Darting Around

I’ve never been one for sports. I don’t religiously follow teams, though I will watch a game recap. I could never properly perform a basketball layup, throw or catch a football with any finesse, or hit a baseball no matter how hard I tried, so I was always the last one to get picked for a team.

I was turned off from tennis when some bozo said he’d coach me for free, but it turned out he just wanted someone he could blast 200mph serves at. I had even bought a tennis racket with the intention of learning the basics. Besides, I figured women might take notice (more like pity) of a strapping young man trying to whack a fuzzy yellow ball across a net and failing miserably. And, sadly, no women took notice. 

A friend of mine tried and failed to teach me the finer points of golf. While I enjoy smacking the hell out of those little white balls on a driving range, I absolutely suck at playing the game on a course. I figured that if I was going to spend that much time in sand traps, I may as well go to a beach instead.

There are really only two activities that may loosely be considered sports that I am any good at: table tennis (ping pong) and darts.

I picked up table tennis during my stint in the military while stationed in Thailand. I was looking for something to do that didn’t cost money and didn’t involve drinking. I started playing in the NCO (Non-Commissioned Officer) rec rooms on the bases wherever I was stationed, and I got to be fairly good, winning more matches than I lost.

During my time at IBM, I had a manager who also enjoyed ping pong and was quite good at it, though he was half again my age at the time. We discovered that IBM had a table tennis setup in one of the lounges on site, and my manager and I would go and play during our lunch breaks. 

We weren’t in the league of those world class players who stand ten feet away from the table and can make the ball move blindingly fast or seem to hover just above the net, but we had a lot of fun. 

I don’t play anymore, though I’m sure I’ll pick it up again given the opportunity.

I started playing darts after looking for something that my then-wife and I could do together after my daughter went off to college. I bought an electronic dart board. It wasn’t very good and broke not long after we started playing regularly. But we played enough that we were hooked, so I bought better one.

While I got fairly decent at it, my ex got really good, beating me 3 out of 5 games almost every time we played. I think she practiced while I was at work, though she never would admit it. 

She had a very unconventional way of throwing. She would swing her arms like a baseball pitcher winding up for a pitch, then throw the dart, not hard, but with uncanny accuracy. My throwing style at the time was copied from players I’d seen on the internet. They all threw basically the same way; using the forearm and wrist to kind of flick the dart. These guys were pros, but my mimicked throw produced mixed results. You can imagine my frustration at losing to a woman who threw darts like a Yankee pitcher trying for a no-hitter.

Since that time, my dart throwing accuracy has improved. Back in 2019, the organization that hosted me while I was in Namibia, the Rössing Foundation, had put on a sporting event for its employees. Darts was among the activities, and I won the first-place trophy! The first time I’d ever won a trophy for anything!

That’s my friend, Florian, on the left.

While I was in Namibia, I found that the locals also enjoyed darts, and I would play them after work at a local bar. It was there, oddly enough, that I learned to associate beer with darts. An association that I enjoy to this day.

My skills had improved since returning from Namibia (so did my beer drinking), enough so that I wound up on a team in the Orlando Darts League. We played out of Fiddler’s Green in Winter Park. I was there for 3 seasons, and the second season I was there, we were first in our division and got a trophy for our efforts!  Every game was enhanced by a pint or two of Guinness. 

That’s my name I’m pointing to.

Since moving to the Greenville, SC area, however, my dart throwing skills have declined dramatically. I was still good enough to get signed onto a team out of Doc’s Tavern in Greenville, and we actually won first place in our division last season, but we did so without much help from me. This season my team, called ‘No Ton Intended’, moved up to Division 2 and we are getting spanked soundly by nearly every team we’ve played so far. And I don’t think I’ve won a match yet this season, regardless of how many beers I drank.

The plaque was a surprise. Not sure how many of those empty spots I’ll fill in.

I know what the problem is: practice, or rather, the lack of it. Like any skill, throwing a pointy bit of metal at a 1-inch diameter target about 8 feet away and hitting it consistently takes practice. Lots and lots of practice. 

A quick search on the internet reveals that professional darters practice anywhere between 1 hour up to an astounding 12 hours a day!! I’m retired and I enjoy throwing, but 12 hours a day?? 

