Monday, December 1, 2025
Column 701
Confessions of a Dart-addled Mind
There’s no known cure, and frankly, I wouldn’t take it if there were. Once you’ve thrown enough darts, the world starts to look… well, different.
A round dinner plate isn’t a plate – it’s a dartboard. A wall clock? Stop sign? Hubcaps?
Dartboard. Dartboard. Dartboard.
And what about Target stores? What player can possibly drive past one without admiring their perfect red and white logo? That’s a dartboard, folks – marketing genius. Somewhere in Target’s corporate backroom a dart player must be claiming royalties.
This “affliction” even follows you into the doctor’s office. At a certain age, they make you take a cognitive screening test – simple stuff, meant to see how sharp you still are (think Trump and how he “aced” the five-word part of this test by remembering the words: person, woman, man, camera and TV).
Another part of the test requires you to draw a clock. A word to the wise: some doctors aren’t amused when you draw a circle and write in dartboard numbers instead.
I can’t help myself.
And it’s not just dartboards that I see…
Somewhere along the line, my brain rewired to think in terms of checkouts. (I can think ‘em – I just can’t hit ‘em). My wife once caught me squinting at the microwave timer and mumbling “tops for the win” when it hit 40 seconds.
When I see $32 on a gas pump, I automatically think d16. When I’m driving and the speedometer hits 57, I instinctively calculate 17, tops. I’ve ruined grocery shopping forever – every price tag is a finish. “Look, honey – Raman noodles, just 76 cents – that’s t20, d8.” (NOTE: it may not be by accident that I’ve ruined grocery shopping.)
And it’s not just round objects and numbers…
At a restaurant I once caught myself trying to “group” three crumbs on the table. I sometimes practice throwing when I’m brushing my teeth (the toothbrush makes a perfect tungsten substitute – right up until the toothpaste splatters across the mirror).
People who don’t play darts can’t possibly understand this harmless, incurable condition – “dart brain” – where every circle is a target and every number between 1 and 170 is a chance for glory.
Just this past weekend, I was back (oh horrors!) in line at the grocery store (a favor for my wife – to pick up milk and eggs but which also ended up including donuts, potato chips, two bags of Reece’s cups and a frozen pizza). The total came to $90 (who says grocery prices aren’t absurd?). At the checkout I blurted, “t18, d18!” The cashier stared at me. The lady behind me clutched her purse.
So yes, I suppose the world thinks I’m crazy. But that’s okay. Normal people see the world one way. Dart players see it correctly.
Stay thirsty, my friends,
Dartoid
