Like lemmings to the sea, destined to fling themselves with a kind of mystical, or perhaps merely mystifying, abandon into certain annihilation, a motley collection of Blacksburg Area Darters made their way to Kernersville, North Carolina for the annual St. Patrick's Day Tournament.
    At first glance, Kernersville might seem a relatively benign place to spend the weekend. Situated just between Winston-Salem and Greensboro, there are no road signs to warn of impending danger, no dark Victorian Hotel perched above the town to feed archetypal fears. North Carolina is known for its southern hospitality. And yet, it is no urban legend that more Blacksburg travelers have lost their scalps in Kernersville than during all the skirmishes between settlers and the Native Americans of the New River Valley.
    Of course, dart tournament scalps are not quite so bloody. When you sign up for an event, you write your name on a little piece of paper, and these are used to match you to your opponent and to your assigned board.  If you win, you victoriously carry your little piece of paper up to the winners' box so that it can be drawn again.  If you lose, your poor ticket scalp lies forgotten among the rubble of cigarette ash and beer rings on the surrounding tables.
    But full speed ahead and damn the winged projectiles, Tim Dunn, Brett Kite, Laura Wasserman, Matt and Tanya O'Sickey, and Rob and I (Hickerson, that is), made our way southward. Carey's Irish Pub is a fine locale for a dart tournament, having eight standard boards, and the space to erect six more to support the hundred or so shooters, mostly North Carolinians. An ADO sanctioned event, the $2000 guarantee tends not to draw the top ranked players, but the best in North Carolina are good enough to give anyone from Blacksburg a run for the money.
    For those who have never taken a road trip to a dart tournament, let me say that my negative outlook is not based in any belief that Blacksburg darts are inferior. Certainly, there are some very good darters at the St. Patrick's Day shootout. But many of their darts score much like our own. Twenty-sixes fly at regular intervals, and outs can disappear as if David Copperfield magically removed them from the board. North Carolina does, however, have a very active dart association, and many local tournaments are scheduled throughout the year. This tournament play builds consistency and nerves, as well as a familiarity with the competition. It is, in part, for this reason that we do travel to Kernersville, which is not too onerous a road trip, to play in an unfamiliar setting against darters who match up well against our own skill level.
    Arriving on Friday as we did, we had a little time to acclimate during the pre-tournament luck of the draw. Of course, luck of the draw being a relative term, it is inevitable that the first round will pit Blacksburg against Blacksburg. While most of the group were nicely dispersed throughout the brackets, who should draw against each other in the first round but Rob and me? For those of you who do not know us well, allow me to share that Rob and I find it less than invigorating to play against each other. Competition and marriage do not necessarily constitute a constructive form of communication. We were all a bit slow to warm up to the first match of the night in a new venue, but Rob's outs were right on the mark. He and his Boone County partner moved up the bracket, while I was relegated to the cheering section, along with Laura whose team also went out in the first round.
    Elsewhere, Tim drew one of the top North Carolina players, Shane Wright and began cutting a swath through the field, while Brett and partner, after winning their first round match, ran up against Matt and his draw. Matt's team persevered, but Rob and Blake were lurking along the bracket, taking Matt out in a semi-final match. Still there was a bit of cash back on Matt's ticket, and our group was already in the money! Tim and Shane met Rob and Blake in the finals. It took three games, but with a missed 32 out by Blake and Rob, Shane finished up the match. It is noteworthy, and no small omen, that Tim and Shane's team was Dunn-Wright, because they certainly did.  Yet, with a first, second, and fourth place finish, Blacksburg was off to an uncharacteristically positive start.
Feeling mightily pleased with ourselves, we dispersed to forage. As with most luck of the draws, this one finished rather later than most standard restaurant serving hours, but luckily for the four of us staying at the Quality Inn, there is a Waffle House conveniently located across the street. You would think that the staff at a Waffle House would be inured to their late night clientele, but I think we may have disturbed our waitress with our rambunctious ways. High spirits from the wins, not to mention spirits in the glass, made us the object of well-humored, if somewhat worried glances.  Of course, apparently even more disturbing was Tim's order of eight eggs, which drew gasps of astonishment from the grill chef and waitresses.
    "Ain't you worried about cholesterol?" our waitress asked with genuine concern, and the deepest of southern accents. In truth, Tim probably was not worried about much of anything at the time. Still, given the menu, you must have a fairly out of the ordinary order to garner the attention--not to mention sympathy--of the entire Waffle House staff. "You ain't gonna believe this!" our server called back to the grill, and they all shook their heads with unmistakable compassion for Tim's eventual demise from a massive cholesterol overdose.
    Back to the room and several shots of tequila later, we were winding down, waiting for additional requested pillows. It may be a good thing that the hotel never brought them, because Brett and Tim and I may well have group-suffocated Robbie. Snoring was the least of our worries, as variations on several themes emanated well into the early morning hours. As a writer, I confess a measure of inadequacy in defining the correct technical term for combinations of coughing, snoring, gagging and gurgling. Snurgling? Goughing? Snoffing?
    With precious little sleep between us, we prepared for the first day of the tournament. This, of course, means mixing your preferred morning beverage somewhere around nine o'clock in the morning. It seems that Brett is not much of a bourbon drinker, as one mere whiff of my ginger and Gentleman went straight to his head.
Saturday was a beautiful day, however, the kind of day that you feel must be spent outside, digging in the fresh spring dirt, reveling in the fact that winter is soon to be over. Naturally, we made our way back to the club like a bunch of vampiric troglodytes. 601 Mixed Triples is the start-off match, and even Tanya, who spent much of the weekend in a most appreciated supporting role, decided to play with some folks who needed a third. While you would think that Matt and Brett and Laura, and Tim and Rob and I would fare reasonably well, it was not to be. All Blacksburgians were eliminated in the first round, though each group took its match to three games. Rob and Tim and I found ourselves on double-one, and eight or so rounds later, surprisingly out of the match altogether. Our starry eyed enthusiasm from the previous night was quickly extinguished.
    Next up: Cricket. Tanya sat this one out, but everyone else signed up and dispersed to their respective boards. Brett Kite had the true luck of the draw, pulling Joe Futima in the first round. Futima is one of the strongest shooters among the North Carolina men, and always makes a good showing. Brett shot well, but Futima is a consistent player and worked his way on to the next round. Laura, Matt, Rob, and Tim, and I all made it through our first round matches. In the second round, Laura matched up against Paula Delp, a very fine North Carolina player who won in two. I found myself playing my old nemesis, Barbara Motin who, as usual, took me out of the running in a hard fought match.
    In the meantime, Tim and Matt fell out of the bracket, while Rob forged solidly forward to the semi-finals where he met Shane Wright, Tim's partner from the previous night's luck of the draw. Shane is a very solid shooter, and while Rob threw consistently and well, with a fine showing of five marks, Shane countered with casual sixes. Wright did little wrong, and Blacksburg was out, but Rob had made it into the money round once again.
The games keep rolling on, and doubles cricket was up next. Rob and Tim paired up, as did Matt and Brett, and Laura and I. While the boys went out in short order, Laura and I forged our way through some very tough and experienced women's teams. But the triple was Blacksburg-friendly, and Laura and I were rarely behind. Never dropping a game, before we knew it, we were in the finals. There, ahead in the first game, our opponents proved to be hot on their bulls, while our own had started to slip just a little. Even a little slip was enough to hurt us. Our lead evaporated, and we could not quite pull out the second game to take it to three. Nonetheless, once again Blacksburg made a strong showing, and put a little money in our pockets.
    Heartened by good play, we split up for 4-person teams of 701, where Tim, Matt, Rob, and I once again ran into Shane and friends. We took the first game, with a two-double-one, but this seemed only to inspire the North Carolina quartet to more focused play. In truth, we were hardly a factor in the next two. While Laura and her new mates made it one round in, Brett and his team were out, and Laura soon followed when her team matched up against Joe Futima and company.
Once again we dispersed, Matt, Tanya, and Laura to find the Melting Pot Restaurant while Tim, Brett, Rob and I debated every style of cuisine with equal apathy. Rob called the Kerner House, thinking, perhaps, to take advantage of some local dishes. They did not seem to comprehend the question, "what kind of food do you have?" Perhaps the folks at the Waffle House had already warned them about the travelers from Virginia, because the hostess quickly decided that they weren't open anyway. It was only then that Rob asked for the pillows that we still lacked. I suppose the Kerner House Restaurant should get a point or two for not simply hanging up. In North Carolina, though, everyone is very polite. "No, sir, we don't have any pillows."
    We eventually made our way to an establishment of roughly Italian nature, where we were served by a particularly peppy young man named Linda. O.k. So his name wasn't actually Linda. But that was the name on the receipt, and we made certain that we called him that. I believe that he appreciated the gesture. Back at the hotel, Tim entertained us with his own special variation on the "Name That Tune" game show, although in Tim's case, it was "Name That Cable Television Show."  With a bare second on the screen, Tim was able to identify every show from "Abs on Parade," to "Revenge of the Nerds."   I used to think that Tim spent too much time at the pub.  I was mistaken.  Tim watches WAY too much television.
    Rob and I enjoyed our rare opportunity for cable, since our home is too remotely located for such modern luxuries.  However, the experience was somewhat distracted by the verbosity of Brett's stomach, Shania. Yes, that sentence is grammatically correct. Brett has named his stomach, "Shania." After long hours of various beverages, culminating in a gallon or so of tea, Shania was very outspoken about the abuses of the day. In truth, I was a bit fearful of being introduced to other miscellaneous body parts that Brett might also have named. Still, it was an improvement over the previous night's coughing and gagging. Perhaps the pillows that finally appeared were threat enough to settle even Rob. To the soothing sounds of the original "Beastmaster," movie we ended a long day.
Sunday rose with 501 on the agenda, starting with mixed doubles. Matt and Brett sat out, while Laura and Tim, and Rob and I waited to be called to the board. Laura and Tim got through their first match, and it was clear that Tim was hitting his outs. In the meantime, Rob and I had a bye, which might be considered a good thing, except that our first match was against Barbara Motin and Joe Futima. We shot well, but Joe's consistent ton-plus scores and eighty-fives were difficult to match. I had only one shot at an eighty-five in the second game, and though we showed well, Rob and I were out in two.
    But Tim and Laura were working their way through the bracket, winning a very close third round match when Tim hit a critical last game 90 out, triple-18, double-18. This brought them to the semi-finals where it was their turn to run up against Barbara and Joe, who had just themselves come off of a rather close match.
In the first game, Joe opened with a ton-25. Barbara's 60s were beginning to fall with some consistency, and Joe's second round ton-80 widened the gap over Tim and Laura. Joe wasted no time with the out, and they were on to the second game. Tim's triple-20 served him well, and the Blacksburg team kept pace with the North Carolina powerhouse. When Joe and Barbara were uncharacteristically slow under 40, Tim took the out, and suddenly it was one-and-one.
The third game looked much like the second, with Tim and Laura keeping right with Joe and Barbara. Once again, outs were slow to fall for the other team, and Tim was left with an 92 out. Not a bad out, particularly the way Tim was shooting.  Unfortunately, his first dart was a 1, and his shot at the triple-17 fell just a little low.  However, his third dart was a solid 54 to leave Laura a 20.  When Barbara missed her shot at double-20, both teams were sitting on 20 with Laura at the line. It was a beautiful shot that could hardly have been any closer. Alas, it was a 15, and while a bust put the Blacksburg team back to 20, Futima's shot fell into the red, and Tim and Laura were out. Still, it was another money round, and Blacksburg showed very well once again.
    Riding on the enthusiasm of another good finish, we all signed up for singles 501. But the long days were beginning to tell. While Tim, Rob, and Brett went out in short order, Matt made it out of the first round, and took his third round match to three games, only to be eliminated by a well-shot double-20. Laura played Barbara Motin again, and hit just a bit too well when she consistently busted her score from 60, giving Barbara time to finish the match in two. I played Paula Delp, a tough draw to begin with, but far worse was board sixteen, located on the other side of the bar, on top of a shelf that makes it difficult for anyone under six feet to pull her darts, and where the lighting is something out of a Ridley Scott movie. Paula was unconcerned; I never had a dart to fall.
    With uncounted hours spent in an out-of-town bar, and with the weekend drawing to a close, Rob and Tim and I decided to forego the 501 men's and women's doubles, and made our way home while the sun was still shining. With Brett still hoping to break into the money round, he and Matt signed up for doubles 501.
Sadly, victory was not to be, for by the time the boys from Blacksburg began to hit with some consistency, Murphy struck in the form of a mathematical error. You might think that an engineer would be accustomed to manipulating numbers and, indeed, perhaps this was the problem. Unfortunately, two-times-sixteen does not equal thirty-four. Matt left his team two points shy and sitting on the dread double-1, giving their opponents time to take the game and the match. Laura and her partner also fell out of the running, and it was time for team two to head back home to Blacksburg.
    All-in-all, this St. Patrick's Day Pilgrimage was more successful than most, and the lemmings survived to try another day. Our thanks to our Kernersville hosts, and particularly to Nancy Coley who organized the affair, kept the wheels running smoothly, and most importantly, turned the heat down on the upper stage which was fast becoming a sauna on day one. We met quite a few fine folks from North Carolina, shot some good darts, and even managed to win back a few entry fees. Keep your ears open for road trips in the future. These are an excellent opportunity to play some stiff competition and to spend a little quality time with your fellow Blacksburg Area Darters. And in case you're concerned, not everyone has named his stomach Shania.

