thicker than porcupine quills” since the advent of 2012.

First, there was the Professional Darts Corporation (PDC) world championship won by Adrian Lewis at a rammed-full Ally Pally.

There then followed the battle for the British Darts Organisation (BDO) world crown, which was captured by unknown Dutchman Christian Kist at the even less sedate Lakeside Country Club in Frimley Green.

It’s been a bountiful bonanza of board-bashing. Oche, oche, oche – oy, oy, oy.

Now past critics of this column – Mike, you know who you are – might just be wondering what is going on here.

They have taken me to task for unalloyed opposition to the noble game of masterful mathematics, flying angles, double tops and bull hits.

Well, I am championing the one-off return of a ‘so bad it was marvellous’ show from the 1980s, which revolved around tungsten and flighted mini-missiles.

The show is the unparalleled, unbeatable Bullseye. Here’s Jim… “G’eevnin ladeez and gents, kiddeez and gran’parents, welcome to this soopa-special edition of Bullseye. You just can’t beat a bit of Bully, can you?

“As I said, tonight’s a special show where we’ve only the two contestants going for tonight’s big mystery prize.”

“Oooooooohhh,” interrupt the rapt audience, strangely surrounded by red, white and blue bunting.

“You might well say that, folks, you just might well say that, given what we’re hoping our lucky couple will win. Without any more adieu, let’s bring them on.”

An elderly couple enter from the right, she at a steady, almost stately pace, he, droop-shouldered but lively, though a little way behind.

“Welcome, welcome” assures Jim.

“Just a bit closer, sweetheart, just a bit more towards the marker on the floor. That’s it.”

“Not too close, young man,” she replies as Jim recoils at the menace inherent in the matronly advice.

“Okay… right, well welcome to you both. Let’s start off with the introductions. Now it says on me card ’ere that it’s Elizabeth and Phillip. Correct? And you’re from Windsor too. Lovely little town that, smashing. I remember a cracking little boozer just off the high street near the registry office.

D’you know it?”

“Bleddy hell, I’m always…” the man’s reply is throttled by a look hurled in his direction by his better half.

Continues Jim: “Hobbies. Now I understand you like the outdoor life – bit of shooting, fishing and hunting. Blimey, not much safe around you, eh folks.”

“Oooooohhh,” the studio-sitters respond.

“Smashin’, okay. It also says here you don’t mind a bit of a flutter on the gee-gees. Well, we all like that don’t we. Two and a tanner each way on the Grand National, eh.

Smashin’.”

“One thinks not,” is the instant retort. “One much prefers one’s own Ascot and the Derby, naturally.”

“Oooooooohhh,” declares Jim.

“Still, no one minds a bit of a flutter, smashing.

“Right, you know the rules. You pick a category, then Phil ’ere gets to throw at the board to see if he can get that for you, sweetheart, and then if you answer the question correctly it’s straight to the prize board.”

“Oooooohhhh,” go the audience yet again.

“Never mind ’em Liz, what are you having?”

“One will take finance, Mr Bowen, finance.”

“Smashing, soopa, soopa. All right Phil – step up to the oche. It’s finance you want.”

“Steady yourself Philly lad. Don’t be nervous, just take yer time, take yer time,” says board-checker Tony.

The feathered flight thuds into… spelling.

“Bleddy hell. That bleddy dart’s bent,” snipes Phillip.

“Booooooooooo,” groan the audience.

“Oh Phillip, bleddy hell, spelling.

One could not have done much worse if one had done it for oneself.”

“Spelling it is then Liz, spelling it is. Now just gather your thoughts luv. Take yer time. You’ve got 30 seconds from when I say spell.

Spell “mayor”. That’s “mayor”.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“Here one goes. M A R E. “ “Oh, Liz, sorry I think you’ve got the wrong type of mare. Must be all those horses. We’ll have to consult Bully on this.”

A graphic of Bully strides across the bottom of the screen, computer in hoof to consult Wikipedia.

“Moooooooo – that’s wrong, Jim.”

“Oh Liz, sorry about that. Never mind, darlin’. Let’s just see what you could’ve won. Tell us Tony.”

“Liz and Philly – the special prize was a luxury new high-tech ocean-going yacht by the name Royal Britannia II.”

“Oh, so sorry Liz, Phil. You’ve been lovely contestants, smashin’.

But you don’t go away empty-handed. Here’s a commemorative ceramic copy of Bully. Cheers, safe journey back to Windsor. A round of applause folks for a lovely couple.”

“Oooooooooohhhhh.”

See, as another song goes: “everyone loves darts”.