Every so often, I throw a leg of darts that makes absolutely no sense.
Not because it's bad.
Because it's far better than the player I normally am.
I've hit 15-dart legs. I've had individual legs where I've averaged over 100. They certainly don't happen every week, and I don't want to pretend I'm regularly producing darts of that standard.
I'm not.
But they have happened.
And that has left me with a question I've been fascinated by for years.
If I can play darts that well occasionally, what is stopping me from getting closer to that level more often?
Or, to put it another way:
Is there a much better darts player hidden inside me?
The 10,000-Hour Question
I've always been fascinated by the argument popularised by books such as Matt Syed's Bounce: the idea that elite performance is built through thousands of hours of purposeful practice rather than simply being something you're born with.
The famous figure is 10,000 hours, although the original research is considerably more nuanced than simply doing something for that length of time.
The important part is deliberate practice.
There's an enormous difference between throwing darts for an hour and spending an hour deliberately working on specific weaknesses.
And that raises an interesting question in darts.
How much of the difference between an average pub player and an elite player is practice?
And how much is natural ability?
Surely Natural Talent Exists?
It's difficult to watch somebody such as Luke Littler throw darts and believe we're all starting with exactly the same raw materials.
The same could be said of Adrian Lewis at his best, or the apparently effortless action of Michael Smith.
They have obviously spent thousands upon thousands of hours playing darts.
But there appears to be something else there as well.
Call it talent, coordination, temperament, hand-eye coordination or simply an unusually high natural ceiling.
Whatever we call it, I find it difficult to believe that every person on Earth could practise for 10,000 hours and become Luke Littler.
I certainly don't expect to.
But that's not really the question I'm interested in.
I'm far more interested in finding out how good I could become.
Which One Is the Real Me?
I'm 52.
I've played a lot of darts over the years and I practise reasonably seriously for an amateur player. I enter tournaments, track statistics and probably think about my game considerably more than is healthy.
But my improvement has never followed a nice straight line.
Sometimes I play well.
Sometimes I wonder whether I've ever held a dart before.
And very occasionally everything clicks.
A 15-dart leg appears.
A leg with a 100-plus average appears.
Three darts suddenly seem to follow one another towards the treble rather than conducting independent experiments into different areas of the board.
Those exceptional legs are rare.
But they're fascinating to me because I threw them.
So which player represents my actual ability?
Is it the player represented by my average over hundreds of legs?
Almost certainly.
But what does that occasional brilliant leg represent?
Luck?
Variance?
Or a glimpse of a level that better practice could make slightly less unusual?
Maybe I'm Asking the Wrong Question
For years, I've thought about improvement in the obvious way:
How do I become a better darts player?
I'm starting to think there's another way of looking at it.
How do I make the difference between my best darts and my normal darts smaller?
That doesn't mean turning an occasional 15-darter into 15-dart legs every night.
That would be ridiculous.
But suppose the things that occasionally combine during one of those legs could be understood.
Better grouping.
Fewer darts in the 1 and 5.
More controlled finishing.
Better concentration.
More confidence.
Perhaps improvement isn't about discovering some magical new ability.
Perhaps it's about gradually removing the mistakes that prevent the ability I already possess from appearing more frequently.
Where Am I Actually Losing Darts?
My instinct has always been to blame scoring.
Those visits of 41 and 45 are incredibly frustrating because they often don't feel like terrible visits.
The darts aren't miles away.
But they're expensive.
Put two darts in the 1 instead of the 20 and you've effectively thrown away 38 points.
Do that repeatedly during a leg and suddenly the difference is enormous.
It doesn't necessarily require more 180s to become a considerably better player.
Sometimes it just requires fewer 26s.
But looking at my own statistics has made me wonder whether scoring is actually my biggest problem.
My first-nine average is often somewhere around 55–60 and rarely falls below 50.
Nobody on the PDC Tour needs to start worrying.
But for the standard I'm playing at, it suggests I'm at least getting myself through the first part of legs reasonably well.
