NOTE: Early press reaction was favourable, and a bit edged with irony: ‘This lad makes Eddie Waring sound posh’ and ‘screaming like a banshee with piles.’ 

1978

Rees didn’t know of he was having a shower, a shave - or washing his feet.

1979

It’s the kind of jousting we used to see when Ivanhoe was stuffing the Normans.

Tony Brown attacks opponents the way Desperate Dan takes on cow pie.

When John Lowe gets back to Clay Cross there’ll be a reception as if the Ayatollah Khomeni had walked into town.

1980

The atmosphere here is a cross between the Munich Beer Festival and the Coliseum at Rome when then Christians were on the menu.

1981

Only one word for that - magic darts.

He’s sweating like a swamp donkey.

Bobby is done up like an electric-purple liquorice allsort.

The pendulum is swinging back and forward like a metronome.

Jocky Wilson - all the psychology of a claymore.

If Cliff gets back in this, it will be the greatest comeback since Lazarus.

1982

Cliff Lazarenko’s idea of exercise is a firm press on a soda siphon.

Three 140s on the trot - and the last was 100.

He’s been burning the midnight oil at both ends.

The fans now with their eyes pierced on the dartboard.

1983

Seeds are falling like chaff in a cornfield.

Bristow reasons; Bristow quickens; aaaaah Bristow!

Bristow looks as peevish as a peckish pterodactyl.

Keith Deller is not just an underdog - he’s an under puppy.

1984

Dennis Ovens has goosed the cook.

Bristow with that little finger poised - fit to grace any garden party.

Top of the tree darts - with leaves on.

1985

You’ve got to be fit to play darts.

If Brissy was at Cape Canaveral he’d take off before the rocket. IN…

When Alexander of Macedonia was 33 he cried salt tears because there were no more worlds to conquer - Bristow is only 27!

NOTE: This was me spreading my wings.  A few days earlier my producer had bollocked me for getting Moses, Rod Stewart and Ivanhoe all in five minutes of commentary.  But the Beeb bosses loved it and he was ordered to give me free rein.

As Freud and Jung would no doubt agree, you can over-psych for a darts match.

The crowd at Jollees is sitting on the edge of their tenterhooks.

1986

John Lowe is going out faster than the Secretary of State for Trade and Industry.

The hands of Anderson weave their own fairytale - things look Grimm for the other bloke.

1992

Taylor is snapping at Gregory’s heels like an alligator with toothache.

1993

Anderson came on like the Laughing Cavalier - now he looks as narked as Lee Van Cleef on a bad night.

This final is literally turning into a Greek tragedy for the Lancastrian Warriner.

1994

We couldn’t have more excitement if Elvis walked in and asked for a chip sandwich.

NOTE: This was my last fling at the Beeb.  I joined Sky and hundreds of hours live has suited me fine. Judge for yourself.

The crème de la menthe of darts doing their thing in Blackpool

Jocky is going like the Loch Ness monster with a following wind.

Shane is as happy as hound dog who’s won a year’s supply of Bonio.

William Tell could take an apple off your head, Taylor could take out a processed pea.

1995

Under that heart of stone beat muscles of pure flint.

Cliff is off and looking for something yellow in a tall glass - and I don’t mean daffodils.

NOTE:  Here are some of my favourites from my pool commentaries of 1995.

As the Borgias knew full well, fine cuts can hurt.

That’s like laying a trap in the path of a blind rabbit.

If I could shoot pool like that I wouldn’t be sitting here mauling the English language.

1996

He’s got one foot in the crematorium and the other near thin ice.

He’s emoting like Kenneth Branagh giving it big licks as a villain.

Bristow’s affect on the audience like Rasputin used to have on the birds a long time ago.

Eric’s chops covered in lipstick - like he’d been mugged by an Avon lady.

1997

Hitting that bull - as good a feeling as Jason and the lads finding the fleece.

Deller is just like Long John Silver -desperately needs another leg.

You have got to have a mind like a pelican chip to maintain this mathematical consistency.

Taylor is so hot he could hit the bullseye standing one-legged in a hammock.

As they say at the DHSS we’re getting the full benefit here.

Dennis’ eyes bulging like the belly of a hungry chaffinch.

It might have been a bit boisterous here earlier, but now it’s got all the courtesy of a Bourbon court on dance night.

NOTE: Press now split.  50% think I’m a genius; rest think I’m probably mad and possibly have Tourette’s Syndrome.

1998 to 2003

It’s like trying to pin down a kangaroo on a trampoline.

Stopping Taylor? It’s like trying to halt a water buffalo with a pea-shooter.

Steve Beaton. He’s not A-donis, he’s THE Donis.

That was like throwing three pickled onions into a thimble.

NOTE: I was voted Sports Commentator of the Year in 2002 by 70 of my peers..

This lad has more checkouts than Tescos.

The players are under so much duress, it’s like Duressic Park out there.

NOTE: Giles Smith in The Times says ‘Sid is lucky to be alive in the era of Taylor, and we are lucky to be alive in the era of Sid.’

He looks about as happy as a penguin in a microwave.

It’s the nearest thing to public execution you’ll see this side of Saudi Arabia.

If we’d had Taylor at Hastings, the Normans would have turned round and gone home.

2004

Andy Fordham looks like a hippo in a Power shower.

2005

Circus Tavern packed - even a garter snake smothered in Vaseline couldn’t slide in here.

Meeting Taylor in this mood is like finding an alligator in your lily pond.

Wayne dancing up there like Frank Lampard swivelling past Spaniards.

Michael Howard throws Flights out of his party - at this party we throw the flights in.