(Note:  Names and events are recalled to the best of my ability.  Pegi)

It has been about a year since the last episode in of B.A.D. Travels was posted to the Web page. There is a very good reason for this. Given our typical collective performance at tournaments, it takes us about a year to forget the pledges we made on the previous drive homeward. If I recall correctly, a year or so ago, to a person, all of the hapless among us who ventured to North Carolina to hand over our ill-fated entry fees swore never to leave Blacksburg again, at least with darts in hand.

365 days or so, however, has a way of softening memories, or at least, of softening heads, such that when the announcement came for the St. Patrick's Day Shootout in Kernersville, North Carolina arrived, a handful of us enthusiastically decided to venture south for the weekend. Pat Barnhart, our friendly and efficient web page meister, graciously agreed to be coerced into driving his nifty new Subaru, to be joined by Scott Noonkester, and Rob and Pegi Hickerson.

Wonder of wonders, for once we all had the good sense not to stay out until some unspeakable hour on Friday night, and arrived at the Noonkester parking lot as chipper as anyone can manage at seven A.M. on a Saturday. With a minimum of yawning, we found our places and Pat took to the road. This was Pat's first tournament, and Rob and Noony and I assured our chauffeur that the first tournament is always the easiest.

Perhaps it is because Rob and I have been driving our Trooper so long, its design pretty much a box on wheels, that we have learned to ease through turns, to progress methodically through traffic. Pat has an alternative technique. Flying through traffic with the greatest of ease, he zips around other vehicles with limited regard for anything in the back that might not be well-secured, including passengers. I learned quickly to get a good handhold. Pat was still somewhat unfamiliar with all the controls of his new vehicle, which was duly noted and commented upon. I'm still not entirely sure why Pat spent so much of his time seeking the elusive passenger eject button.

Though remembrance of times past was a little fuzzy, we did rather recall that previous trips have not always gone as well as we might have hoped, and decided that perhaps we should make some effort to better prepare. Luckily we had an Oracle along with us that we could consult: Scott's Saturday Newspaper had not only the NCAA Basketball scores, but our daily horoscopes. Within the former we checked on the status of underdogs Gonzaga and Weber State; within the latter we sought guidance for our mission.

Rob's Virgo-scope seemed to have significant overtones: "Get down to business. You have a big job ahead of you, and the more detail you put into it the better. This is your chance to show your value and to get recognition for your obvious talent." Promising!

My Libra report was a little more difficult to comprehend given the upcoming events: "It's time to get down to making yourself the best you can be (not a bad recommendation before a tournament). Try a new hairstyle or a new outfit for a new you." What?!? Since we were trying to make a ten o'clock match, I did not really have time to stop off at a salon. We briefly considered letting Rob have a go at my hair with his Swiss Army Knife, but decided to wait and see what the day brought before committing to anything drastic.

Pat and Noony, the pair of Pisces among us, once again seemed to have been clearly identified by the Oracle, or perhaps it was simply operating upon past experience. "Overindulgence will lead to minor health problems. It is best to stick around your home and make some alterations to your living quarters. Curl up with a good book for best results." Uh Oh. Was the Oracle trying to tell us something? Evidently, the Oracle has some familiarity with dart tournaments, or at least the members of our cast and crew.

But, as I said, we were reasonably well rested, and guided by the blind optimism of those who have not yet lost a game. What is a little overindulgence in the face of the possibility of success?

We significantly bettered our changes of getting a little warm up time by actually managing to make the correct turn off of Interstate 77 (thanks to Rob's internet mapping skills), taking the scenic route through Mayberry and cutting off quite a bit of road time. Of course, this did give Pat a chance to try out some of the more winding roads in the area. Beyond our windows, wide-open vistas and scenic views stretched where the valley dropped away from the edge of the road, bordered only by a small guardrail. Very small guardrail. Very big drop. Very speedy Subaru. I was looking for the elusive eject button myself. Happily (or nervously) whistling the tune to from the Andy Griffith show (undisputedly, the best television comedy of all time), we headed for Mayberry.

Mayberry ain't how it was in the old days when Andy and Barney, Opie and Aunt Bee roamed the quiet streets of small town America. Mayberry has hit the big time. Apparently, Aunt Bee has her own barbecue shop. Andy has generously donated his sheriff's cruiser to the local hotel. But perhaps the most happening thing in Mayberry is the truly amazing collection of concrete statuary that appears to be one of the larger town industries. Along the highway are pasty gray images of every imaginable shape and size, amphibian, mammalian, and some things in-between. Ranging from the politically incorrect to the truly awe-inspiring, they line the highway, waiting for someone to take them home and paint them to vibrant life. I thought we might need to physically restrain Rob, who was particularly taken with a twelve-foot tall chicken of magnificent proportions. I gave thanks that Pat was driving. If we had had the Trooper handy, I am certain that I would now be typing under the gaze of that chicken as the great albino creature stared into my second story study window.

