Fond farewell as Braveheart of Darts checks out
For Jocky, even when the circumstances proved most difficult, was bursting with pride. And Scotland, particularly his homeplace of Kirkcaldy, was especially proud of him.
His two world championships in ’82 and ’89 were actually modest reward for his talent with the arrows but the size of his personality put him on the crest of dart’s first wave — his gummy smile making him one of the ’80s most recognisable sporting figures. Partly, he told us, down to his Gran, who warned him against brushing his teeth because the English poison the water.
Later, when mistakes with money and persistence with cigarettes left him broke and sick, he could still puff out a weak chest.
“I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me — there’s only one person to blame for the situation I’m in, and that’s me,” he said, by now a virtual recluse, the spotlight long swung away.
The Braveheart of Darts, as Bobby George called him, was just 62 when he left us or — as someone said — a treble 10, double 16 checkout. May he rest in peace.
