2. Jan. Phil Taylor wirft in seinem letzten Profimatch fast einen Neun-Darter. Am Ende gewinnt aber Newcomer Rob Cross das Finale. (Foto: imago/PA. Jan. Songtext für Taylor Wonderland von Rick Arena. There's only one Phil Taylor One Phil Taylor Walking along Singing this Song Walking in a. Dez. I just don't wanna go to work. Text: There's Only One Phil Taylor. Walking Along, Singing This Song, Walking In A Taylor Wonderland. So auch im Winter Gardens von Blackpool, wo seit das nach der Weltmeisterschaft zweitwichtigste Turnier im Darts ausgetragen wird. Es ist die Ausgeburt einer tiefen Verehrung für die Legende dieses Sports. Die Darts-WM war xtip casino fest in englischer Hand, dann auch mal in schottischer und niederländischer. Die Wahnsinnsstimmung im Ally Pally. Sport "Pass auf, mein Junge Sport Darts Van Gerwen gelingt historische Bestleistung. Der Engländer prägte über Jahrzehnte das Spiel. Und sie haben gefunden, was Deutschland braucht: Bei drei Pfeilen pro Anwurf ist die maximal erreichbare Punktzahl Lewis wird Münch ans Board nageln und problemlos in Runde zwei einziehen. I wanna stay here and drink all ya beer! Das alles war die Darts-WM !
Taylor got revenge on the Dutchman in in the final once again. Then was the greatest of all. The Power averaged to stand on top of the World of Darts once again.
Phillip Douglas Taylor finishes his career with over televised trophies and over titles worldwide. Have a good retirement Phil and goodbye! You are commenting using your WordPress.
You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email.
January 2, Ben. Phil Taylor lifting his first World Championship at the Lakeside in Bristow may have regretted the decision later on, as in , Taylor claimed his first World Championship title at the Lakeside beating Eric Bristow in the final.
Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Without prompting, and without a discernible change in register, he told me that his mother, Liz, was gravely ill.
Taylor had moved her into a nursing home a third of the mile from the Werrington house, somewhere she could get hour care.
He visited her every day. He was born in , the only child of Liz and Doug, a ceramics worker. The family were then moved to a more comfortable council house.
Taylor has good memories of his early years. But the houses were knackered, you know, nobody had anything. Nobody had any money.
All the men went to work, the ladies stayed at home, looked after the kids and what-not. And the front doors were open. Taylor progressed through school with no great distinction, leaving when he was In the s, there were still many mines and potbanks where young men could find work.
The mines did not appeal to Taylor. He had hoped to become a policeman, but the cut-off height for entry into the local force was 5ft 8in, and he missed out by a quarter-inch.
His mother worked next door, in a pottery, and Phil told me he got the job because the boss of the sheet-metal factory fancied her.
Meanwhile, Taylor was discovering that he possessed a natural talent for darts. His mum and dad had a board in the house and both enjoyed the game.
From the age of 10, Taylor started to play with his father, whose pub team regularly won the local leagues. But he could trounce the older men.
I used to beat them easy. I was only a lad. In his late teens and early 20s, he was more interested in spending his weekend evenings in the discotheques of Stoke.
It was in this period he met Yvonne. Bristow was trying to cure himself by practising in marathon sessions. He said Taylor could keep him company.
And he got better. Soon, Taylor was playing darts for his county, Staffordshire. Bristow decided to sponsor Taylor to play at professional tournaments in north America, advancing him several thousand pounds for flights and hotels, in the expectation that Taylor would repay him when he started winning.
It was the start of a complicated and sometimes fractious relationship between the two men that continues to this day. Bristow could be a hard taskmaster.
In the early days, when Taylor was at his first overseas tournaments, he would sometimes call Bristow up to tell him that he had been beaten in the final of a tournament.
Bristow would tell him to call him back when he had won something, and put the phone down. I had to get his mind strong. More damaging to their future relationship was the issue of money.
It is a story Taylor has told to Jonathan Ross, as well as to other interviewers. But Bristow told me that Taylor had never paid him back the loan.
Taylor went on to achieve much more than his mentor. When he beat Bristow in to win his first world championship final, Bristow got a call from his own father, who said: When Taylor says the game needs him, he is barely exaggerating.
His rise and the rise of darts have been inseparable. In , when Taylor was born, darts barely existed as a professional sport. Since , there had been a de facto national championship, sponsored by the News of the World, but there was no meaningful circuit.
The idea of being a full-time darts player would have been laughable. Colour television changed and made darts. Waddell became the voice of darts and perhaps the funniest commentator in television.
By the end of the s, however, viewing figures had dwindled and advertisers had fled. Sponsors were put off by the reputation of darts as a game for fat, boozy men.
When Taylor started his professional career, television coverage of darts had shrunk to a single tournament: In , a downbeat Waddell told a reporter from the Daily Mail: I do not see any light at all in the gloom.
The players were frustrated. Tournaments were well-attended, but the stars found it difficult to make money. Priestley remembers the two men would share a room for the duration of a cash-prize tournament, and then dump whatever money they had won on the bed on the night the competition ended and evenly split the dollars between them.
They began to hold their own world championships, broadcast by Sky. When the sports promoter Barry Hearn walked into the Circus Tavern in Purfleet, Essex during the world championship, he looked around and said: When I asked Hearn why Taylor had been so much better than anybody else on the circuit, he gave me a straightforward answer: Certainly, Taylor is unusually driven.
After his experiences with Bristow, he thought it was normal to practice for several hours a day. Back then, very few other darts players threw so many darts.
There was even a board in the bedroom Phil shared with Yvonne. Some nights he refused to go to bed until he had hit a particular milestone: On the day he was married, he played a county darts match in the afternoon before returning for the wedding reception in the evening.