So, we arrived at Carey's Irish Pub on time and sans giant stone chicken. The first scheduled event was mixed triples. Given my chromosomal makeup, I was pretty well assured a place on the Blacksburg team; the fellows were left to determine which two would join me. In the meantime, I warmed up on a number of different boards and quickly identified the worst in the house, Board Number 9. Carey's Irish Pub has quite a few boards, several more than our own Ton-80, and for the tournament adds an additional six. Board number 9 was one of these temporary structures, a 2X4 frame with an attached light, separated from the three above it on the stage by a bedsheet decorated with lively seventies-style blue flowers. Situated on a small platform, directly next to the men's room, the light on number nine flickered every time a dart hit the board, and the structure quivered slightly with each movement.

Pat and Rob and I signed up, and the games began. When our names were called to the designated board, not any one of us was surprised to learn that we would be playing on Board number 9. In the smallish space allowed, three from Blacksburg and three from North Carolina sought to make it past the first round. Single elimination makes the first draw the most difficult, as 10:00 in the morning is an unnatural time to be playing, and there has been only so much time for the appropriate dart grease to have been applied. In truth, none of the six of us shot particularly well, everyone handicapped by the newness of the venue, not to mention the muted strobe effect of the number 9 light. But luck was with us and Rob and Pat and I made it to the second round.

Our second match went a little less smoothly, as right off the mark we lost the first game. Rob and Pat and I all had shots to win, but the other team beat us out. With the pressure on, Rob started the second game with a vengeance, scoring a ton-80 early on, and never looking back, finishing the game with a 104 out. When we closed the third game ahead of our opponents, we moved to round three.

In our third match, the opposing team started well, opening with a ton-40 and beating us to an out. Unfortunately, they moved down the board a little too easily, leaving the dreaded double one. While they concentrated on their double-1, Rob had a beautiful shot at a 145 out, just missing the double 20 to leave 20. Maybe the horoscope was right! From there, we ended up with 5, and the two teams fought their own private wars against bad outs. We persevered, however, when Pat hit the 1, double 2, and Team Blacksburg was halfway through the match. In the second game, both teams raced down the board. With the opposing team sitting on an out, Pat stood at the line with 4 left. His first dart hit low, then his second dart hit the double 2 and fell out. (It is a lament often heard as people bend to pick up their wayward projectiles, "it was in there!" Most of the time, this is wishful thinking. In this particular case, Pat was on the money, and his ill-fated dart considered staying in the red, then slowly dove to the carpet). With one practice double-two lying on the floor, with his last dart Pat found the mark again to win the second game, and the match went to Blacksburg.

Lo and behold, we were in the finals! Rob's horoscope seemed to be on the mark! Each team we played was progressively better, and these folks looked as if they really knew what they were doing. The tons from the other team were a'flying, and Blacksburg struggled to keep up. Once again, the opposing team left double one, and we fought our way down the board to double-20. Certain that this would spur the other team to concentrate and hit the out, when the dart struck the board, Rob, up next to throw, actually shook the hand of the player at the line, congratulating him on the win. But the dart was low and inside, between the wire and the hook that holds it. Rob took a moment to shake off the defeat he had just accepted, and hit the double 20 to put us up one.

One game to go. This time the trip-20s did not fall quite so easily for the other team. We made our way down the board, Pat took the out, and Blacksburg took first place in the mixed triples!

Maybe the first tournament is the easiest!

With enough money in our pockets to pay our fees for the weekend, we were feeling pretty heady with success, and Blacksburg signed up for doubles cricket. Noony and Pat teamed up while Rob and I watched, lending line-side support. The boys from Blacksburg plowed their way through several solid teams, working their way into the semi-finals where their winning streak finally ended. Still, fourth place was in the money, with enough to pay their entry fee plus a little on the side. Not a bad showing at all!

Singles cricket followed for both men and women, so as our names were called we dispersed to our corners. Here, Blacksburg faltered a bit with one exception. Rob went out in two, Pat played a truly fine player who consistently managed to make it into the higher rounds of the brackets, and who ended Pat's cricket singles in two. I was a little slow picking up the pace in my first game -- to a costly effect. In the second game, I was well away until sixteens, where my opponent set up camp against my seventeens. With uncharacteristic success, I pointed back decisively on seventeens. Alas, there is a cost for the universe to allow such an unexpected boon, for I went dead cold on bulls and she hit her fifth to win the game. Out in two. With such a dismal showing, I began to wonder if I shouldn't have paid more attention to my horoscope and spent the day getting a hair cut.

The one saving grace from Blacksburg was Scott Noonkester who worked his way past three tough opponents. Blacksburg was still alive! Well into the bracket, Noony met up with a fellow from Boone, North Carolina. Looking a bit like a mix between Radar O'Reilly and Rick Moranis, Noony's opponent hit consistent triples. Solid shooting and liberal pointing kept him well ahead, and Noony was down several bulls at the end of the game. However, Scott really pulled in his focus and found the middle of the board time and time again while Raymond, the man from Boone suffered from some bullseye dyslexia. Scott came back hard and won the first game.

In the second game, Noony's opponent took no chances that the bullseye would come back to haunt him, and once again hit very well to stay ahead in marks, and even better to stay ahead in points. When in doubt, go for the trip twenty. Or the trip nineteen. Or the trip eighteen. This time, the lead was enough, and the man from Boone took game number two. Game number three, unfortunately, was a replay of the second game, and Noony was out in three, finally succumbing to the point barrage of his opponent.

Now, supporting my teammate from the sidelines, I was very disappointed at the outcome on behalf of my colleague. However, given the players involved, it was difficult not to be mildly amused by the irony of the situation as Scott Noonkester met his friendly-point-game match, so to speak.

Days spent in tournament play have their own special kind of time, measured by the number of darts you throw. This day began early, and somewhere toward the end of the singles cricket, we started to feel that fact, along with the desire to forage something other than a Subway sandwich to eat. Nevertheless, we signed up for the four-person game, and wearily prepared to try again. Somewhere around this time, Pat's horoscope began to kick in. I could almost hear the timpani pounding in his head as the "minor health problem" came to pass. The lesson for the day: pace yourself when you are playing for eight hours at a stretch.

As for my horoscope, by this time I was beginning to get a clue as to the possible new hairdo the day had in store for me. At tournaments, you sign your name on a slip of paper which the organizers than use to determine the draw. As your name is called, you retrieve your slip, and if you win, return it to the desk so that it may be drawn again in the next bracket. Our group took to calling these "scalps," and held on to the slips of the people we defeated. However, as the day wound down, it seemed my scalp had been lost several times. While this might be a rather drastic interpretation of the Oracle, it is difficult to argue that being scalped constitutes a new hairdo, though I can't say that leaving mine lying around in abundance did much to "make a new [me]."

When the four-person matches were called, we were encouraged to have drawn a bye, and tried to work ourselves into a bit of enthusiasm. By the time we met our opponents, we were hitting on the mark and were well up in the first game until two back-to-back ton-40s brought them into range, and we muddled around with our outs until they took the double. Rob stepped up in the next game, shooting good points and wasting no time taking out the 40. The third and final game was upon us. They raced down the board, well ahead of us, but missed enough opportunities at outs to allow us to leave 32. Unfortunately, they had been practicing the double eight for several rounds, and our 32 gave them the incentive to take it out. And so were we -- out that is. Out of the match and done for the day.

But food was first and foremost on our minds. Carey's Irish Pub serves sustenance of only a liquid variety, and the Subway next door, while convenient, begins to pall. For vegetarians, there is even less variety. There are only so many combinations available for black olives, green peppers, and tomato. If I had had to eat one more sub, I was convinced that I was going to sprout a periscope.

Where do you go when your group is split 50-50, carnivores and vegetarians? Apparently, you make your way to the only place in town -- Sagebrush Steakhouse, where peanut shells strewn on the floor are just part of the restaurant's charm. While Rob and I tend not to frequent maisons de bouef, I hoped that we might be able to forage bits of parsley from the plates of neighboring customers. In any event, it was rather a toss-up between the steakhouse and Noony's preference, which I believe involved some variation of modern dance, and the precise placement of dollar bills applied to a slow-moving target. I rather envision it as something on the order of Hair meets The Arabian Nights, but am happy to report that it is only imagination and not experience that paints this picture. So, to the Steakhouse it was. Pat's raging minor medical condition, while pounding almost audibly in his head, did nothing to mitigate his driving tendencies. So we raced through Kernersville, careening through turns that were not even there (if there is too long a straightaway, Pat will make a curve in there somewhere), with Noony lamenting the absence of local hootchie cootchie joints.

Strangely enough, for all of Noony's noble aspiration to find artistic entertainment in Kernersville, when we actually encountered a representative of his quest, it just about did him in. At the restaurant as we waited for our tab, a woman dressed in what appeared to be primarily a collection of colorful gauze scarves passed by us. For a moment I thought that we would be forced to restrain Scott, as he risked serious strain to his neck in an attempt to telescope his vision beyond the corner of the wall. However, it was about this time that Noony's predestined minor medical emergency struck. Poor Scott was taken by such a fit of sneezing that all the peanut shells lying on the floor were blown clear across the room. Apparently, our friend Noony is allergic to the nice young women who dance in North Carolina. After Cyclone Noony cleared the floor, our waitress thanked him for performing such a kind service, and we were on our way. The hotel was just down the road, and after our nerves had a few moments to recognize that they had survived the short ride, we settled in, lulled to sleep by the soothing voice of South Park's Eric Cartman on the hotel television set.

