Ally Pally cries out for a hero

Two years ago, during my annual check of the bunker, I earmarked the giants of the oche as the men to lead us when armageddon eventually arrives.

I figured then, that anyone who can find the peace to hold dart after dart as though everything depends on it, then let each one go as if nothing does, while the madness of a thousand stag nights swirls around them; these are the men we are looking for.

Who else should we turn to, but the champions of the game of choice in hell? That most of them have the bulk too, to pull the odd car out of a ditch, as the need arises, is a happy bonus.