“Bet you can’t.”
“Can’t what?” The voice, although making a brave attempt at dignity, was slurred and obviously inebriated.
“Can’t put three darts in the bullseye.”
The drunk man got up, and slowly staggered across the crowded bar. He stood at the oche swaying and blinking owlishly.
“Three darts in the bullseye, you said?”
“Yeah. I’ll even give you nine darts to do it.”
The pub fell silent, as the clientele waited.
The man at the oche grinned before shambling forwards. He stuck the three darts in the middle of the board.
“You never said I had to throw them…”