I awoke bright and early and, customarily, had several hours to entertain myself before anyone else showed any signs of life. With Sunday matches beginning at 11:00a.m., and the bar opening at 12:00, it is critical to prepare in advance for that first game. From the continental breakfast bar, I found some grits to go along with my preferred libation, and to off-set the fact that at breakfast, at least, one's recommended daily allowance of grain should probably not be of the liquid variety. Noony's recommendation was to call it bourbón, speaking with a heavy French accent, to make it sound a little better. Try it. Bourbón. Almost everything sounds better in French. Still, the truth of the matter was it was just after 10:00 when Noony's friend Evan Williams made an appearance, while a fine, upstanding Virginia Gentleman accompanied me. I guess I should just be thankful that old George Dickel was not around.

Traveling with Scott Noonkester involves learning a new language, the language of Noonyisms. Many of you are probably all too familiar with some of his dart phrases. In North Carolina, Scott had a brand new audience, and pulled out some of his tried and true expressions. From across the room an occasional, "that's why they give you three!" resounded. But with Noony, there is an entire lexicon of heretofore undiscovered words and phrases. I tend to think I have a pretty good vocabulary, but Noony consistently stumps me. Dissatisfied with the ordinary nomenclature of many nouns and verbs, Scott supplies his own. I do not believe that the Oxford English Dictionary has yet caught up to his liberal license with the language, and confess that I did ask him to explain the term, wiggle-wagon.

Day two at the pub began and once again I was a shoo-in to play the first match, mixed-doubles. This is a 3-game 501 match, and Rob and I started well. Our opponents had driven in that morning and were a little slow to get started, giving us the opportunity to hit the 40 out in one of the more creative ways, double-1, double-19. Alas, the other team warmed up just about the time Rob and I hit the out wall. Well ahead in the second game, the outs suddenly shifted to half-size. In the meantime, the other team woke up, hitting a ton and a ton-40 in quick succession, and after we had a few more dismal rounds at outs, they took out the game. Sadly, the third game mirrored the second, with Rob and I well ahead, only to stall with embarrassing consistency when we reached a viable double. With the remaining matches finished, and their shooters all waiting and watching for us to finish so that they could call the next round, our opponent hit the out, and Rob and I found we had some time to kill while we waited for the singles 501 to begin.

Disgusted by our darts, we sought something to assuage our sagging spirits. If we could not get out of the first round play, we reasoned, we should find some alternative endeavor at which we might succeed. Thus, we found ourselves positioned in front of a computer screen, where we were bound and determined to wipe out any previous record in the music trivia. Unlike darts where you must hit an out before your opponent, we had a static score to conquer, and as long as you have quarters, you are allowed to play. In truth, it did not take us that many quarters, and all previous winners in the category were eventually displaced by ROBNPEG. Though not as exciting as a double-bull or a pressure out, at least we left our mark somewhere in Kernersville, North Carolina.

Pat and Noony and Rob were up first for the singles, while I drew a bye in the first round. I watched while Pat matched up against a fellow I had met last year, Max, a very fine shooter who had just come up from an ADO tournament in Georgia the day before. Pat started a little slow in the first game, and Max hit solid high marks and quickly took the out. Pat had the fearful 26 consistency going in the second game, but started to hit just as Max made his way under the 200-point mark. Pat caught fire, hitting tons and ton-40s to leave himself an out, but Max, who had up until that point been practicing his doubles, decided it was time to finish the game. Rob also succumbed, but Noony managed to redeem Blacksburg with a win in the first round.

I was pleased to learn that with such a small field in the women's bracket, with my bye, all I had to do was win one match to be in the money. So, I scoped out the draws and decided to watch the match that would determine my opponent. Unfortunately, I recognized them both. One was half of the team who had beaten Rob and me at doubles, and the other was Max's spouse whom I had met the previous year. A very sharp shooter, Barbara had been at the ADO tournament in Georgia the day before where she had taken first place in the women's singles 01. I found it difficult to express how pleased I was that she had seen fit to drive all the way across the Carolinas just in time to make the women's singles draw in Kernersville. Watching her win her first round match, I was encouraged to see that she was hitting well, but not tremendously. However, all this changed when she met me at the line. Barbara hardly hit less than 60 points a round, and usually more than that. I, on the other hand, was a bit cold from sitting, or perhaps from watching Pat's 26s just a little too long. I was still in the 200s when she took the out.

In the second game, I persevered and found my preferred trip-19, managing to stay not too far behind the 20 machine. Barbara got down to her out and then slowed as little while I worked my way into a possible, if not probable, opportunity at a three-dart double. It was about this time that Barbara hit the double-three to finish the game. Still, I could feel a little better about this performance, and went over to commiserate with Pat.

While Pat and I were busy getting trounced by the dangerous duo of Max and Barbara, Noony was working his way up the men's bracket. Strong shooting took him into the third round where he met up the fellow Rob and I had played earlier. Then, he had shown some sparks of proficiency despite the early hour, but by the time he met up with Noony, he was fully warmed up and shooting some lights-out darts. However, our friendly real estate tycoon stepped up his own darts, and the match commenced at a blistering pace as the two traded tons and ton-40s. It was a match that had onlookers shaking their heads in admiration. Noony had his first shot at an out, a 96. With the first shot he stayed on course and hit the familiar trip-20. Alas, the double-18 was just a little more elusive, and he wired just outside with the next two darts. Not unexpectedly, his opponent took the out.

The second game rushed on at the same quick pace, as both players zeroed in on the twenties, exchanging more marks in one game than some of us manage to score in several weeks of B.A.D. matches. Once again, however, Scott's opponent found the out just one round earlier, and the match was over. Nonetheless, those watching agreed that it was the best match of the singles 501, and Scott's opponent went on to win the event.

In between matches, we amused ourselves with intellectual discussions regarding particular individuals and their distinctive qualities, seeking to identify the physics of certain corporeal attributes and the methodology of a range of dart techniques, and how specific muscle groups might aid or hinder the accuracy of the throwing motion. In other words, we sat around and gossiped. Noony was busy playing and missed out on one of the more interesting discussions, involving a specific muscle mass in which he had expressed particular interest.

Rob and I sat out of doubles -01 while Pat and Noony paired up. Their first match was back on the famous board number nine with the flickering light and the direct path to the men's room. Despite the number of 26s, and somewhat slow work at their doubles, Pat managed to hit a few unusual combinations to take some unattractive outs, and the Blacksburg team limped on to the next round.

Warmed up a bit, Pat once again hitting inventive shots for undesirable outs. With 76 left on the board, Noony called out the option to Pat, who hit the trip-18, double-12 as if it were his favorite out. It seemed that our chauffeur was bored with the conventional double-16 or double-20. If the out did not involve some atypical triple, he just was not interested. But with Noony hitting strong points, and Pat's outs, the Blacksburg team moved upward through the brackets.

But the long day was beginning to show on everyone. Between matches, folks were sitting around wearily, and the energy of the first day had dissipated. Though most darters shoot with projectiles weighing between 21 and 25 grams, after two days of almost solid tournament shooting and pick-up games in between, even this seemingly light activity begins to wear.

With tired sighs, Pat and Noony stood up again to play. By this time, we had had the opportunity to see most people throw, so with each new team there was recognition of skill. The next pair was solid and focused. Once again, however, Pat and Noony shot well enough to make it one more step up the ladder and prepared for the next match. Though the Blacksburg team kept good pace with their opponents, the outs grew decidedly less cooperative, and our team was done for the day. Still, their valiant play brought them into the money round, and in the last match of the day, Pat and Noony split their $21 winnings.

All-in-all, Blacksburg made a fairly strong showing at the St. Patrick's Day shootout, and for once we did not slink away with our figurative tails tucked between our legs. Total match winnings were just over $250, which paid for hotel, match fees, and our silent-yet-supportive friends, Evan Williams and the good old Virginia Gentleman.

The weekend was a definitive success, in my book most particularly because it was too late on Sunday when we drove back through Mayberry for Rob to make an attempt to acquire the giant cement chicken. (I must remember to avoid that southward route in the future). This particular tournament is an excellent opportunity to throw against some solid shooters. Only two and a half hours away, in Kernersville southern hospitality is the natural mode of operation, making the St. Patrick's Day shootout a good choice for a little experience taking your darts on the road.

The next time you hear word of a B.A.D. trip, consider marking it on your calendar. Win or lose, we always manage to have a fine time, so check your horoscope and come on along. You might get scalped, but you just might end up with a giant stone souvenir to commemorate your adventures.

Disclaimer: Names and events are recalled to the best of my ability. Pegi

It might appear self-evident that decisions made on Friday the thirteenth under the light of a full moon should be seriously questioned.  However, it was only very late on that inauspicious evening that five Blackburgians finally resolved to make their way down south to Kernersville, NC, for the annual St. Paddy's Day Weekend Dart Tournament.  Robbie Hickerson and Bear Weaks had made plans to attend, with Artie Grimes and Jeff McHugh hesitating until, apparently, the moon had waxed fully, when they too signed on for the tour.  Consider carefully for a moment, the root of the word lunar.  I myself did not make the final determination until 6:30 on Saturday morning.

A word of warning:  Never make a decision until you have had a cup of coffee.

True to form, good sense was absent the night before travel was to begin.  Rob was still wandering around Blacksburg after midnight, Bear was up at Big Al's until the wee hours of the morning, and I ran into Artie and Jeff sometime about 1:30.  Usually the voice of reason, I was home just before 2:00 but, intrigued by a question raised during the night's conversation, was impelled to surf the net for an hour or so to find the answer.

