A foolish mental lapse cost my partner and me the chance to advance to the finals earlier today at the weekly Saturday afternoon Blind Draw at the Spot One Pub (289 Rutherford Road) here in Brampton, Ontario. With just seventy remaining I calmly stuck my first dart square into the middle of the triple eighteen. Then, with equal confidence, I placed my second dart into the center of the double eighteen. Now, I grew up in Michigan just across the border from Windsor and in those days a Canadian dollar was worth, maybe, eighty cents on the felt of an American poker table. But nowhere, absolutely nowhere in the world, is a double eighteen a double eight. Talk about stupid darts!