fell down the steps. Cliff watched him fall, turned to us, and said, ‘Right, are you up for more lagers, boys?’
We then hit a disco across the road and some other bloke tried to take him on. Cliff had twelve doubles with this idiot and in the end the stupid sod didn’t know what day it was.
Cliff was the daddy of drinkers, but I soon learned when to leave it alone. I’ve seen too many darts players hit the top shelf and they don’t play any more. Initially they’d have a large brandy, just to steady their nerves before they went on stage, then six months later it would be two or three large brandies, then half a bottle of brandy, then a bottle. Where do you stop? And spirits are too easy to drink. With pints you can only drink so many – unless you’re Andy Fordham who used to drink fifty-two bottles of Pils in a session. Now he can’t drink any more because he has been ill. Basically he is knackered. If you’re doing fifty-two bottles of Pils a night and you’re on a ten-night tour, it’s not going to do your body much good, is it?
The killers were the American tournaments which started at ten in the morning and finished at two the next morning. At two o’clock you’d have a few beers, be in bed for about three or four, and then up and ready for the next day’s play which started at ten and off you went again, playing darts round the clock until two the next morning. If you were good you’d hardly be off the board and it would be a straight sixteen-hour shift; no food, just drinking, drinking, drinking, bed and up at eight to have breakfast. You’d start breakfast with a Bailey’s in your coffee just to steady the shakes from the beer the night before. Then you’d have a couple of drinks before you got ready for the morning session at ten just to steady the nerves. This is something I don’t miss at all. I don’t think my stomach could do it any more. I don’t want to drink four or five Bailey’s before the start of a tournament. The adrenaline rush used to pull me through, but as soon as the last dart was thrown on a Sunday night to signal the end of the tournament it was like, Urgh! Thank Christ for that, it’s over.
But then there were other Opens in Denmark and Sweden that were potentially worse. You’d go over there and the beer was stronger. Back home it was all Skol, Skona and Watney’s at 3 per cent volume, but some of those beers in the Scandinavian countries were 7, 8 or 9 per cent proof, and they were cloudy. You had to be careful not to get caught by them. Six of our pints were only about three of theirs. It was vicious. If the strong beer didn’t get you then Cliff might. I learned to keep away from him, or I’d go and have a drink with him for a couple of hours and that was that – but a couple of hours with Cliff could easily see you downing a dozen pints.
Funnily enough Cliff knew when to stop. You never saw him drunk and you never saw him make a fool of himself. He was a great ambassador for darts. As was another of my England team mates John Lowe. He was a lot quieter than Cliff, but no less deadly when it came to drinking and darts. His record is fantastic. He won the World Championship in 1979, 1987 and 1993 – three different decades; he won the World Masters twice; two British Open titles and two British Matchplay championships; two World Cup Singles and three European Cup singles titles. He also played for England over a hundred times and captained them for seven years, a period when England were unbeaten.
It could have been a whole lot better for him without me on the scene. His record against me in majors was three wins and six defeats. If I wasn’t around, he would have been the undisputed king of darts throughout the seventies and eighties, and that is one of the reasons why we didn’t get on well initially. He saw me as this gobby young upstart out to steal his glory. The irony was that although we didn’t really get on we used to play fantastic darts
We then hit a disco across the road and some other bloke tried to take him on. Cliff had twelve doubles with this idiot and in the end the stupid sod didn’t know what day it was.
Cliff was the daddy of drinkers, but I soon learned when to leave it alone. I’ve seen too many darts players hit the top shelf and they don’t play any more. Initially they’d have a large brandy, just to steady their nerves before they went on stage, then six months later it would be two or three large brandies, then half a bottle of brandy, then a bottle. Where do you stop? And spirits are too easy to drink. With pints you can only drink so many – unless you’re Andy Fordham who used to drink fifty-two bottles of Pils in a session. Now he can’t drink any more because he has been ill. Basically he is knackered. If you’re doing fifty-two bottles of Pils a night and you’re on a ten-night tour, it’s not going to do your body much good, is it?
The killers were the American tournaments which started at ten in the morning and finished at two the next morning. At two o’clock you’d have a few beers, be in bed for about three or four, and then up and ready for the next day’s play which started at ten and off you went again, playing darts round the clock until two the next morning. If you were good you’d hardly be off the board and it would be a straight sixteen-hour shift; no food, just drinking, drinking, drinking, bed and up at eight to have breakfast. You’d start breakfast with a Bailey’s in your coffee just to steady the shakes from the beer the night before. Then you’d have a couple of drinks before you got ready for the morning session at ten just to steady the nerves. This is something I don’t miss at all. I don’t think my stomach could do it any more. I don’t want to drink four or five Bailey’s before the start of a tournament. The adrenaline rush used to pull me through, but as soon as the last dart was thrown on a Sunday night to signal the end of the tournament it was like, Urgh! Thank Christ for that, it’s over.
But then there were other Opens in Denmark and Sweden that were potentially worse. You’d go over there and the beer was stronger. Back home it was all Skol, Skona and Watney’s at 3 per cent volume, but some of those beers in the Scandinavian countries were 7, 8 or 9 per cent proof, and they were cloudy. You had to be careful not to get caught by them. Six of our pints were only about three of theirs. It was vicious. If the strong beer didn’t get you then Cliff might. I learned to keep away from him, or I’d go and have a drink with him for a couple of hours and that was that – but a couple of hours with Cliff could easily see you downing a dozen pints.
Funnily enough Cliff knew when to stop. You never saw him drunk and you never saw him make a fool of himself. He was a great ambassador for darts. As was another of my England team mates John Lowe. He was a lot quieter than Cliff, but no less deadly when it came to drinking and darts. His record is fantastic. He won the World Championship in 1979, 1987 and 1993 – three different decades; he won the World Masters twice; two British Open titles and two British Matchplay championships; two World Cup Singles and three European Cup singles titles. He also played for England over a hundred times and captained them for seven years, a period when England were unbeaten.
It could have been a whole lot better for him without me on the scene. His record against me in majors was three wins and six defeats. If I wasn’t around, he would have been the undisputed king of darts throughout the seventies and eighties, and that is one of the reasons why we didn’t get on well initially. He saw me as this gobby young upstart out to steal his glory. The irony was that although we didn’t really get on we used to play fantastic darts
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