6:30 was a rude awakening.

Glassy-eyed and weaving slightly, we met up and made promptly for the nearest convenience store, ostensibly to fill up the gas tank, but in truth, desperately seeking caffeine.  Thus girded, we piled into the rented Skylark and made our run for the border.
 It is, indeed, a good thing that Blacksburg darters are a fairly tight-knit group, as the Skylark offered but close quarters.  I have seen more comfortably packaged sardines.  With Bear and Rob in the front, Artie, Jeff, and I were virtually immobilized in the back.  Dazed and confused, we headed for Kernersville.  Located between Winston-Salem and Greensboro, Kernersville is a small town situated just off of Route 40.

Carey's Irish Pub was the location of the shoot, and we all gratefully crawled out of our close cramped confines, some of us more literally than others after the 2.5 hour enforced inactivity.  Aspirin and Advil were distributed to those who ached from a variety of sources, and striving for perpendicularity we sought the pub.  Too late to join in the Mixed Triples event, we began warming up for Doubles Cricket.

This tournament at Carey's Irish Pub is a nice size, drawing between 60 and 70 people, most of whom hail from North Carolina.  The pub offers a congenial atmosphere, with some 8 dart lanes along one long wall, and six other temporary boards set up on and around a small stage.  This gives ample opportunity for warm-ups and practice games, even while tournament play is in progress.  Outside of the dart area is the bar, six or eight pool tables, a shuffleboard, and two more remote dart boards.  For the most part, we found that those attending the shoot were well versed in Carolina's signature southern hospitality.  It was one of the friendliest tournaments I have attended. Friendly, however, does not imply that opponents are compelled to allow you to have the first go at a winning shot.

Rob and Jeff were Blacksburg's sole representatives at last year's St. Paddy's Day Weekend Tournament, and at that time pulled off a very respectable performance, with Rob winning the men's Singles Cricket, and Jeff finishing second in the men's 501.  They had also played strong doubles 501 together, finishing in the top four.  Given their success, we thought this would be a good competitive opportunity.

With beverage in one hand and darts in the other, we all set our sights on the next of the day's events, Men's and Women's Doubles Cricket. Playing together, Rob and Bear made their way into the second round, as did Jeff and Artie.  Unfortunately, that was where the streak ended. In the Women's Doubles Cricket, I teamed up with Laurie, who had just won in the Mixed Triples event.  This seemed a promising duo, but the first round draw was just a little too solid. All too quickly, darting for Blacksburg became a spectator sport.

Saturday's events continued in the same dismal direction as we signed up for Singles Cricket, Woman's Luck of the Draw 501, and the Four Person Team 501. In most cases, Blacksburg could hardly manage to get out of the first round.  Singles Cricket saw Bear make it into the second round, while Artie, Jeff, and Rob, and I were quickly dispatched to the sidelines.  I had managed to come from well behind in my first game to win, only to lose the next two when my opponent unerringly found the double-bull in both games to finish the match.  Bear's second round match was finished in two, and Blacksburg was left to watch the victors move on to the next round.

However, Saturday was not a complete and total loss.  While I signed up for Luck of the Draw Doubles 501 (and was out after the first round), the guys began playing the four person 501.  Artie, Rob, Bear, and Jeff proved to be a formidable team, moving through several tight matches, all going to three games, before standing at the line to shoot for the final match.
Alas! Travel and the long day took their toll.  While the Blacksburg men were competitive, the Tons began to fall few and far between.  Sometime during the event Rob, who some of you may have long ago realized has only limited understanding of spatial relationships, cracked his hand against one of the many tables and chairs that were set up throughout the hall.  Though it was only later in the night that he suspected that he might have broken a finger, on his dart-throwing hand, naturally, the steady scores of 26 were a good early indicator that something was not quite right.  Of course, the 26s might also be attributable to the Mountain Dew bottle that he was carrying around.  A word of caution:  Watch out for Rob if he appears to be drinking soda.

Nonetheless, the Blacksburg men came in second in the Four Person 501 Finals, no small victory given the difficulties and disappointments of the day.  Congratulations, guys!

So, with seven or eight hours of steady throwing under our belts, the time came for foraging.  Restaurant choices in Kernersville are somewhat limited, but we soon found ourselves waiting for a table, comfortably ensconced in rocking chairs and nibbling on peanuts. As seems to be the case when Blacksburg hits the road, local people seemed to find our combined post-tournament exuberance somewhat intimidating. Even the nice people of North Carolina were slightly nonplussed when Artie struck up lively conversation with anyone who happened to be seated next to him, or indeed, far across the parking lot.  Rob determined to set a good example for the collection of children who were also waiting with their families outside the restaurant, by pitching peanuts at the rest of us, trying to convince us to catch them in our mouths. I think that Jeff still has some peanuts lodged in his coat pocket. Rob was particularly enthralled with the restaurant's tradition of simply throwing peanut shells on the floor, giving weight to the recommendation for future matches, No liquor for Rob.

Somewhere along the way, it was determined that the self-admitted heavy snorers, Bear and Artie,  would room together while the rest of us, supposedly quieter folks would find a well-earned peaceful night's sleep.  Settling in, we did manage to keep our weary eyes open long enough to catch up on the NCAA tournament scores, and to watch Southpark.

Some of you know that Rob and I live well past the boonies, where cable does not reach and where we are fortunate to have any reception at all.  We are quite behind the television times.  Thus, we have only lately been introduced to such shows as, The X-Files and, more recently, Southpark.  It is not without with some embarrassment that I find myself a fan of the animated definately-not-for-children-I'm-not-even-sure-I'm-old-enough-to-watch-this-show, Southpark.  Bear Weaks does such an incredibly accurate Eric Cartman that I am fairly convinced that our friend has another occupation that we have overlooked.  On nights he is not out throwing, he must surely be taping for Southpark.

Not surprisingly, the show's themes permeated our trip, with Rob and Jeff delivering with perfect accuracy time and time again:

 Rob: Oh my god!  They've killed Kenny!
 Jeff: The bastards.

And Bear's periodic, Get in the kitchen and fix me a pie!

To gain a more audible understanding of the Southpark fun and games that were interspersed throughout the weekend, check out these sound clips:  ohmygod.wav and gain4000.wav.  True fans might also be interested in listening to other Southpark classics at http://www.rit.edu/~cmj8042/spwav.htm.

So, with visions of Kenny sliding grotesquely down the flagpole, we settled in to catch up on our lost sleep.
Ha!  Like fantasies of achieving some success at the tournament, the best laid plans of mice and women gang aft agley.  In retrospect, I determined that I was the only non-snorer in the bunch, and the hotel did not offer near enough pillows to pitch at the culprits.  While Jeff and Rob maintained point and counterpoint wood-sawing harmony all night, albeit Rob a bit more painfully since I could actually kick him, I used the one pillow I was allotted in a fruitless attempt to shield my tortured ears.
We also learned a valuable lesson about traveling:  Check the alarm clock.  I am sure that I had only just drifted off when a previously unnoticed carillon located in our room cruelly crashed to life at 6:30 in the morning. Exercising remarkable restraint by not flinging the offending appliance across the room, Jeff finally managed to change the time on the clock to silence the din, while we all cursed in what seemed to be practiced unison at the gross injustice.

Abandoning the impertinent idea that I might actually get some sleep over the course of the weekend, I made my way to what Bear had classified the "complimentary breakfast nook," to wait on the others.  Artie joined me first.

Having only recently watched the movie, My Cousin Vinny, I felt reasonably well-educated in the customs and manners of our friend who hails from the Bronx.  Given that, I was somewhat surprised when Artie did not mock my choice of breakfast food, a nice warm bowl of grits.  It was only later that I learned that he did not even recognize that it was grits. I am still trying to figure out what breakfast food he thought I was liberally buttering and salting. Oatmeal? Ugh!

Despite the fact that many of you may have heard me string together a blue phrase or two, I am originally from Richmond, where at least the recognition of certain elements of refinement remain with you wherever you may go.  I am, in fact, a great admirer of Miss Manners.  Nevertheless, I must confess a sort of juvenile glee at the rather pained expressions  that crossed the faces of the more genteel guests who had gathered in the complimentary breakfast nook when I greeted Bear's entrance with, "Hey Bear, the rats didn't eat Kenny last night!"  Artie and I had already proven ourselves to be, shall we say, less than polished by our early morning conversation.  I think I actually saw several well-dressed, well-coifed, well-heeled people recoil at the enthusiastic declaration of Kenny's demise.

So, Sunday morning and the Ides of March were upon us.  We should have known.

The day started with mixed-doubles 501.  At 11:00a.m.  Before it is legal in North Carolina to serve.  While Rob was trapped in K-Mart trying to purchase tape for his by-then-gray fingers, Jeff and I signed up to play, though we have learned in the past that we do not fare well in matches played with soda.  We struggled through the match until five minutes to noon, but the courage that we had had with our breakfast had by then worn off and we were, once again, cast to the sidelines.

