Eric Bristow by Eric Bristow Read Free Book Online

walk, but that was the norm then. I used to walk to King’s Cross every Friday night with a guy called Andy Pascoe. He lived in Walthamstow and would get a cab to my house in Stoke Newington, get out, and we’d walk the seven miles to King’s Cross. Then we’d play in the pairs, more often than not win the prize money, have an Indian to celebrate, and walk back to my house where he’d get a cab home. I hated wasting the money I had on cabs, I’d got better things to spend it on, and all that walking kept me fit, which was an added bonus.
    Playing darts as often and as well as I was doing meant it didn’t take me long to rack up enough points to make the county side, and I was picked for London B. This was a big step up for me. I knew all I had to do was win a couple of B games and they’d put me in the full county side, which, naturally, was London A. I’d already beaten the majority of the A squad, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d get in. My first county game with the B side was at Southall Labour Club in London where we played Devon B. We had a twelve-man team and there were twelve singles games of the best of three legs, 501 each game. I was down as last man on and thought that as I wouldn’t be playing for another three hours I’d cheer the lads on. As I sat at the side watching we went one–nil up, two–nil, three–nil, four–nil, I was shouting ‘Go on’ and getting quite excited. This was good stuff. These lads were playing sensationally.
    However when it got to five–nil and then six–nil I began to think: I hope somebody loses here. It was starting to play on my mind. County sides didn’t do clean sweeps, ever! And if they were going to do one tonight, guess whose job it would be to nail it in the last game? As soon as it got to seven–nil I thought: Sod this, and went back on the practice board. I was getting worried thinking: Somebody for God’s sake lose and take the pressure off me to do the clean sweep. But on it went, nine–nil, ten–nil. I just kept thinking this was stupid. Nobody wins twelve–nil in county games, it just doesn’t happen. Next I hear a voice announce: ‘And now representing London B … Eric Bristow.’
    It was eleven–nil! The tension as I walked up to the oche was unbelievable because everybody wanted the elusive clean sweep. Up I went and I was nervous. I never get nervous playing darts – even when I later appeared in World Championship finals I didn’t get nervous – but here I was sweating, which I never did. I knew that if I lost there was a good chance, a very good chance, I’d be dropped for the next game. It was as though my whole future was flashing before my eyes because the sods on my team had all won. Thankfully I won the opening leg and just needed one more to make it two–nil for my game and twelve–nil for London B. I had my chance on a 118 checkout. I went treble sixteen, double nineteen, double sixteen, thank you very much. The feeling I had was more of relief than jubilation. I’ve been less tense in major tournaments.
    In the next London B game I won my match and was launched into the A team. They had a great set of players like Charlie Hicks, Jackie Ambler, and Dave Pithouse, and Alan Glazier who was one of the greats of the 1960s and could have been as well known as I eventually was if darts had taken off ten years earlier than it did.
    The county games were brilliant because I got to see different parts of the country. You’d have the A and B sides, men’s and women’s teams, travelling to towns and cities all over Britain to play and go out on a Saturday night. We’d end up splitting off into different groups and then all meeting back at the hotel at the end of the evening. Some came back and had been in trouble, some hadn’t. A lot of people don’t like Londoners, and we weren’t the quietest blokes in the world so that didn’t help. However, a lot of fellas didn’t mess with us, like they don’t mess