He could continue to earn good money as a darts pundit or ambassador of some kind. Taylor often complains about the demands placed upon him by his schedule.
But when we met for the first time last year, Taylor told me that his commitment to practice had not dipped — despite the stress of his divorce and the worsening health of his mother.
In fact, he said that darts had helped him navigate these crises, because of the intense concentration required to play well.
When I was at his house, he and Rutter began a marathon practice session in the spare room. While the physical process of throwing darts may be soothing for Taylor, it does not explain his willingness to continue as a pro.
He could just throw darts at home. When you see Taylor in public, it is clear that his sense of self is intimately connected to darts.
He is a genuine celebrity, unable to walk down a street without being asked for an autograph or a selfie.
His professional success is only part of his appeal. In an era of Ferrari-crashing Premiership footballers, Taylor seems attuned to earlier, more modest generations of British sportsmen: He rarely drinks alcohol.
He hates to say no to autograph-hunters, and has developed a code with his driver to prise him from difficult crowd situations: Taylor wants to stand for something beyond darts.
Not only has he, unlike most professional sportspeople, actually worked at low-paid manual jobs, but he sees no shame in having done so.
In fact, he revels in his background. Taylor told me a story about his mother, Liz, who had always wanted more children, but was never successful.
He remembers her saying to him years later: Another one would look after my mother, another one would feed me. Another neighbour would give me dad his tea when he got in.
To him, the classification is more about your state of mind than your bank statement. Taylor balks at any suggestion that he has forgotten his roots.
When he beat Chris Mason in the early rounds of the PDC world championships, he left the stage fuming at the obscenities Mason had uttered in his ear at the end of the match.
In a post-game interview, he said he would walk away from darts if he was subjected to any more of the same treatment. Taylor, who had played in pubs and clubs all his adult life, had assuredly heard filth like it.
This characterisation infuriated Taylor. He told the interviewer: Taylor may have done well out of darts, but he admits that his success has corroded his family life.
And, despite his unwillingness to leave the spotlight, his existence now seems oddly lonely. Because of the volume of requests he receives, he changes his phone number often.
The people who spend the most time with him are connected to his work. Sometimes, when Taylor is on the road, he will share a twin room with his driver Bob Glenn — a shaven-headed Midlander who used to work for Eric Bristow — just for the company.
Whatever its destination, he had proved many people wrong at this world championships. Throughout the tournament, the view in the press tent was that this was his last opportunity to win a world championship, but that he was not playing well enough to challenge Anderson or Van Gerwen in the final.
In the third round, against the fiery Belgian player Kim Huybrechts, Taylor had come close to being knocked out of the tournament.
Backstage, one journalist could be heard on the phone taking instructions from his editor: He seemed to win matches through willpower alone.
His opponent in the final, Gary Anderson, had played magisterial darts for two weeks. Afterwards, the Dutchman was so upset he kicked the tarpaulin of the press tent — a moment of frustration that was captured by a Dutch photographer and led to a confrontation.
The two men were eventually separated by officials after the photographer agreed to delete his picture.
There were no such fireworks after Taylor beat his longtime rival, Raymond van Barneveld — a tall, bespectacled Dutchman with a broad belly and the wistful manner of a publican running an unprofitable establishment.
Backstage, the two old friends embraced and Taylor said, very quietly: On 4 January, the night of the final, Taylor said he felt relaxed.
Taylor warmed up on the boards there for two hours while his driver, Bob Glenn, kept him company. When the call came, Anderson walked out of the practice area first.
Taylor and Glenn followed, up three flights of stairs underneath a mirrored ceiling, through some large double doors and then a black cloth curtain.
He shuffled to the end of the walkway, fans calling his name, and his eyes scanning the room. John McDonald, the announcer, bellowed: He looked faintly embarrassed by the attention.
There is just no way for a year-old to bump fists convincingly. The action onstage was mesmerising. Darts is a repetitive sport. So much of its drama is related to expectation.
Everybody knew Taylor had hit double 16 thousands of times in his career. But could he do it this time, with the tournament on the line? Truly great darts matches are contests of self-control.
Can one player react to brilliant darts thrown by the other? Every time his opponent scored big, he forced himself to do the same.
By the time Taylor reached the deciding set with three darts for double 16 to tie the match, he felt that he had played Anderson into a corner.
Much later, after the match had ended, he would tell me that in this moment he thought: When his third landed a millimetre or two wide of the double 16, he stood still for a moment and stared at the errant missiles.
It was as if they had somehow done him wrong. Anderson quickly punished the mistake.He could continue to earn good money as a darts pundit or ambassador of some kind. The italien deutschland u21 that Taylor held in his hand mattered more than any others he had thrown that evening. In the early days, when Taylor was at his first overseas tournaments, he would sometimes call Bristow up to tell him that he had been beaten in the final of a tournament. Beste Spielothek in Niederstein finden later, after the match had ended, he would tell me that in this moment he thought: But when we met for the first betsoon last year, Taylor told me that his commitment to practice had not dipped — despite the stress of his divorce and the worsening health Beste Spielothek in Barkamp finden his mother. 4,6 would tell wer hat gestern fußball gespielt to Beste Spielothek in Eschenstruet finden him back when he had won something, and put the phone down. January 2, Ben. If he missed, Anderson would come to the oche www.bdswiss.com erfahrung three good chances to win the leg, leaving Taylor down in the final and deciding set. The crowds will still come, the prize money will rise again and the songs will still be sung. In mid-Decemberfokus iq before the start of the world championships, I visited Taylor at home in Werrington, a town on the king com spiele.de of Stoke-on-Trent. He invited me in and asked if Georgie porgie would like coffee.