501 singles, where Jeff had excelled last year, served none of us very well.  Jeff and Artie and Bear did make it into through the first round, but the second round proved to be a stumbling block for every one.  Bear suffered from that all-too familiar malady of hitting a nine-mark, a Ton-80, yet losing the game and, consequently, the match. Meanwhile, Rob was off practicing how to throw with two fingers taped.  My own first round match lacked distinction, but I was fortunate enough that in the third game, my opponent left herself with five, which she courteously busted until we were both left with double 1s that continued even more painfully to elude us.  In fact, the entire women's bracket was stalled while we shot our darts with frightful inaccuracy.  My partner from the previous day's 501 LOD walked by and gave me a bit of advice, which ultimately stuck long enough for me to win the match.  (Thanks, Barbara).  But, true to form, I was quickly out in the second round.

So, we waited some more.  Luckily, the weather was lovely.  When you're not actually playing in a match, there is more time to wander around outside and consider constructive responses to missed darts.

The last hope for Blacksburg was the 501 doubles.  Rob and Jeff, and Bear and Artie teamed up and lo and behold, picked up steam and plowed through their opponents.  Naturally, they ended up in the same bracket and the Blacksburg men were pitted against each others, playing for the right to shoot in the finals match. Though digitally-challenged, by this time Rob had acclimated to his new-found three fingered throw. He and Jeff played solid darts in three very close games, and they were on to the finals.

The challenging team was very strong, and the first game was neck-and-neck, with Jeff taking out the double 20 to close it out.  The second game was much the same, fine darts marked on both sides of the chalk board, but a shot at double 10 for Blacksburg was missed, and the team from Boone, NC, took the game out.  The North Carolina team kicked in hard in the third game, and the match was over, Jeff and Rob taking second place in the Men's 501 Doubles.

So, the venture south was not without its rewards, and Blacksburg redeemed itself a bit in the final matches of both days.
In addition, there was at least one other area where Blacksburg managed to excel:  Bear's waiting time was spent in worthy pursuit of the barside computer Solitaire, where he wiped out all of the previous top scorers.  Nice going, Bear!

Road trips almost always provide new insight into the interesting and the unexpected.  Jeff was particularly intrigued by the dart equipment carried by two of his competitors.  We learned from  Artie of a whole new spin on holding on to your dough and to the phrase sticky fingers. In tournament play, apparently, Rob should tape his fingers, as his best darts were shot after his run-in with the chair.  Bear has a remarkable skill for recalling television trivia and for trouncing bar video games.  My own claim to fame seems to have been that I was able to amuse my chalkers with my somewhat unorthodox method of calculating scores:  "That's 95 minus 3."  I think they teach a course along those lines:  501 for liberal arts.

Even though our performance this time was less than auspicious, the St. Paddy's Day Weekend Tournament is the perfect type of event for us to attend.  Relatively small, it primarily draws darters similar to our own level, as opposed to the Virginia Beach Tournament that was held the same weekend.  While it is also good experience to play the professionals every now and again, getting some tournament experience prior to that will go a long way to steady the nerves when you have a chance at an out against ranked players.  I encourage you to think about joining us the next time there is talk of a road trip.  Even if the darts don't fly straight and true, there are worse ways to spend your time.

 "Oh my god!  They killed Kenny!"
 "The bastards!"
 

Disclaimer:  Names and events are recalled to the best of my ability.  Pegi

Saturday, February 21, 1998, was the date of the rematch between the Battle of the Burgs. Blacksburg versus Harrisonburg, united once again in fierce (oops, friendly) dart competition.

 As the Blacksburg contingent had visited Harrisonburg on the previous meeting, this time it was up to Harrisonburg to field a team and make the two-and-a-half hour trip to the Ton-80 Club in downtown Blacksburg. By 1:00, Harrisonburg had found the recently remodeled Ton-80 (we remember when there were not even shower curtains in the ladies room), and were warming up the boards.

 Now, it might seem a simple matter for the home team to field the necessary number of players, a minimum of six men and two women. However, as of 1:00 p.m., with the match set to begin at 1:30, or thereabouts, there were exactly four Blacksburg players in various stages of readiness. With the Harrisonburg complement already warming up, Blacksburg's fifty-percent looked decidedly inadequate, and not a little forlorn.

 Typically, it is the out-of-town team who suffers most, having had to drive during the early morning hours to arrive in time for the match. However, as my own first-hand knowledge is of Blacksburg, I can safely say that our crew had its fair share of daylight distress. Somehow, as time draws nearer the day of the match, people who earlier expressed interest in playing suddenly fall by the wayside. Additionally, many of the folks who traveled to Harrisonburg for the first Battle of the Burgs in August of 1997 were scheduled to work on Saturday. In consequence, at 1:30, the scheduled start time for the match, phones all over Blacksburg were set to ringing.

 "Noony! You'd better be on your way or else ..." In truth, I'm not entirely sure how "else" I might have threatened Scott Noonkester. He's a big fellow. But having seen him out the previous night, a night recalled affectionately by some as "The Night of the Kamakazis" (thanks to Hla), and having carefully considered his probable state, I think I could have taken him. (I told you to go home, Noony!) Luckily, appearing somewhat dazed and not a little surprised that he was actually vertical, Scott did find his way to the match.

 Down at the London Underground Pub, John Gorman and Pete were contentedly relaxing on a Sunday afternoon with no particular place to go, until they heeded my plea and came on up to the Ton-80. Thanks, guys.

 Joey Rittenour, only just arrived home from the night before and with only a few reservations, agreed to fill in the eighth slot for Blacksburg. This was even before the proffered bribe of the fabulous, never-to-be-forgotten first four episodes of Ultraman! (Ultraman...here he comes through the sky. Ultraman...watch our hero fly! For further information on Ultraman, see http://users.aol.com/JoeS10/FAQs/Ultraman-FAQ.html).

 Of course, it cannot be too often stressed that having darts in hand during daylight is a painful experience. For those of you who are unaware of the phenomenon, all darts, whatever their percentage of brass or tungstun or nickel, ALL darts are compounded with a little-known alloy that becomes toxic in the sun. This toxin is insidious and causes a wide range of easily identifiable symptoms. The next time you see a darter before dusk, examine closely the blinking eyes, as if the sunlight pains them. See the stiff, graceless gait, as if maintaining balance is an effort. Most of all, watch the darts, and hear the groans of disbelief as usually trustworthy tools suddenly obey the inexorable pull of an alternate universe, destined to fly astray of the aimed mark.

Some individuals display more significant symptoms. Artie Grimes, one of the newest additions to the Blacksburg Area Darters and a northern import, appeared to suffer more than most as he made his way up the stairs to the Ton-80. New York must be very flat. For a few tense moments, we were uncertain whether or not Artie would survive the climb, perhaps symptomatic of the strange daylight dart malady. This must also account for the fact that Artie's daylight speech seems to consist primarily of monosyllables of a four letter variety, and gestures to indicate finer points of communication. "#*%&$," pointing out the pertinent beer to the bartender. "$@%&," pointing to the board to indicate interest in a pick-up game. Of course, this works perfectly well for us southerners who are still trying to figure out just how to spell the name "Aahhdee" (did I get it right?), and assorted Bronxisms we are learning.

 Of those who traveled to Harrisonburg in August, Yvonne, Pat Barnhart, Scott Noonkester, Robbie and Pegi Hickerson were on hand at the beginning of the Ton-80 match. Other Blacksburg darters arrived either to watch or to play, and were unceremoniously cast into the first pair of games, four person 1001, free-in, double-out. Joey, Pete, and Hla joined the ranks, and the match began.

 Battle of the Burg matches are long. Really long. You just won?t believe how vastly hugely mind-bogglingly long they are (apologies to Douglas Adams). 57 games long, if the match should come down to the final 1001 game. A traveling match should be worth the travel, and should, as much as possible, mitigatethe disadvantages inherent for the road team. The 57 games consist of two four-person 1001 games, four sets of doubles 301 DIDO, two sets of mixed triples (one cricket, one 501 FIDO, winner of the toss determines third game), four sets of singles cricket, four sets of singles 501 FIDO, and four sets of doubles cricket. (Whew! Try to say that three times fast. Better yet, line up to play in the marathon!) All sets are three games, with each game won worth a single point for a total of 56 games/points. The tie-breaker, if necessary, is another game of four-person 1001.

As in the previous Battle of the Burgs, Blacksburg and Harrisonburg split the opening 1001 games. Carol of Harrisonburg hit the double 5 on her first dart at the out to win the first game of the match. Yvonne of Blacksburg closed out the second game with a winning double 1. In doubles 301, teams of Robbie and Hla, Joey and Yvonne, Noony and Pegi, and Pat and Artie split once again with the folks from Harrisonburg, making the tally seven games to seven. In the next set, mixed triples teams from Blacksburg consisted of Artie and Hla and Pete; Robbie and Yvonne and Scott Kettler. Scott, incidentally, had not planned on playing, but happened to appear at the Ton-80 with darts in hand. Ergo, he was pulled into the inescapable vortex of the match. This turned out to be most fortuitous, for Blacksburg struggled a bit with this set. His team at one and one, Scott closed out a very tight game of cricket with a trip-18 and a single 15. (Nice shooting, Scott! Glad you could make it!) Down at the other end of the lanes, Hla and Artie and Pete struggled against a very strong Harrisonburg triples team that ultimately swept the Blacksburg trio. At the end of this set, Blacksburg was down two games, nine to eleven, Harrisonburg's lead.

