SID WADDELL

As a kid, I was school swot, but I used to hang around the billiard halls, learning that Geordie sense of humour, mixing with low-lifes. They were the sort who'd pick your pocket and then say 'Here you are lad, here's tuppence, get yourself some chips'. I was a good rugby player, a good runner, so I fitted in at Cambridge quite easily.

It's a form of mental and verbal gymnastics, and one of the things that appeals to me most about commenting on darts is that no one knows exactly what I'm going to come out with next - and neither do I.

I'm a postmodern commentator, and so, in a cheeky parallel to James Joyce or James Kelman, I get to places, verbally, that are a little unusual - when I talk about Jocky Wilson and end up sounding like a Jackson Pollock of the commentary box.

You can get the dart player out of the pub, but you can't get the pub out of the dart player.

It's like trying to pin down a kangaroo on a trampoline.

Look at the man go, its like trying to stop a water-buffalo with a pea-shooter.

I'm never quite as excited as people think because with my voice, when I shout, I squeak.

That was like throwing three pickled onions into a thimble!

He's as cool as a prized marrow!

Under that heart of stone beat muscles of pure flint.

There hasn't been this much excitement since the Romans fed the Christians to the Lions.

The thing about darts is that you've got to shout. It's not like cricket where you can talk to Michael Atherton and ask him to analyse the bloody nuances. Darts does not have nuances. You've got to hurl yourself at it.

When Alexander of Macedon was 33, he cried salt tears because there were no more worlds to conquer. Eric Bristow is only 27.

I want the little lassies who are thinking of going to a nightclub in Cardiff to stop to see what that guy's screaming for, or Grandma to put her knitting down to see why that guy's chatting about Alexander the Great. I'm after pulling in, whether it's in Manila, Beijing or whatever, the biggest possible audience.

Darts players are probably a lot fitter than most footballers in overall body strength.

The atmosphere is so tense, if Elvis walked in, with a portion of chips... you could hear the vinegar sizzle on them.

Well as giraffes say, you don't get no leaves unless you stick your neck out.

Golden rule of life: never underestimate your rivals.

At various points, I've had a massive chip on me shoulder. I had fights about me accent with loads of those fellers you get from third-class public schools. They used to think I was speaking German.

The thing with darts players is they have always appeared available. They don't have to live like monks. I've only ever met one dry player in 35 years.

I talk fast because I'm asthmatic, and I'm desperately hoping the words get out before my breath fails.

He looks about as happy as a penguin in a microwave.

He's about as predictable as a Wasp on speed.

I'm the world's worst after-dinner speaker. I need pictures to respond to. I was the voice of the lottery balls once and got the sack.

The players are under so much duress, it's like duressic park out there!