Free Eric Bristow by Eric Bristow Page A

He’d then pour himself a G&T. It saved him a fortune in bar bills. I got on quite well with Tony because we played in the same Super League team for years. His only bad habit was that when he threw his last dart he’d move a little. I don’t think this did him any favours in the long run.
    I made my debut for England at the Tottenham Royal – the last time I’d been there people were being thrown from the balcony. When I got there on the day I discovered that the England team had a uniform. We all had to wear these white trousers, drainpipe trousers. I had these big boots on, with platform soles, and when I put the trousers on I looked like Coco the Clown.
    I said to the team manager Ollie Croft, ‘I’m not wearing these, pal.’
    His reply was simple and to the point: ‘You either wear these trousers or you don’t play.’
    That was the end of the conversation. There was no compromise, nothing. If I didn’t wear them I was out. That was how Ollie ran the England team. If you didn’t fit in with his way of thinking you were a goner. No matter how good your averages were, you simply wouldn’t get picked. He was almost from the Brian Clough school of management in that there was only one way and that was his way. There was one guy who was good enough to play for England who never got picked because he insisted on always wearing a red sock and a yellow sock. That was the only reason why the England management team didn’t select him, but would he wear normal socks? Would he hell! So he didn’t play for England. Everybody is different, and I accept that, but if you are going on TV and representing your sport you don’t go on with odd socks, looking like a wally. He was an idiot.
    Darts was Ollie’s game, and that was it. It was a case of my bat, my ball, nobody else’s, and if you didn’t do as he said you didn’t play. That didn’t mean we listened to everything he said. When we went to places like Australia and New Zealand he’d say to the players, ‘I want you all in bed by twelve. No drinking after twelve.’
    This used to wind us up and I’d say to him, ‘Piss off, Ollie, don’t talk to me like a bleeding headmaster.’
    Then we’d hit the bar and Lowey and Tony Brown would be rolling with laughter.
    Although Ollie was our team manager we couldn’t be managed because we were renegades. We’d have arguments with him. We were grown men who would be saying things to him like, ‘We don’t want to go to bed. It’s too early for bed.’ And he’d be adamant: ‘I want you in bed by twelve. No later than twelve.’ So off we’d trot to the pub until three in the morning, and four hours later we’d all be up having breakfast as nice as you like with not the merest hint of a hangover. We were professionals in darts and in drink.
    On my debut I wore the clown outfit and we won. This was a great moment for me. I had longed for this – the chance to represent my country – and most of the games were in front of the TV cameras which I loved even more. I never got frightened or nervous when the telly lads turned up, and I could never understand players who did. I’d see them in the back room and in the hall before they were due to go on: first of all they’d go very quiet and then they’d go white. The only time I was ever nervous was in my youth, and it was never about darts or being on TV. It was when I used to wonder how I was going to get home in one piece, or when I had a rival gang after me. That was the hard part; that was where life was really tough. Playing for England was easy. This was what I had strived for and I wanted to be up there soaking up the adulation. Even when we played away in places like Scotland and the whole crowd was booing me and jeering and shouting obscenities at me I couldn’t care less. In fact I actually liked it. We were England, they hated us, and only if we’d fallen off a chair and broken our necks would they have given us a big cheer. In their eyes the England