Nope!

Still, after reviewing my league performance so far this season, it’s obvious that I need to practice. A lot. The problem is that I have nothing to practice on. I’ve moved into my house about 4 months ago, and my focus has been on fitting up the house to make it feel like home. The apartment I had the year before I moved in was so small that I had to go outside to change my mind. (Old joke, but still makes me chuckle.) Places where I could go to practice were inconveniently far away for daily throws. What I need is a dart setup here, in my house somewhere. 

Now, I’m on a mission!

Other tasks around the house have been put on hold until I can establish a dart practice space. I can’t just throw a dartboard on a wall and have at it. A dartboard must be hung at a specific height (5 feet, 8 inches from floor to bullseye) and must be a specific distance from the throw line (7 feet, 8 and 3/4 inches). There must be proper lighting. There should be a backboard behind the dartboard that can catch errant throws without causing damage to the wall. And more. 

An engineering challenge that is not outside the scope of my abilities.

So, after careful consideration ( and a few beers), I’ve decided to build a dart practice setup consisting of, not 1, not 2, but 3 dart boards: a regulation board, a practice board where the high-point target areas are all reduced in size, and an electronic dart board.

I’m going to go all out with this setup. I’m putting it in my garage. The walls will be painted. The floor will be epoxy-coated, and the garage will be kept neat and free of clutter and accumulated stuff. 

That’s the goal anyway. Right now, the floor is bare concrete. The walls are painted, but there’s stuff everywhere. 

I’m working on it!

OK, so, it’s a work in progress, but there is progress. Check out these photos…

Turns out that grey felt won’t hold a metal tipped dart. Had to take it off.
The electronic board is just a fun addition.
Finished! Well, almost. That place on the left is for a training board.

It turned out pretty good, even after a few missteps. 

So, now that I have a place to practice, I have no excuse not to get better. But, you how people will make a resolution to lose weight and exercise more, and they spend a lot of money and buy fancy exercise equipment and set it all up, then promptly ignore it? 

Yeah. 

Stay tuned.

Vern

Fireflies

Back when I was a kid, growing up in the heart of Baltimore, there were fireflies.

Though they no longer herald summer evenings with flashes of green and gold in the gardens and backyards of west Baltimore, they had continued to exist right at the edge of my memory, fading like all memories do as we age. But I can still recall how seeing fireflies made me feel. Back then, to my young mind, they were the personification of magic. Their tiny cold flashes proved to me that mystery and wonder were real, that just beyond my very human eyes was a world where fantastic creatures lived. A world where unicorns and fairies might yet be real, and if they could be real, so could magic. How, my young mind would ask, could a creature make its body glow at will, turning the light on and off as if to signal each other that all was right in the world, if not by magic? 

I’ve grown and have leaned a lot since then. I know that the light fireflies produce is the product of a chemical reaction, that they use the light to attract a mate, and that there are other creatures that use a similar light producing method, called bioluminescence, to warn off predators or to catch a meal. While that is all very fascinating, the explanation only proved that there isn’t any magic in the world. Not really. And while there is still much to evoke wonder, the loss of magic makes the world a bit less wonderful, even to my adult mind. 

I’ve traveled a lot and have seen some wonderful things, but I didn’t realize how much I had missed that sense of mystery I experienced when I was a child until recently.

If you’ve been following my blog you’ll know that I’ve recently took a giant leap and moved from my home of 30+ years in central Florida to establish a new life in South Carolina. I talk about the whys in my previous posts, but the change has, thus far, been moving along smoothly. Over the course of the next several months I will complete my transition and situate myself in a completely new, yet somehow familiar environment. I have my very good friends, Brian and Francis, to thank for making the move far easier than it could have been. They’ve given me a place to stay while I wrangle with the logistics of the move, and I can’t thank them enough.

It was while I was staying with Brian and Francis that I rediscovered that sense of mystery and magic.

Brian and Francis’ home is in a quasi-rural area and the property is surrounded by trees and other flora and fauna natural to the area. I was sitting on their porch one evening, enjoying the cool breezes and evening bird calls when I thought I saw a flash of light a wooded area just beyond their front lawn. As I focused my attention to the area I saw another flash that was low to the ground. The light lingered for a bit, then faded as it drifted higher. Another light flashed, then another. Pretty soon the area was dotted with strobing green lights as fireflies rose from the ground to find a mate.