But remember, 57 games. The match was still young when we turned to singles cricket. Joey, Noony, Pegi, and Pat lined up against a solid force from Harrisonburg. The kamakazis must have left their mark, as Noony pulled out but one of his three games against Buddy from Harrisonburg. Pat and Pegi were more fortunate, each finishing 3-0 over their opponents. For Joey, the Ultraman indicator light went out, and Tim from Harrisonburg swept. (Joey, you should have pulled out the Beta Capsule! There was some seriously bad mojo in the air!). Even so, Blacksburg caught up two and after 32 individual games, the match stood tied at 16-16.

 Singles 501 FIFO put Hla, Artie, Rob, and Scott on the line. By now, arms were warming up and the afternoon shadows were lengthening. The Blacksburg 01 players put on a fine performance. Though Sandy of Harrisonburg shot well, Hla found the outs in short order, taking all three games. Likewise Artie zeroed in on the triple 20 time and time again, taking out a double bull in one game, and sweeping Mark from Harrisonburg. (This was quite a win as, according to Mark's testimony, he himself once beat John Lowe three games). Sherry Serdikoff, Harrisonburg's Captain, had the misfortune of drawing a fully primed and focused Rob. Rob, too, had his eye on the trip 20, and the three games fell to Blacksburg. Scott shot strong games against Jim of Harrisonburg, who hit high marks and who also took out one game on a double bull. Scott held on to finish with one game in hand. This decisive play in 501 singles turned the tide of the match in Blacksburg's favor, with the game count standing at 26 to 18.

Doubles cricket was still left to play and, as other Blacksburg players showed up to check out the match, they were slipped effortlessly, and in some cases without their knowledge, into the lineup. Bear and Rob, Liz and Pat, Yvonne and Hla, and Pegi and Jeff McHugh stepped to the line. This was Liz' first shooting at a match outside of the B.A.D, and she and Pat shot made a strong team, quickly taking one of the two games required for a Blacksburg win. The final set began at 5:45, giving an unsuspecting and soda-drinking Jeff only 15 minutes to shoot before having to race across the street to work at 6:00. Pegi and Jeff closed out their first game ahead of their Harrisonburg opponents, essentially finishing the match and bringing Blacksburg to the 28 game mark required to win the Battle of the Burgs. Nice job, Blacksburg!

All games were played out from there, but for the unnecessary tie-breaker. After all, after five solid hours of shooting, who wants to voluntarily subtract from 1001? The final score of the match was 34 Blacksburg, 22 Harrisonburg.

 Harrisonburg graciously conceded victory to Blacksburg, and people fell to pick-up games and conversation. Harrisonburg is part of the Shenendoah Valley Dart Association, very similar to the B.A.D. in composition. For those of you had the opportunity to chat with them a bit, I am sure you found that we have much in common.

 Thanks to everyone who came out to lend support, John, James, Lynn, Doug, Jenn, and others. Thanks, too, to Scott, Pete, Hla, Jeff, and Liz who found yourselves unexpectedly at the line, and toJoey for coming down with five minutes notice to fill out our Blacksburg team. Thank you, Hla, for your generous donation of warm-up fluid. Stu, you did a great job handling the bar alone on what shouldhave been a slow afternoon. I am sure that we kept you busy!

Town matches are a grand way to gain some practice playing against new faces and new dart philosophies, to hone skills in shooting under pressure, and to play in unfamiliar venues. I encourage you to show up to cheer on your mates and, perhaps, to shoot a game or two. Rumor has it that the B.A.D. and the Shenendoah Valley Dart Association will work to schedule Battle of the Burg matches roughly every six months. There is also the possibility that we will be setting up a match with CADC, the Winston-Salem Area Darters, who have expressed preliminary interest the town match format.

Thank you, Harrisonburg, for bringing a fine group of people down to spend the afternoon in Blacksburg.

Disclaimer: Names and events are recalled to the best of my ability -Pegi

A gallant band of Blacksburgians gathered together to journey to Harrisonburg to meet members of the Shenandoah Valley Dart Association (SVDA) in the Battle of the Burgs.

Robbie Hickerson of Blacksburg and Sherry Serdikoff of Harrisonburg met on the Internet when Robbie sent out an inquiry into the possibility of organizing play between Virginia regional dart associations. Together, Sherry and Rob worked out a scheme for the two towns to play, and it was agreed that Blacksburg would be the first to hit the road.

A great deal of thought and planning went into the structure of the match; a number of critical needs had to be addressed. The traveling team is always at a disadvantage, (particularly for those of us who are a bit more rickety than others. Thanks for the backrub, James). New location, different lighting, and the stiffness brought on by travel all tend to have an adverse affect on the visiting team--not to mention that the early hour required to get there is somewhat tortuous for a social group whose majority closely resembles vampires.

Another issue is the need to make the travel worth the time, effort, and expense. B.A.D. matches are 25 games. A road trip match needed to be weightier. Sherry and Rob sought a format that would make the Traveling League meaningful, and the plan they ultimately devised looked fairly brutal on paper: 2 games of four person 1001 right off the bat. This was to provide a good opportunity for both teams to warm up a bit and get accustomed to the idea of the match. Four person teams also allow people to introduce each other--let us not forget that despite the competition, traveling teams have a social function as well.

Scheduled after the 1001 were four sets of doubles 301 DIDO, followed by two sets of mixed triples, four sets of singles cricket, four sets of singles 501 FIDO, and four sets of doubles cricket. All of these sets were three games, with each game won being worth a single point for a total of 56 games/points. The tie-breaker, if necessary, was another game of 1001.

The very suggestion of sunlight is enough to make most of us flee for cover. Yet, befuddled, bedazzled, and before 10:30, we met to make the journey. The Blacksburg crew were a motley lot, as might be expected given the source. Pat Barnhart, Tim Yoder, James Watty, Jeff McHugh, Bear Weeks, "Angel Hair"--oops--Eddie Smith, Yvonne, and Robbie and Pegi Hickerson, headed up Saturday morning, August 16, to arrive for the 2:00pm match. Scott Noonkester followed close behind.

Blacksburg arrived at the Time Out Sports Bar to find Harrisonburg warming up on the four good boards that our hosts had brought especially for the event. They had planned on brand new boards, but UPS interfered with the execution. It was no matter, though, for the boards were fine, and the lighting of the lanes quite good. Most of us from Blacksburg were struck with how, well, clean the bar was. White walls were really white, culture shock for those of us who have grown accustomed to lanes located in murky locales fit for troglodytes.

Time Out is a huge place, quite unlike any of our dart sites. Six or seven easy chairs are poised around a gigantic screen TV, and smaller televisions are located throughout the main bar area. In addition to the restaurant/bar, there is an adjoining bowling alley, a sideroom with half-a-dozen pool tables, and another wing with pinball and video games. (Bear can tell you more about the latter).

So, there we were.

As you might guess, the 1001 games were long. Math looks entirely different somehow when you are subtracting from the 900s, as the team of Eddie, Jeff, Pegi, and Tim can attest. We cheated ourselves consistently on the first few rounds. But our opponents from Harrisonburg were good-natured and fair, pointing out our errors and allowing us to adjust the score. In a competitive situation, this says a great deal about the quality and character of our opponents.

The two teams split on the 1001 and we headed on into Doubles 301. Doubles 301 is a finicky game, ins and outs at times elusive. Blacksburg came out slightly ahead at 7-5, but in the mixed triples Harrisonburg regained the two games, edging out Blacksburg at 4 to 2. As we totalled the first page of the score sheet, the match was head-to-head at 10 games to 10.

Well, a head-to-head match might be exciting, but sustained anxiety simply is not good for one's health. As we started into the second page of the score sheet (keep in mind the match was designed for 57 games), Blacksburg began slowly to edge away from the host team. Strong performances in singles cricket and singles 501 put Blacksburg up by eight games as we came into the doubles cricket (26-18).

After four or so hours of play, people on both teams were displaying a wide variety of responses to the applicable stimuli. I am pretty sure I saw Bear catching a nap in one of the recliners, and I have similar suspicions about Tim. (Maybe we can talk Joe into trading the pool table for a couple of EZboys - if he charged .75 a shot, he would probably still do better on the chair than the table). Golf on a wide screen TV also has strong appeal, eh, Noony?

New venues have their own peculiarities. Swinging erasers, held to a wooden bar by a length of string, provided a new an exciting mode of optical distraction. Scores were marked on an erasable board with a magic marker whose cap was stuck into a wooden frame. These markers must dry out quickly, because the Harrisonburg players were diligent about returning the markers to their stationary caps with substantial vigor. Blacksburg, unfamiliar with the procedure, had some difficulty freeing the markers to score, with the exception of Jeff McHugh who apparently succeeded in withdrawing one with such force that he managed to fling it across several lanes of play. As far as I know, no injuries resulted.

Despite the closeness of the match, tempers were held in check, and our hosts were most gracious. When our doubles cricket teams gained the final games for Blacksburg to take the match, the set continued until all games were finished, bringing the final score to 33-23 Blacksburg. (Yea, Team!)

Besides the primary prize, town pride, there was a bit of cash on the line, and a dollar a piece was put into the hat for the first 9-mark. Harrisonburg's top scorer, Danny, hit a ton-80 in singles 501 against Tim, but Tim mitigated the distinction when he won that game, and subsequently, that set. Nice going, Tim!

After the match, a number of the Harrisonburg folks stayed around to play for fun and money. I wonder who started that particular sequence of events--Noony? The long term plan was for Blacksburg and Harrisonburg to get together for dinner, but a miscommunication of directions and a confusion of just who was leading and who was following led to an unexpected parting of the ways.

