Friday, June 6, 2025
Column 688
There’s a New Dart in Town
Well, not new exactly. The Dodge Dart has been around since the 1960s. It’s the kind of car your granddad might’ve done donuts in behind the drive-in theater – revving his tiny 4-cylinder like it was a ‘Cuda, hoping no one noticed he was wearing white socks with sandals and blasting Neil Sedaka like it was AC/DC.
The Dodge Dart: the car that thought it was cooler than it was – like that guy at league night in a custom jersey with flames on the back, shades on indoors, strutting to the line like a rockstar… only to throw a majestic 26 (and requiring a calculator to add it up).
But it got me thinking – what if the worlds of the Dodge Dart and darts collided?
Imagine rolling up for league in a cherry-red ‘73 Dodge Dart Swinger. You cruise into the lot, engine purring (more likely wheezing). You park. You swagger across the lot like P. Diddy, rocking a darts shirt that’s louder than your muffler, darts case in one hand, Slim Jim in the other…
As you approach the front door of the pub, a guy leans out, squints at your ride, and says, “Nice Dart!”
You shoot back: “Thanks! Wait ‘til you see my bulls.”
He looks confused. (Definitely a steel-tip guy.)
Of course, the similarities between the Dodge Dart and darts don’t end with the name. Both are misunderstood by the mainstream. Both are frequently underestimated. Both require serious commitment, regular tune-ups, and a thick skin when your spouse says, “You’re leaving the house in that?”
Driving a Dodge Dart to darts is like wearing a hot pink shirt (no pocket!) to a tournament – like Peter Wright, you’re making a statement. And that statement is: “I know exactly who I am, and I’m not here to explain it.”
I once knew a guy who painted flames down the side of his Dodge Dart and had matching flame flights in his darts case. I asked if he wanted to play a leg. “You throw first…” I said.
He grinned and let ‘em rip
He hit a 20 and two ones and said, “That’s smoke – means I’m heating up.
Then we glanced out the window and saw actual smoke coming from his engine.
Okay, that didn’t really happen (although I do have a darts friend who bought his wife a Dodge Dart). The point is – there’s a kinship here. A beautiful, unhinged, slightly smoky kinship. Whether you’re barreling down the highway in a wheezing classic or lining up a double to take down your buddy, you’re engaging in a ritual that demands style, swagger, and just enough insanity to make it all worthwhile.
So, next time someone asks what kind of dart you prefer, just smirk and say, “Depends. You mean tungsten or transmission?”
From the field,
Dartoid
