“You’ve obviously seen the video of me in the jacuzzi,” Steve Beaton says in a languid, overbearing tone. As if this is just a statement of fact. Imagine being able to say these words to a complete stranger with complete confidence that they are indeed true. The clip in question dates from 1993 and Beaton – one of the world’s greatest darts players at the time – interviews the BBC’s Dougie Donnelly from the hot tub at Lakeside Country Club: luscious locks flowing, a proud moustache, a gold chain around it . his neck.
Thus the legend of the bronzed Adonis was born. For a generation that grew up watching darts in the 1990s, Beaton is one of the last remaining links to that smoky golden era. He was the 1996 British Darts Organization World Champion, an icon of his time, a 6-foot tower of suave sophistication and sex appeal. And maybe he’s sixty these days, the curly mane is sensibly pulled back and the shirt is now mostly buttoned. But somehow the nickname coined by commentator Tony Green early in his career still suits him perfectly: the easy charm, the smooth, flowing action, the way he walks onstage as if he’s just stepped off a tanning bed. has stepped.
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“No!” he interjects in mock outrage. “I have never been on a tanning bed in my life. Everyone says that. “You’ve been on the sunbed again.” The world used to be in January, so I always went away at Christmas and New Year – Tenerife, Canary Islands, wherever it was warm. And I’ve never had a perm. It only got tighter because I never combed it. I look back at some of the photos now and think, ‘Gosh, what were you doing?’”
I have interviewed many athletes over the years. Players and coaches and personalities from every sport and every walk of life. But I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is as fundamentally satisfied with their own ocher skin as Beaton. This may be the secret of its remarkable longevity. On Tuesday he will start his 33rd consecutive world championship at Alexandra Palace. Nine of them took place before his first-round opponent, Wessel Nijman, was even born.
“This year,” he confides, “would actually be the last year. But I didn’t do badly. I have qualified for the World Cup and I have my tour card. So it looks like I’m going to give it another year.”
Modern darts is completely ruthless. Under the Professional Darts Corporation, everyone outside the tour’s top 64 is expelled at the end of each year (unless it’s their first year) and forced through a brutal requalification process. Form comes and goes with terrifying speed. Hungry new contenders come from all over the world. There are players who won tournaments a few years ago but have now essentially dropped out of the sport and can’t get back into it. Just surviving in this sport is a constant uphill battle. So how did he do it? And – tangentially – how does he make it look so easy?
“The simpler you can keep the game, the better,” he answers. “The way I throw has never changed much. My darts haven’t changed much. I just stand, throw, and that’s basically it. If I had to physically aim every dart, like Dennis Priestley, the concentration would take its toll.”
Of course, keeping things simple is rarely that easy. The greats of the game have often built long careers through relentless practice. Phil Taylor worked 11 hours a day at his peak. Gary Anderson hit eight. How long does Beaton spend on the practice board?
“Probably half an hour, an hour a day.”
Wait a second. What?
“I have never been a great practitioner. Even in the past, my practice really went to the pub. And it’s funny. You say you practice an hour a day, but it’s amazing how often you stop, have a drink and then come back.”
Instead, Beaton preaches the benefits of an active lifestyle. “I have a push bike, so when I’m home I usually cycle to the gym,” he says. “So that’s probably about 10 to 15 miles there, I’m going to swim for 45 minutes, then I’m going to cycle home and then I’m going to have lunch. That’s the only way I can keep myself going. If I hadn’t done that, I know very well that I would never be playing now.”
Although he rarely challenges at the major tournaments now, he can still throw with the best on his day. In the last few seasons alone he has amassed an impressive list of scalps: world number 3 Luke Humphries, Dave Chisnall, Nathan Aspinall, Peter Wright – two-time champion – three-time. Last year he achieved an average of 118 in a qualifying tournament. And so it is one of the strange anomalies of his career that he has never progressed beyond the last 16 of the world championship since switching from the rival British Darts Organization to the PDC in 2002.
But he’s not too concerned about that. It’s the earlier ones that still irritate him. “I was at my best in the 1990s,” he says. “I think I should have won the world championship in 1993. I lost in the semi-finals [Alan] Warriner just couldn’t hit a double against him. In 1996 I went all out, but the following year I should have won it again. I lost to Marshall James in the last leg.
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All the big names from that time are now long gone. Now when he goes to Pro Tour events, he sits backstage with the likes of Ross Smith and Chris Dobey, guys barely half his age. But there’s still something about this sport that fascinates him: the roar of the crowd, the thrill of placing three darts exactly where he wants them. “At school I never thought I would become a darts player,” he says. “I mean, it was the last thing on my mind. It just happened. You just have to discover what you are good at.”
He knows deep down that the end is approaching soon. “Sooner or later it will happen. Hopefully they still want me to do the exhibitions. There is the senior tour, maybe I will play in that. The wife would like me to be at home more now. It’s not all glitz and glamour, it’s a lot of travel. Three or four days a week, and it’s really starting to catch up with me.”
But first things first. He’s going to London soon, and before he does, he thinks he could spend a few hours on his bike, cruising the coastal roads of Norfolk. Then there is a 33rd world championship to try to win. And when that comes to an end, as all good things eventually do, there are other priorities to take care of. “I definitely need a vacation,” he says with a glint in his eye. “I’m probably the whitest I’ve been in a while.”