Jonny McCambridge: A new year? That can only mean time for the darts and World’s Strongest Man on the telly

The strength contest was a staple of New Year’s Day viewing. Quite why it was shown on this date seemed a mystery as the competition always seemed to take place in a sunny location (usually an island) during the summer months. My Da would bring a certain earthy quality to the heaving musclebound spectacle by translating the massive weights being lifted into the equivalent number of bags of hundred-weight of spuds.

The darts, then staged at the Lakeside Country Club at Frimley Green in Surrey, made for compelling viewing on the dark January nights when we were allowed to stay up late before the school term started again.

The world seemed to be a smaller place back then. We all seemed to watch the same stuff and knew the same things. Dartists such as Eric Bristow and Jocky Wilson were household names in the 1980s in a way that very few sports stars are today.

There was a time when I could have rolled off the list of World’s Strongest Man winners – Bill Kazmaier (3 times), Geoff Capes (2 times), Jon Pall Sigmarsson (4 times) – just as readily as recounting the winners of the FA Cup final (this was a period when my brain was less tired and still able to process new information).

But times change. I, however, was not ready to change with them. Perhaps it was just my stubborn nature, but when the sport of darts entered a period of decline in the 1990s, I kept watching (on the rare occasion when it was still on TV). The strongman contest was relegated from a primetime slot on BBC1 to BBC2.

I became aware that things were not as they once were when as a pupil at secondary school I unwisely asked if any of my friends had watched the strongman final a few nights before. I got heartily laughed at and scorned. My circle of peers made it clear that this was not the sort of programme that any of them would ever watch. When I enquired further, I was met with a barrage of jibes about the absurdity of huge men pulling lorries, bending steel bars or overturning large tyres.

I found this train of logic difficult to follow. I could not see how a contest which tested strength was of any less merit than one which tested speed, how high you could jump, or how accurately you could knock a small white ball into a hole on a mowed lawn.

I answered my friends by asking how it was logically any more absurd than watching teams of men wearing shorts running around a field trying to kick a ball between two sticks. Answer came there none.

I’ve become more keenly aware about this sense of snobbishness around certain sports and games as I’ve become older. I once wrote an article for another publication on the merits of darts for a spectator and was sent an angry correspondence from a man I didn’t know who explained at some length (and in the most vehement terms) that darts was a game, not a sport. He concluded by telling me that I should try watching a ‘real sport’ such as rugby or golf.

I could have told him that I am a fan of both of those sports, but settled for responding by simply saying, “Why does it matter?” I’m still waiting for his follow-up.

It has always seemed to me that arguing that one sport is inherently superior to another is as pointless as two grown men having a disagreement over whose favourite colour is the best.

We may have preferences, but the merit is defined by the personal and emotional connection we create with the sports we watch.

If asked what my favourite sport is, I usually respond that it is whichever one I’ve watched most recently. I really enjoy football but I’ve probably derived as much pleasure over the years from watching curling or bowls.

Back to the darts and the modern day. Things have now turned full circle. While it might be stretching things to call darts cool, the cash-rich, alcohol-soaked juggernaut of the PDC and Sky Sports has returned it to levels of popularity that seemed fanciful just a few years ago.

I’ve actually been to a few PDC live events. They have been great fun, although I did shudder at the copious beer intake and grew weary of the large contingent of the crowd who seemed to have absolutely no interest or notice of what was happening on the small board away on the distant stage. I also played a challenge match against the five-time world champion Raymond Van Barneveld and defeated him (stop me if I’ve mentioned this before).

The world championship tournament has swelled to its current marathon format which straddles Christmas and two separate years. Even if it is not quite as it was when I was a kid, there is still something comforting and familiar to knowing the action on the oche is taking place in early January when I have a few days off work to enjoy it.

The World’s Strongest Man has enjoyed no such resurgence. Now the contest is shown over several nights on Channel 5. I can no longer reel off the names of the winners as I did when I was a child, indeed I struggle to recognise any of the names at all.

However, old traditions prove tenacious. Around New Year’s Day I will still always get a message from my Da.

“Are you watching the strong men?”

“Aye.”

“That’s some weight they’re lifting.”

“Aye, it’s powerful.”

“Do you know how many hundred-weight of spuds that is?”