What happens afterwards may be more important.
The Doubles Problem
This is an area where I think there may be considerable improvement available.
If I'm taking four darts, on average, to convert a finishing opportunity, I'm effectively operating at around 25%.
Get that closer to one in three and suddenly I'm winning legs earlier without improving my scoring at all.
That's what I find particularly interesting.
I've spent years thinking becoming a better darts player means scoring more heavily.
Maybe it doesn't.
Perhaps I don't need another 180.
Perhaps I need fewer wasted darts.
A 60 average achieved through better finishing wins exactly the same legs as a 60 average produced through heavier scoring.
And in match situations, better finishing may be considerably more valuable.
Why Do Young Players Seem to Improve So Quickly?
Age is another part of this experiment.
At 52, I'm obviously not approaching darts in the same circumstances as an emerging 18-year-old.
A young player may be playing several nights every week. They may have fewer family commitments and considerably more time available for practice and competition.
There may be physical advantages too. Motor learning, recovery, eyesight and reaction can all change with age.
But there's another factor.
Going from a 40 average to 50 is not necessarily the same challenge as going from 55 to 65.
Improvement becomes progressively harder.
The better you become, the more difficult each additional percentage point is to find.
So perhaps comparing improvement rates isn't particularly useful.
The more interesting question is what improvement is still realistically available to me.
Have I Actually Been Practising Properly?
This may be the uncomfortable part.
I practise.
But I'm not convinced I've always practised particularly well.
Throwing at treble 20 for a while, playing some 501 and then deciding I've completed a practice session isn't necessarily deliberate practice.
It's playing darts.
There's a difference.
So I'm going to try something different.
Rather than simply practising more, I want to practise with a purpose.
A session might include:
- 15 minutes concentrating purely on grouping and reducing darts into the 1 and 5.
- 15 minutes working through finishing combinations.
- 15 minutes of dedicated doubles practice.
- 15 minutes of competitive 501 or match simulation, with the statistics recorded.
And, crucially, I want to measure what happens.
Not after three days.
Over months.
An Experiment at 52
That's perhaps where this article changes from a philosophical question into something more interesting.
I want to find out.
I'm not trying to become a professional darts player.
I'm certainly not announcing a late assault on Luke Littler's world ranking.
I simply want to discover how much better a 52-year-old amateur darts player can become through genuinely structured practice.
I'll track things such as my overall average, first-nine average, checkout percentage, darts required at doubles and perhaps the frequency of particularly poor scoring visits.
Then I can see where the improvement actually comes from.
Maybe my scoring will rise.
Maybe my doubles will improve.
Maybe very little will happen at all.
That's part of the experiment.
So Can Anyone Become Elite?
I suspect the answer is no.
Natural ability matters.
Different people almost certainly have different ceilings, just as they do in virtually every other sport.
But I also suspect most amateur darts players have absolutely no idea where their ceiling is.
Because reaching it would require years of genuinely purposeful practice rather than simply playing darts.
Perhaps talent determines roughly where your ceiling might be.
Practice determines how close you ever get to it.
Most of us probably stop climbing long before we actually reach it.
The Player I've Occasionally Met
I don't regularly throw 15-dart legs.
That's precisely why they fascinate me.
Somewhere amongst thousands of completely ordinary legs of darts are a handful where everything has worked.
I've experienced what it feels like.
And I'm curious about whether I can make the gap between those rare moments and my normal game just a little smaller.
I'm not searching for a perfect throwing action.
I'm not looking for a secret aiming technique.
And I'm definitely not expecting to suddenly average 90.
I'm searching for consistency.
At 52, perhaps my ultimate ceiling isn't dramatically higher than my current level.
Or perhaps I've spent years practising inefficiently and there's considerably more improvement available than I realise.
There's only really one way to find out.
Practise properly.
Measure it.
And see what happens.
Maybe there isn't a great darts player hidden inside me.
But I'd quite like to meet the best one that's in there.
