THERE are few sportsmen or women who would accept cans of beer being thrown at them while playing.
There are even fewer who would simply laugh it off as just banter from the crowd.
But then, as anybody who ever met or dealt with Eric Bristow would testify, the Crafty Cockney was a one-off.
And certainly not intimidated by a few beer-chucking louts.
It was often the case, back in the smoky pubs and clubs of the 1980s, that when Bristow travelled to Glasgow to play the hometown hero Jocky Wilson he would be traditionally greeted with several cans of the local brew thrown in his direction.
Yet Bristow never complained. He simply smiled back at the culprits and carried on playing.
To him, this was all part of the drama and theatre of the sport that he loved so much.
And because of that attitude he became a household name.
‘ALWAYS BE A LEGEND’ Eric Bristow dead age 60: ‘Crafty Cockney’ five-time world darts champion passes away following heart attack
On the oche, Bristow was a maverick, a showman, arrogant, and never lacking in self-belief or swagger.
When darts was at its peak, when ITV’s Bullseye commanded millions of loyal viewers, Bristow was the biggest name in the sport.
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His unbreakable confidence, cheeky smile, skill and personality swept him to five world titles between 1980 and 1986, making darts a worldwide spectator. Across his career, he amassed 70 professional titles.
Bristow was instrumental in two key moments in darts history. He discovered, sponsored and supported a talented young man from the Potteries called Phil Taylor (who went on to win a record 16 world titles).
And he was a leading figure in the formation of the PDC in the early 1990s when the disgruntled players broke away from the BDO, having demanded more money and more a professional environment.
Dartitis, essentially the yips, curtailed his career and, despite a brief comeback in 1997 (when he reached the world semi-finals), he was never really the same maestro on the oche in his latter years as a player.
For the best part of three decades, Bristow travelled the country, undertaking regular exhibitions, entertaining millions of people in pubs with his wit and his arrows. He was leaving one in Liverpool the very night that he died.
It was this common touch, this inability to tow the PC line, which made him a crowd favourite.
Bristow was never afraid to speak his mind. And his tongue often got him in trouble.
Ultimately it got him sacked from his lucrative job as a Sky Sports TV pundit in October 2016 when he made crass comments online about child sex abuse victims. He later apologised for his insensitivity.
Yet it was this frankness and directness which made him so popular.
He famously fell out with Taylor a few years back, when he labelled him “brain dead” for his failure to count on the oche. But the grudge never really lasted.
The pair quickly made up. And Taylor always said, that even 30 years on, whenever Bristow walked into a room, he would stand up out of respect for his mentor. Taylor, the sport’s greatest player, would have never been so successful without the guidance of Bristow.
I felt his tongue at times. I spent the 2013 Premier League darts competition ghost-writing his column for a national newspaper. I always found him excellent company and decent value whenever we spoke on the telephone. But 10 minutes of brilliant copy was the maximum he would want to speak for. Any longer and he made it known you were taking the mick.
Nonetheless, each week was an education. He knew the game inside out, he could read it like no other, and often his pre-match predictions turned out to be true.
Bristow was not afraid to criticise the modern player, arguing that they were robotic or lacking character. Being bland and not enjoying your darts irked Bristow.
As a pundit, he was forthright and spoke from authority. He called it as he saw it. You might not have liked what he said. But you paid attention to it.
The sport of darts is certainly a poorer place today without him in it.
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