Wednesday, July 1, 2026
Column 718
Darts in the Olympics?
Recently, I woke up, poured a cup of coffee, and learned – somewhere between the second sip and my dogs demanding breakfast – that flag football is now an Olympic sport.
Flag football!
In the Olympic Games!
Now, I don’t want to sound unreasonable (at least any more than usual). I’m a tolerant man (sometimes). I’ve played darts in places where the oche was scratched with a stick onto the floor of the jungle or, more commonly (no doubt like those of you reading these words), where the chalker was three sheets to the wind.
I believe in inclusivity. I believe in opportunity. I believe in progress.
But this? Seriously?
This feels like the sporting equivalent of ordering a steak and being served a picture of a cow.
Flag football, for those unfamiliar, is what happens when you take American football and remove most of the things that make it football, like tackling, concussions, and breaking limbs. It’s football with manners. Football with a gentle handshake. Football that says, “after you” and means it.
Meanwhile, darts remains on the outside looking in.
Let’s review.
Darts has:
– A standardized global format;
– World championships watched by millions;
– Professional tours spanning continents;
– Players from damn near every country in the world, and a village called England; and
– Pressure so intense that grown men named Phil Taylor and Michael van Gerwen have made careers out of staring down 1-millimeter wires with the fate of entire matches and hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging in the balance.
Flag football has:
– Velcro.
I’m not saying flag football isn’t athletic. It is. There’s speed, agility, and coordination. But Olympic-worthy? That sacred arena where we celebrate the pinnacle of human endeavor? Like synchronized swimming! (At least synchronized swimmers have the decency to risk drowning.)
Apparently, we’re now one step away from Olympic Musical Chairs.
Moreover, given darts’ exclusion, it’s worth noting two more “sports” whose inclusion is as inexplicable as how a “perfectly” thrown dart sometimes finds the t1 instead of the t20. Archery first appeared in the Olympics in 1900, and javelin has been in the Olympics since 1908. Can you say WHAT THE FUCK?
Darts has tension. It has that beautiful moment where the entire world holds its breath as a player steps to the line needing tops. You want drama? Try needing 32 with one dart in hand and a nation watching.
No flags required. Just nerves of steel.
Darts is also brutally democratic. You don’t need a field the size of Rhode Island. You don’t need pads or helmets or a playbook thicker than a tax code. You need a board, a set of darts, and the willingness to miss t20 by just enough to ruin your evening.
It is accessible. It is worldwide. It is beloved.
And yet, somewhere in a conference room filled with people who have probably never picked up a dart, a decision was made: “Yes, but what if we had football?” I imagine the conversation went something like this:
“Do we have something new, something dynamic, something exciting?”
“Yes, darts.”
“No, no. Something really exciting.”
“Flag football?”
“Perfect.”
Meanwhile, darts players continue their quiet conquest of the world – filling arenas, drawing crowds, and proving, night after night, that precision under pressure is every bit as compelling as speed in open space.
Perhaps that’s the problem. Darts doesn’t sprint. It doesn’t wave a flag. Players simply stand there… and pound the target. Maybe – just maybe – that’s too honest for the Olympics.
Still, I hold out hope.
Perhaps one day, somewhere in the not-too-distant future, the Olympic rings will hang above a stage, the lights will dim, and a player will step to the line needing one dart for double and gold.
No flags. No gimmicks. Just a handful, a board, and the quiet understanding that this – this – is sport.
Until then, I’ll be in my usual place. Watching. Waiting.
And wondering how we lost out to pussy football.
Stay thirsty, my friends,
Dartoid
