G Darts chap 5

"When Ivan Lendl was a little boy," said The Poet, "every day his
father used to tie his left arm to his body so that he couldn't use
it." The Poet paused, took a swig from the bottle the he was holding
and then passed the bottle to me. "He had to use his right arm.
Naturally, he was left handed."

We were in the Castro, in my flat; me, 16, The Poet, Captain Vegas. It
was two days after our defeat. The sun was shining but our hearts were
heavy. We had been drinking.
"What's your point?" I said. I took a drink from the bottle and passed
it to 16.

"Who's Ivan Lendl?" said 16. "Is he from a Kristian Bjorn video?" He
passed the bottle to Captain Vegas.

"Ivan Lendl was a tennis player," said Captain Vegas. He took a long
drink from the bottle. "Who's Kristian Bjorn?" he asked.

"The point is," said The Poet, looking first at 16 and then Captain
Vegas, "is that if you want to succeed you have to have
dedication."

"Dedication is what you need," whistled Captain Vegas instantaneously,
"if you want to be a record breaker, yeahhhhh!" He passed the bottle to
The Poet.

The Poet stood up. I thought he was angry. I thought he was going to
explode, Byronically. Instead he went out of the room. I wanted to warn
16 and Captain Vegas. I wanted to explain what I had noticed over the
previous few days, that The Poet was on a knife edge, was liable to pop
at any moment. However, before I could open my mouth The Poet came back
lugging a plastic bin bag behind him. He was Santa Claus all gone
wrong. Beware little children I wanted to cry out but I could only
watch mesmerised as he took one thing after another out of the
sack.

"It's a dart-board," said 16.

"And darts," said Captain Vegas.

"We're going to practise," said The Poet, grinning. He had that glint
in his eye. I knew there was more to this than just practise but as yet
I didn't know what. I took a drink from the bottle.

"Are we going to tie our left arms to our bodies?" said 16. "Like Ivan
Lendl. That famous tennis player."

I expected The Poet to throttle 16, or at least stab him with the
sharp point of a dart. But no, he was still grinning. "I have a plan,"
said The Poet.

"Yes?" said Captain Vegas.

"Yes?" said 16.

"Hit me with it," I said.

"We're going to play strip darts," said The Poet. "That's our
motivation, that's the arm tied to our sides. What do you think?"

I passed the bottle to 16, 16 passed the bottle to Captain Vegas,
Captain Vegas passed the bottle to The Poet, The Poet passed the bottle
back to me. Then we all looked at Captain Vegas again.

"What?" said Captain Vegas. "WHAT?" He stood up and jiggled his hips.
"When are you guys gonna treat me like one of you guys? When are you
gonna give me the benefit of the doubt? I can play strip darts." He
jiggled his hips once more for show. "I'm not proud. Leia Organa is
more that satisfied, believe me."

The Poet ran a finger around his collar.
16 ran a finger around the waistband of his jeans.

"Strip darts will be cool," said Captain Vegas. He wiggled his hips
and then said in a quiet voice, "more that satisfied."

And so in this manner it was decided. Strip darts it was.
As The Poet set up the board, measured out the distance to the oche in
that mechanical and organised way of his, he fired out the rules. They
were simple. We each throw three darts. The person who scored the
lowest removed an item of clothing.

"No problemo," said Captain Vegas, limbering up like he was about to
start a wholesale tour of the smaller bars of Memphis. "No problemo
whatsoevero."

"Don't be too cocky," I said.

"I am," said Captain Vegas. "I'm very cocky."

"We'll see," I said.

"Yes we will," said Captain Vegas. "Yes we will."

It went like this:
Round One. Captain Vegas lost a shoe.
Round Two. Captain Vegas's lost shoe found a friend. It was Captain
Vegas's other shoe. They made a nice pair.
Round Three. Captain Vegas lost a sock.
Round Four. In this round Captain Vegas became a barefoot
warrior.
Then we stopped for breath.
Captain Vegas took a long swig from a new bottle. He looked around at
all of us. He looked down at his bare feet. There was a hurt look in
his eyes. He got that sometimes. "Heh, you guys," he said. "Are these
darts loaded? I mean gimme a break."

"Leia Organa is satisfied," said 16, stifling a grin.

"More than satisfied," I said, not stifling my own grin.

"Let's play," said The Poet.

