WDF World Cup 2013

Thorn's 2013 World Cup, Part 9
It was a festive mood to say the least. Team USA had just knocked out Team England in the semi-finals of the Men's Team event, 9-2, and I was about to go celebrate with my fellow Americans on the eastern tip of Newfoundland.

After a quick stop at the hotel for players to change clothes and freshen up-and a few pre-party cocktails and beers-everyone would meet in the lobby. Plenty of players were lounging in the hotel bar or outside, and I small talked with several players from South Africa, Australia, Norway and Jersey while we waited.

Eventually, our giddy group gathered, smiling and fist bumping as each person appeared. Robbie Phillips, Gordon Dixon, Tom Sawyer, and I were soon met by Brenda Roush, Cali West, and their friends Renee Ripol and Robin Curry. Finally, Buddy Bartoletta and David Hascup, the future WDF vice president and ADO president, found the time to join us despite their busy schedule as tournament administrators. They didn't want to miss this celebration either. We all piled into cabs and headed for dinner at Kelly's, one of many fun George Street restaurant pubs in downtown St. John's.

It was Thursday night, and tonight George Street would be raging with young revelers and music coming from every bar. But, it was still early and the crowds hadn't arrived yet. We easily got the best spot at Kelly's, pulling together two tables to seat us all, and it wasn't long before a bevy of beers and cocktails were filling the space between us. Toasts were made, some serious, some silly, to the sound of clinking glass and laughing. David and Buddy treated everyone to dinner, and soon plates of Newfoundland fish, burgers, steaks, and plenty of gravy covered fries were crowding our drinks. It was a wonderful if not already blurry meal, everyone reliving the week so far, the accomplishments and shortcomings, the past, the future, and the love of darts.
Our group shrank after dinner-the ladies, with events in the morning, headed back to the hotel. The rest of us, meanwhile, were just getting started.

Robbie, Gordon, Tom, David, Buddy and I starting walking George street, people watching and looking for more fun. A door away from Kelly's, Robbie noticed Christian's, an upstairs pub boasting an official place to get "screeched in"-the traditional rite of passage for wannabe honorary Newfoundlanders. It involves some local words of wisdom, a bite of baloney, kissing a dead cod, and a shot of Screech, the regional rum. Robbie made a quick last chance check, "Anyone else wanna get screeched in tonight? I do, you wanna, let's do it," but got no more takers, just me, and he and I headed upstairs to sign up for the ceremony. It started at ten o'clock, we had a couple hours to kill, and we trotted back down the stairs to join the boys and explore more of George street.

We walked the cobblestone, people watching and looking for a fun pub. Musicians were just starting to blair their music out the open doors of every bar, in a pseudo competition for crowds that were steadily starting to arrive. We saw other World Cup players and people too, and would wave to Japan here or Finland there. Eventually, we went into Rob Roy, the typical type of George Street pub-party proof and ready for another night. They even had a dartboard, but, with the crowds of young people filling the space, we simply grabbed a corner table by the front deck and bought round after round of drinks.

Eventually, screech time rolled around, and the six of us strode back to Christian's, up and inside the now packed bar, waiting for the ceremony to begin. With a whoop of cheers, a man dressed as a fisherman-rain slickers and hat and a wooden oar-came out singing a song before shouting out yarns of almost intelligible English. It was gibberish to most of us, unaccustomed to the heaviest of Newfoundland accents, but the whole act was nonetheless hilarious. Toothpicked baloney was passed around to the two dozen "screechers", I assume as some sort of palette cleanser. Soon, out came the cold dead cod, and after reciting the ritual's choice words, everyone gave it a kiss, followed by a shot of Screech, named for the sound you make after drinking it. While our teammates laughed on, Robbie and I received our official diplomas as honorary Newfoundlanders, and back down on George Street, we took a picture. Robbie and I were now screech brothers.

With early morning duties, Buddy and David bid farewell, but Tom, Gordon, Robbie and I kept the party going. We found a pool hall that sported four dartboards and went for some late night legs. A party just ended and we found ourselves being offered a table full of uneaten buffet treats-much tastier than kissing a cod. We drank, we played, and polished off the night around two in the morning, before taxiing back to our respective beds.

My night of celebrating the USA semi-finals victory versus England was over. All of us had high hopes for another celebration after the finals on Saturday. But first, we had another day full of darts tomorrow.

Over and double out.






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