Typical of road trips, there were a number of noteworthy moments. Running into John Kalifut at the rest area just outside of Harrisonburg was quite a coincidence. The Red Carpet Inn where we stayed had a dated sort of charm, though they did have a shortage of towels and rollaway beds. In truth, Pat needed the one rollaway that we managed to acquire, as he shared a room with James and Bear. No further explanation necessary.

However, it is difficult to understand how the desk clerk could simply laugh at Eddie's plaintive, "but where am I going sleep?" when she assured him that there were no more rollaways to be had. O.K. So we laughed too. Come to think of it, I'm not exactly sure WHERE Eddie slept. The last I heard he had rigged a water trap for Pat, James, and Bear's room. Since Bear was the first one out the next morning, it is very likely that Jeff saved Eddie's life by cutting down the device before anyone could be ambushed. Just be sure you call Eddie "Angel Hair" next time you see him. He will appreciate the thought.

On the other hand, whatever you do, avoid the color yellow around Jeff McHugh, unless you have a couple of hours to spare.

Sometime after 2:00 a.m., Eddie James, Pat, Yvonne, and Rob climbed over the padlocked gate to reach the swimming pool, starting a trend that led other late night guests to join in the fun. Rob and James claim to have met up with a group of ten-gallon-hat-wearing rodeo clowns a while after that; however, no one else would substantiate their story, and given what Rob found floating in the pool, the report can only be considered suspect. Ask Rob to elaborate, although Pat could probably provide more pertinent detail regarding this particular spin on the bobbing for apples theme.

Noony entertained us with his philosophy on "friendly" darts, in Noony's book something of a contradiction in terms, while Jeff regaled us with pithy descriptions of dart players he has known and admired. Yvonne attempted to make friends with the security guard by commenting within earshot and out an open door about his presumed recreational activities. Perhaps she was close to the mark, because he did bring us what were supposedly the last set of towels in the hotel.

James rather frightened our waitress at the Golden Corral when she asked if they might close down the buffet.

"Ba-a-a-a-a," James responded.

None of us is entirely certain what that meant, but the waitress fled. I'm pretty sure that the Golden Corral did not come out ahead when the Blacksburg group descended like locusts, and people with small children quickly exited the restaurant as we took our seats.

Speaking of insects, the Red Carpet Inn was not without indigenous wildlife, as Yvonne so eloquently pointed out to Jeff at one time during the evening: "there's a big damn bug behind you."

Certain that time and Miller were taking their toll, I examined the arthropod and admit that the Latin term for the creature must surely have been "big damn bug." Luckily, one of the legs to the obligatory 70s style coffee table was superfluous, and its clublike design served as both an added security feature and a reasonably useful bug chasing implement. Rest assured, no creatures were harmed during this scene, and "big damn bug" was safely shepherded out into the night. It is quite probable that the bug was asleep before most of the troupe from Blacksburg, as four o'clock was fast approaching when I closed my eyes, and I was by no means the last to bed.

Be sure to congratulate your dart buddies on a match well played. The B.A.D. is off to a good start in the hoped for Virginia regional league play. This is a grand opportunity for us to see how we measure against some of the other competitive players in the state. Arrangements are now being made for Blacksburg to host Harrisonburg sometime during the winter months.

Eventually, we hope to be able to put together scheduled tournaments between the Washington Area Dart Association (WADA), the Tidewater Area Dart Association (TADA), the Richmond CVDA League, and any other Virginia leagues who are willing to travel. All of these shooters are very good, so keep throwing and be ready to hit the road. Remember, sign up for the B.A.D. league is September 2, and there are other opportunities for league play throughout the week.

Thanks, Rob and Sherry, for all of the planning, and thanks to all of you Shenandoah Valley Daters who showed up on a bloody hot Saturday afternoon to welcome us to Time Out and provide a fine afternoon of good darting and good company.

* Disclaimer: Names and events noted here are recalled to the best of my ability. Pegi

Short version:  We went, we threw, we came home a lot poorer.

Long version:  Word of a small tournament in Martinsburg, WV, a four hour drive from Blacksburg, lured four intrepid darters out of their beds painfully early on a Saturday morning after the night before.  Eddie Smith, Jeff McHugh, Pegi and Robbie Hickerson, armed with the caffienated beverages of their choice, made their way northward to meet the competition.

The competition, as it turned out, was quite a bit more formidable than might have been expected for a 12-lane venue at the Leisure Inn.  Cracked parking lot and indifferent hotel staff were not enough to dissuade some of the heavy hitters of the dart world.

Only belatedly did we learn that the gathering was in honor of the Polaquin’s wedding anniversary, complete with massive sheet cake and fairy dust.  If you have ever been to a tournament of significance, you have probably seen/met/played one of the ubiquitous Polaquin family.  Using the occasion as a kick-off for a darting Hall of Fame (note:  suggested by the title of the tournament), among those inducted during the Saturday evening dinner and ceremony was Jerry Umberger, who has held the number one position nationally, and is internationally ranked.  While the top ranked among the participants, Jerry was by no means the only  player of high merit.

Arriving at the Leisure Inn at noon for a scheduled 12:00 draw for Women’s Singles Cricket and a 12:30 draw for Men’s Singles Cricket, the Blacksburgians prepared for battle.  Downing the first few beers of the day, the Blacksburg band tried to muster energy enough to warm up.

First called was Eddie Smith, drawing "Truck," an unusual yet oh-so-accurate appellation for several reasons:  Truck is no small fellow.  And if you ask Eddie, he might liken his match to having been run over by said Truck.  The first game went rather too quickly to recall.  In the second, Eddie settled in to make a stand on 17s, but it just was not enough of a roadblock to slow the steady progress of the jolly force that opposed him.

Elsewhere, Jeff McHugh had drawn another ranked player, Patrick Guariglia.  When your opponent sports a professional-looking shirt with his name embroidered on the back, you can bet that you had better plan to throw the best darts of your life.  At 2:00 in the afternoon on four hours sleep and not enough dart-grease, you can also bet that the best darts of your life are an unlikely probability.  Jeff, behind after Guariglia wasted no time racking up the 20s, held on to 18s with a tenacity that served only to encourage Guariglia to throw a few more triple 20s.  Once he had over 230 points, Guariglia felt secure enough to move on, and the match was over in two.

Pegi’s draw was kind enough to take her time, though Fran did make a significant pause at 18s, initiating a 6-mark there to get 54 points on the board.  Nevertheless, Pegi was able to settle trembling hands enough to get the final bull out of the way.  The second game was much the same, and Pegi moved to the second round.

With one match in hand, and the shaking somewhat eased, Pegi stepped up to play Connie Sirroca from Pennsylvania.  Gee, that name sounds vaguely familiar.  Could she also be ranked?  The first game was solid, but for the win-the-diddle-miss-all-20s that Pegi threw to leap confidently behind.  Sirroca threw steady four and five marks, but at least the other side of the board had enough marks not to embarrass the woman from Blacksburg.  In the second game, Sirroca, obviously threatened (ha!), closed and got 80 points on the board, from there closing 19s and 18s in quick succession.  Pegi managed a 7-mark on 17s to make things a little more respectable, but the outcome was hardly in doubt.  Three Blacksburgians down, one to go.

With so few boards, a number of the Men’s Singles matches were forced to wait.  Calculating the names not called, including his own, Robbie predicted with amazing accuracy his first - and last - round draw.

"With Noony not here," Rob stated with certainty, "and because only Noony has worse luck than I, you know that I will have to play --"

"And on board number 3, Robbie Hickerson and Jerry Umberger!"

Kismet.

With Rob cold in the first game, Umberger had the slight advantage and rolled on down the board. But with a valiant effort, Rob threw several strong marks himself, closing enough for respectability.  Still, with smiles and handshakes, the first game was quickly over.  By the second game, Rob tossed a couple of marks that kept him within range of Umberger’s relentless progress.  Needing three bulls to close, with Robbie sitting on a possible 6-mark to win, Umberger stepped to the line:

Single bull.  Single bull.  Single bull.

Smiles, handshakes, take a seat.  And so it was for most of the weekend.  Few opportunities, and missed shots that will haunt us.

But in the final event of the tournament, Singles 501, Jeff and Robbie each redeemed the Blacksburg efforts.  Rob out-outed three opponents to make it to the money round, while Jeff managed one round more to tie for third.  This earned him not only the devoutly-to-be-wished white envelop, but also a nifty bronze medal.  If you ask nicely, he might show it to you. (Prior to this event, McHugh had announced his unequivocal retirement).

On location was Frank Pratt, author of Fun-Dart-Mentals, a guide for improving your game.  Rob purchased the book and in conversation with the author was told, "if you have thrown as long as that, you already know everything in this book."  To which Rob replied, "Then give me my money back."  Pratt being an awfully congenial fellow merely laughed, nevertheless managing to ignore Rob’s request.

However, the book provided one of the more humorous souvenirs of the weekend.   Below, see for yourself that Jerry Umberger is not only a skilled and gracious winner, but also something of a wit.  Unable to comply with Rob’s initial request for what Umberger should write in the book, as it involved profanity that his sponsors would frown upon (ask Rob), Jerry improvised:
 

The moral of the story is, the next time there is a tournament, y’all come along.  Misery loves company.

* Disclaimer:  Names and events noted here are recalled to the best of my ability.  Pegi