We've all been there - edge of the sofa, lips parched, eyes on stalks, crotch clutched in anticipation. Those ten seconds feel like a lifetime. He's just nailed two treble twenties and hes going for a third. Will he reach the promised land? In goes the dart, it's another treble twenty. The caller cockily takes a moment to reposition himself. Then, with a slight cough for emphasis, utters the most immortal line in darts history: "one hundred and eighty", extending the last syllable until it acts as a kind of verbal red carpet for the player walking to the board to retrieve his heroic arrows. These moments don't happen often, but when they do there is nothing more exciting, nor ferociously celebrated, on the planet.