In that moment I was like a kid feeling the wonder of magic again. I had to walk out there and be surrounded by them. Even the thought of that experience still makes me smile. 

Watch carefully. Fireflies!

One of the reasons for me moving to western South Carolina is that I wanted to return to a familiar environment, a place that’s a lot like what I knew as a kid. A place where there are four distinct seasons, where proper oaks, maples and walnut trees still hold sway over the landscape. A place where one can still find deep green meadows, rolling hills and babbling brooks. 

A place, unbeknownst to me until now, where one can still find fireflies. A place where magic might yet still exist.

Stay tune

Vern

Pieces and Parts

I left home when I was 17. It seems I’ve been traveling ever since. 

The truth is that, while I am prone to moving around, I’ve been in one place for the largest portion of my life. That place is Orlando, Florida. I’ve been here close to 30 years! As I think about it, I find that it’s hard for me to reconcile the fact that so much time has passed, and so much has changed.

When I came to Orlando I was married, working on building my career in IT, and saw being here as another adventure. Things pretty much worked out along those lines. Fast forward 25+ years and I am now divorced, retired, and getting ready for another adventure. I’m moving to South Carolina.

Some may see this new chapter as an ill-considered decision, but a lot of thought went into it. I knew I would leave Florida eventually, well before I knew where I would wind up. I was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland. To paraphrase a lyric from Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘The Boxer’; four seasons, deciduous trees, hilly landscapes, and cooler weather are a breed in me, a need in me. There are other factors that pushed me into deciding to move, but, if I’m honest with myself, I knew it was always going to happen.

When I first started looking around for places I might land my first consideration was in the Appalachians, specifically south-western Virginia. My parents and my grandparents came from that area and I thought it might not be a bad idea to get back to my roots, learn more about my family’s history. While in the Peace Corps I had thought that maybe I should expand my search. While I love nature and being outdoors, I am an urban kid at heart and there are only small to medium sized towns in that part of the country. 

I then considered Johnson City, Tennessee. It’s certainly big enough with a nice size university in town, guaranteeing a level of diversity and urban flavor that I like while being close to many state and national parks. And that area has a thriving music scene fed by its proximity to Bristol, Tennessee and Nashville. 

But I had a chance to stay with some friends who live near Greenville, South Carolina. Each time I visited my friends showed me more of what Greenville had to offer, which turns out to be quite a lot. Like Johnson City, Greenville is close to one of our country’s original music generating cities. The area chock full of talented artists and musicians. It’s near many state and national parks and only a few hours from beaches, for when I feel the need to see the ocean. The weather is mild, varied and, most of all, the area has four distinct seasons. And I can afford to live there. What’s not to like?

Even though Orlando has never felt like home to me it is a place that I’ve come to love. If you spend 25+ years in a place there’s bound to be something about it that becomes a part of who you are. That’s really what happened to me. I’ve enjoyed the beaches here, and the storms. When the weather is nice it can be really nice. Most of all, I’ve enjoyed the people I’ve met while here. Most of them I knew from my job, but lately, many are people I’ve met who share a common love of music, among other things. These are people I can truly call my friends. As I pack up my belongings and prepare to leave the house I’ve owned for 10 years, my heart aches as the many, many memories drift through my mind.

One of my friends wrote a poem to commemorate my leaving. It so inspired me to write one too. So, to my many wonderful friends, a poem:

Pieces
By Vern Seward

I like to think that I’m a wandering man
Never satisfied to stay
To leave my footprints in foreign sands
And relish foreign days.

But truth be told, where ever I go,
Whatever sights I behold
I leave behind a part of me,
A little bit of my soul.

And yet my soul is not undone,
It’s bigger than before
For each bit that I leave behind
Is replaced by even more.

For in whatever place I be
It’s the people whom I meet
That makes each place a memory,
That makes my soul complete.

And when I leave for other sights,
For places yet to discover,
I take the bits of soul they gave,
Which helps mine to recover.

Now, to those I leave behind
Please know that I take with me
The bits of you that are so fine,
Pieces that will sustain me.

Be well.

Stay tuned.

Vern