In the gritty underbelly of professional darts, where precision meets psychological warfare, few moments sting quite like the sudden grip of dartitis. On a crisp autumn evening in Wigan, the Robin Park Leisure Centre transformed into a theater of quiet agony as Scott Williams, the unassuming Englishman with a mop of unruly hair and a penchant for unfiltered banter, confronted an invisible foe that no amount of practice can fully vanquish. The 35-year-old, affectionately known as “Shaggy” for his laid-back vibe, was unceremoniously dumped out of Players Championship 33 in the opening round, falling 6-1 to a composed Ryan Joyce. But it wasn’t just the scoreline that left fans reeling—it was the visible torment etched on Williams’ face as dartitis, that cruel mental stutter, turned his throws into a labored dance of hesitation and heartbreak.
The match unfolded like a slow-motion car crash, one that darts aficionados watched with a mix of empathy and dread. Williams, riding high on a solid ProTour season that has cemented him at 23rd on the one-year Order of Merit, started with the confidence of a man who’s toppled giants. He’d notched up respectable finishes in recent events, including a gritty run at the 2025 World Darts Championship where he edged out Niko Springer 3-1 before avenging a prior loss to Rob Cross with a 3-1 triumph in the second round. Yet against Joyce, the wheels came off spectacularly. Trailing 5-1 in the best-of-11 encounter, Williams stepped to the oche for what should have been a routine visit. Instead, he froze—his arm cocked, dart poised, but the release evading him like a phantom. He faltered, stepped back, shook it off, and tried again, but the damage was done. The three darts finally flew, but his average plummeted to a woeful 78.39, a far cry from the sharp 90-plus shooters he’s capable of unleashing on his best days.
Joyce, ever the opportunist, pounced without mercy. The Englishman, no stranger to the ProTour grind himself, needed just one visit to claim the leg and seal the rout. As the final dart thudded home, Williams’ shoulders slumped, his frustration boiling over in a series of exasperated gestures that spoke volumes. Footage of the moment ricocheted across social media like a viral bullseye, drawing an outpouring of support from a community that knows all too well the sport’s invisible scars. “Really upsetting to see if Scott Williams has the dreaded thing in darts which must not be named,” one fan lamented on X, capturing the hushed reverence with which players discuss dartitis. Another chimed in: “Scott Williams showing signs of dartitis is a shame.” A third added, “I think Scott Williams may have dartitis. He was struggling big time just then.” The empathy was palpable—darts isn’t just about the throw; it’s a mental marathon, and Williams had hit the wall.
Dartitis, for the uninitiated, is the darting world’s equivalent of a golfer’s yips or a tennis player’s choke at the net. It’s not a physical ailment but a psychological block, a momentary betrayal by the brain where muscle memory deserts you, leaving the hand glued to the dart like it’s dipped in superglue. Williams isn’t the first elite player to succumb; the list reads like a hall of shame for the sport’s heavy hitters. Eric Bristow, the five-time world champion from the 1980s, battled it for years, his legendary swagger reduced to tremors under the lights. Jocky Wilson, another icon, whispered about its grip in his later years. More recently, Nathan Aspinall, the Stockport thrower who’s scaled the PDC rankings to world No. 5, has openly shared his skirmishes with the beast, describing it as “like trying to throw with a brick in your hand.” Even Phil Taylor, the GOAT with 16 world titles, admitted to fleeting encounters that tested his unbreakable facade. For Williams, though, this bout hit harder—coming off the high of his 2024 World Championship semi-final run, where he stunned Michael van Gerwen 5-3 before bowing out 6-0 to Luke Humphries, it felt like a cruel twist.
Reflecting on that Alex Palace odyssey, Williams had been his irreverent self, stirring pots with post-match quips that endeared him to some and irked others. After toppling Germany’s Martin Schindler 4-2 in the third round, he grinned to Sky Sports cameras: “I’ve never had a crowd like that on my side before. … I know we won two World Wars and one World Cup, but that was … and the German fans in here were huge.” The line, a cheeky nod to wartime banter, ignited a firestorm—social media erupted, with accusations of insensitivity flying thicker than darts. Williams, true to form, owned it swiftly on Twitter: his remarks were “a bit stupid.” In a later sit-down with Online Darts, he leaned into his self-deprecating charm, calling himself a “nut job” and vowing, “I would never change even if fans dislike me.” It’s this blend of vulnerability and bravado that makes Williams a fan favorite—a working-class lad from Darlington who clawed his way from Challenge Tour scraps to ProTour prominence, winning his first two titles back-to-back in 2022 against Robert Owen and Lee Evans.
Yet beneath the bluster lies a player who’s poured his soul into the oche. Williams’ ascent wasn’t handed to him; he grinded through BDO playoffs in 2020, toppling Wes Newton and Andrew Kateley to snag a debut at the Lakeside World Championship. Fast-forward to today, and he’s a staple in majors, with quarter-final nods at the Players Championship Finals and a string of deep runs that have him eyeing TV nights like the Grand Slam or European Championship. This dartitis episode, though, serves as a stark reminder of the sport’s fragility. As one supporter posted, “Is Scott Williams getting dartitis?? I really don’t hope so…” Neither do we. The mental toll can be devastating—players like Bristow took years to reclaim their rhythm, while others, haunted by the fear of recurrence, fade into coaching or commentary.
For now, Williams retreats to lick his wounds, perhaps swapping the arena for a quiet session with a sports psychologist or a round of golf to reset the neural pathways. Joyce advances, but the real story is Williams’ resilience. In a sport where a millimeter can mean majors or misery, dartitis doesn’t define a career—it tests the mettle. And if his track record is any guide, “Shaggy” will shake it off, crack a joke about it over a pint, and return fiercer than ever. After all, as he once quipped, he’s a “nut job” who wouldn’t have it any other way. The ProTour rolls on, but eyes will be on Williams, willing him to conquer the demon and remind us why he’s one of darts’ most compelling underdogs.
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