Sorry, I Darted.

(should read previous post (below this one) before reading. it'll make more sense. but if you're confident in your ability to connect dots, just go for it.)

On Sunday I showed this site to Kris, and she read the story about the game of darts we played on Thursday night. She looked at me tight lipped with the corner of her mouth slightly raised - a smirk. I knew what she’s going to say before she did.
“You better put up what happened last night.”
“Yea yea yea. I am.”

So here it is:
I figure I’d start with a quote from my last post about the game of darts me, her, and my roommate played on Thursday night. “So, Kris, if you read this - I’m sorry. I preyed on your inabilities to hold it together after losing. I knew you’d buckle like a stool under a fat lady.”

A lot has changed since then with our dart capabilities. Before going out on Saturday night, the three of us decide to play a game of Cricket. Here’s the rules: Imagine the dart board as a pizza pie, and it has 20 slices. Each slice is numbered 1-20 (bulls eye is 25). You have to hit slices 15-20 three times each. After you hit a number 3 times, you have now ’closed’ it. If you hit that number after you have closed it, you gain that amount of points. You can only gain points until everyone has closed that number. The point of the game is to close everything, including bulls eye - and have the most points when you do. If you close everything, but don’t have the most points, you keep trying for points until you have more than anybody else… then you win.

So we come up with the brilliant idea of wagering on a game of Cricket. “Whoever loses has to buy a round when we go out.” Game 1 starts, and Al hits 20, but misses with his next two darts. Kris, who threw like she had no thumbs on Thursday night, can’t miss a thing.
15.
Bullseye.
20.

I now go, still confident from my victories of two days ago. I don’t throw a dart, and I’m already walking to the line talkin’ smack. “This is like Michael Jordan playing pick-up ball at a school for the blind.”
THWACK!
“I’m a little rusty. I just want to get yal hopes up.”
CLANG!
“Alright, Imma stop playing around with yal.”
DIONG!

The two of them are laughing at me, but I know that it’ll all come together my next turn. Al goes. 20. Miss. 20. “Yea, scrub.” He looks at me.
Kris goes. 17. 20. 15. She doesn’t talk smack, but rather politely removes the darts from the board, slowly walks over, and hands them to me. All while never breaking eye contact. That bugs me more than being called a scrub.

I go, same results. Diong. Clang. 5. Now, remember I get no points for hitting 5. What I do get is a loud, piercing buzzer sound like the one on Family Feud if the answer is wrong. Or if you remember the noise from the game “Operation” when you mess up putting the organs back in the guy.
The whole game goes on that way. Kris - first place. Al - second place. Andrew - last place, PO’d, and out of 9 dollars because I gotta buy a freaking round.
“Another one?” We all agree.

Al wins this time, and Kris comes in second. I’m now out of $18. And the incessant trash talking and quiet, evil stares begin to bug me. “One more.” This time though, before I step to the line, something hits me.
“Since when did you get so good," I ask Kris. "I think you hustled us you - you dart shark.” I’m told by certain people that when I get mad or excited, my voice cracks. (Once, after trying to remember the name of the movie theatre in our mall, I finally screamed, “Hoyts.” But sounded like Alvin from the chipmunks.) I’m pretty sure that happened this time too. So I throw my three darts and a couple hit. But the other two opponents of mine, are playing too well at this point. I lose again.

“Expletive. Bigger expletive. Same expletive as the first.”
“One more game,” I say out of breath from rage. “Same bet.”
They agree, and why not? Free rounds all night for them. And Kris is especially happy because there are no garbage bags involved.
They throw. They hit. I throw. I miss.
I throw again... but it's a chair. Bullseye.

Now I’m practically sobbing. “I don’t believe this. *sniff* What’s going on?” I sound like an uninjured person in a car wreck whose face is all powdery from the airbag deploying.
“OK. Last one.” Both of them now seem to feel sorry for me - at least Kris does. I could see it in her eyes. I’m out $36. “But this time. Double or nothing. If I lose, I buy a round next weekend, or whenever we go out. IF I WIN, I only have to buy 3 rounds, and whoever loses buys one. And if I come in second, I stay the same.”
Al jumps on it like a dog in heat. Kris reluctantly agrees.

They start. They hit again. I go. I hit. (Don’t reread that. I said I hit, gosh darnit.) They go, miss a couple. I go again, and I can’t miss. I’m kicking the crap outta them. So the end of the games draws near. I close out everything, except I need one bullseye. I have 240 points, and the next person, Kris has closed everything, but has 200. The second I hit, she automatically comes in second. Al has about 150. So if I hit a bullseye, I win plus Al is out of $9. Life can’t get any greater at this moment.

All I need is one bullseye. One. Just One freaking bullseye, but I keep missing - barely. Kris goes, she can’t hit the side of a barn now. Al goes, and gets closer. 180. I go again, and barely miss the center 3 times. Kris - well by now she’s a lost cause, but is rooting for me. So that’s pressure. Nevermind the pressure I’m putting on myself.

Al gets closer.
I miss yet again.
Al misses.
I miss.
Al misses again.
I suck.

Al steps to the line. I don’t even look.

Bullseye. Tied with Kris.
Next dart. Bullseye. He needs one more to surpass me and win.
Next dart. A motha-fu ----

Well I don’t need to finish but I will say, the dart board is now broken.
Kris is mad cause I couldn’t finish it out. Just me and her left, and I ending up beating her so now she‘s out $9. Not Al. Not punk, scrub, the luckiest-three-dart-throws-in-the-history-of-Dartopia, Al.

I promised to tell this story and I'm a man of my word. This time, my friends, I buckled like a stool under - well, you know the rest.