Round Five. The restart. 16 lost his belt.
Captain Vegas was swaggering. He rotated his arms backwards. He
rotated his arms forwards. "I'm on a roll now. Watch out," he said.
"That's all I can say, watch out."
Round Six. Captain Vegas lost his shirt.
Round Seven. Captain Vegas lost his trousers.
Now The Poet was strutting. He had scored over a hundred two games in
a row. 16 had found his eye. And I could do no wrong. I was in dart
heaven. On the other hand it just wasn't going for Captain Vegas. His
darts were everywhere. His darts were Elvis, bloated and dying on a
toilet clutching that last hamburger. Captain Vegas was down to his
satin effect black and white boxer shorts.

"Not so cocky now Vegas?" said 16.

"You're not too old for a smacked arse," said Captain Vegas.

"It's your arse we'll be seeing Vegas," said 16.

"Round eight," said The Poet, cutting in, enjoying himself. "Your
throw Vegas. 58 to beat. If you beat 58 then you won't be naked. Simple
as that."

"Go on Vegas," I said. "You can do it."

Captain Vegas stepped up to the oche. He lined his feet along the
line. He raised his head and narrowed his eyes. He threw. One dart. Two
darts. Three darts. He didn't even hit the board.

"Zero," said 16. He laughed and clapped his hands.

"You're the loser," said The Poet.

"Off come the shorts," said 16. "Right off."

"Do I have to?" said Captain Vegas. "Can't I try again? Look at Ivan
Lendl. How many times did he try and win Wimbledon?"

"You know the rules," said The Poet.

"Rules are rules are rules," said 16.

"Here goes then," said Captain Vegas. He spoke like one of the doomed
extras from Titanic, not even one of the heroic ones, but one who trips
badly and falls overboard right into the icy water and his death. He
took a final drink from the bottle and then removed the boxer
shorts.
We all gathered around to have a look. After all, we were quite drunk
and more than anything, that was what we were there for. I guessed it
was what The Poet had had planned all along. Captain Vegas was a
friend, but we were interested nevertheless. It was just one of those
things. As they say, nothing personal.

"Stop jiggling," said The Poet.

"There's no other way of saying this," said 16. "That's a cock and a
half. If you'll excuse my French."

Captain Vegas folded his arms. Now the deed was done he looked proud
despite himself. He looked like he had been dealt the cards by fate and
he was just going to accept them. And besides, fate had been kind to
him, he was pretty huge. He was lucky.

"That cock deserves a story," said The Poet.

"You could write a story on it," said 16. "A whole novel."

Captain Vegas gave his hips just a little jiggle. "Do you think so?"
he said quietly. He looked like he liked his cock being the centre of
attention. "Leia Organa would like that. She likes a good story."

Then I had an idea.
"Do you remember that movie?" I said.

"Dumbo?" said 16. He laughed and clapped his hands. "I remember his
trunk. You're right Loop."

"No," I said. "Not that one."

"I know the one," said The Poet. "With Ewan McGregor."

"Exactly," I said. "He's naked and they write on his body. I've got
some pens."

"Good idea," said The Poet.
And so it was that for that afternoon at least darts was forgotten. I
got the pens and then we sat down and wrote a story on Captain Vegas's
cock. There was a lot of giggling and we couldn't quite believe what we
were doing. But Captain Vegas seemed happy enough. We started at the
base and worked our way outwards adding words freely as we wanted and
all the time Captain Vegas looked left and right smiling to
himself.
Finally we stood back and admired our work. We were all pleased with
the story and it was decided that The Poet should read it out.
It was a story of adventure and heroism. In it a prince disguises
himself as a bandit and infiltrates the evil usurpers who are planning
to overtake his kingdom. The Prince fights with the bandits side by
side and never once do they suspect that he is in fact The Prince who
is going to betray them and bring about their deaths.
However, over a period of time, the Prince grows to like the bandit
world. He decides the excitement of being a bandit is much better than
the excitement of being a Prince. So, in a fierce and bloody battle The
Prince overthrows himself and declares himself bandit king. And he
lived happily ever after.
The next day I got a call from Leia Organa. She said she had enjoyed
the story very much and if we would have her then she would like to
join the darts team.
We were now up to five members.
Ivan Lendl's father had a point. He wasn't so dumb after all. Practice
does make all the difference. We were better at darts and we had seen
Captain Vegas's cock. That was more than any of us had wished for.