Yard Darts

Men being men

Yard Darts

 

Wendy tells us ahead of time Harold is king of his yearly yard dart tournament, warns me on how he   embarrasses all comers with his backyard bravado.

 

Judy had mentioned I was a pretty good horseshoe player back in the day, so Wendy’s hoping I may be the one to beat her boasting husband at his own game and invites us to their annual summer patio party.

 

The men gather by the tub filled with cold bottles of beer while the women set the patio covered tables with massive amounts of food.

 

As anticipated, after dinner and a couple hours of beer, Harold announces the tournament to begin. Each of us eight men is expected to play and as in the past throw a five dollar entry fee into the pot.

 

“Let’s up the ante this year,” Harold smiles, “ten bucks.”

 

 An underhand tossing method is used, same as when pitching horseshoes, however the 12 inch dart is much lighter than the regulation 2 pound 10 ounce horse shoe.

 

The distance is 35 feet between the two eighteen inch diameter plastic rings instead of the 40 feet between one inch round metal stakes measuring 15 inches out of the ground in horseshoes.

 

Harold’s Scoring Rules:

Each player has two darts, either red or blue. Three points are earned for landing each dart inside the ring. One point earned for landing the closest outside the ring if the opponent is not in the ring. Tie throws cancel each other out.

 

Example: Red lands two in the ring. Blue gets one in and one out. Three points for red. None for the blue.

 

The game goes to 21 unless one side gets to 11 before the other gets any points, which results in a Skunk.

 

 

Our eight names are put in the hat to determine who plays on each of the four two man teams the first round. Harold puts our names in blocks on his poster paper score board.

 

Rumor is he has a stack of sheets from every year’s past tournament game displayed in his garage.

 

The four winners of the first round are then put in the hat for the next round of competition of two teams, leaving only one final winning team, Harold and me to go head to head for the final grand championship game.

 

Before we start, Harold asks loudly if I'd like to take a friendly side bet “just to make things more interesting.”

 

The crowd cheers when I pull out a twenty and say, “But first, let's have another beer.”

 

I drink my beer slow, throw a few practice shots back and forth while Harold plays the crowd.

 

Walking back I mention that it's getting pretty dark, ask if he has a yard light.

 

Knowing the distance by heart and playing with home court advantage, Harold could easily throw with his eyes closed and hit the ring consistently.

 

“Oh, don't worry, it’s not that dark. No more stalling. Let’s get on with it. This shouldn’t take long anyway,” winking at the audience.

 

 

 

We flip a coin to see who throws first. Harold wins and quickly tosses his two darts, both stick slightly short of the ring. My two land dead center. Six to Zero.

 

Now my turn to throw first, both darts land in the ring. This time Harold's two darts go long.

 

A skunk. I win. Twelve to Zero.

 

The crowd goes wild. The king is dead.

Long live the king.

 

 

That next year when Harold breaks out the Yard Darts the two rings are tied together at the prescribed distance with a rope so they can't be “accidentally nudged”  by someone’s foot when it starts to gets a little dark.