You can say that darts isn't a sport, but I couldn't give a Yak's twat. If you've played, you'll know how hard it is. Being the best darts player ever requires as much dedication as it does to be the best footballer, or golfer, or snooker player. Tell me that Maradona practised for eight hours a day while he was snorting and shafting at Napoli and I’ll reply, succinctly, that you are a fucking liar.
Phil Taylor is the greatest talent his sport has ever seen. Since being discovered, sponsored and mentored by Eric Bristow in the late 80s, he has won over 150 ranking tournaments, 15 World Championships, 11 World Matchplays, five Premier League titles and an obscene amount of non-ranking tournaments. He's had multiple televised nine-dart finishes (the darting equivalent of a hole-in-one) and, at 50 is still the man to beat.
As Sid Waddell once said, “William Tell could knock an apple off your head, Phil Taylor could do it with a processed pea.”
You could say that he blotted his copybook when he was accused of touching that girl's arse in the back of his van. Nonsense. If Knighthoods were held back for debauchery and crimes against the state there would be no one left. Elton John - coke snorting flower-buying madman. Jagger – Heroin, coke, shagged his best mate's missus AND released She’s The Boss. The only coke Phil Taylor touches is full-fat liquid by the barrow load and I doubt he has seen little Phil in twenty tears, let alone got him to stand up and perform at the oche.
Of the other recent sporting Knights, Faldo won six Majors in a 30-year career, roughly one in 25, and Ian Botham was only the greatest for three years tops. Phil Taylor has been the best player in the world for 20 years, he regularly averages over 105 for three darts and has seen off countless challengers and pretenders to his throne. As Sid Waddell once said, “William Tell could knock an apple off your head, Phil Taylor could do it with a processed pea.”
Now I doubt Her Majesty is a fan of arrers. But should it happen, should Philip Douglas Taylor from Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent, be Knighted in the New Years Honours List, the only worry is that he’d struggle to get up after the sword had done its business, or even try to grab it and take the chip off Prince Phillip’s shoulder from eight feet.
That and stick his head up Liz’s skirt, eye the wizened crown jewels and scream ‘180’.
Arise Sir Phil.
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