In the smoky backrooms and beer-soaked pubs where darts was once more art than sport, a single phone call in the mid-1980s changed the trajectory of professional throwing forever. It was a moment of unscripted genius, blending cheeky banter with bold ambition, that birthed one of the most fruitful partnerships in sports history. Phil Taylor, the unassuming Stoke-on-Trent lad with a factory worker’s grit and a dartboard wizard’s touch, found himself on the receiving end of Barry Hearn’s trademark bravado. “I’m your manager now,” Hearn declared down the line, sealing a deal that would catapult Taylor from local league obscurity to 16-time world champion status, while transforming Hearn’s fledgling Matchroom Sport into a global empire. Decades later, as Taylor reflects on his retirement in 2024 and Hearn continues to steer the PDC’s ship at 77, that anecdote remains a cornerstone of darts folklore—a hilarious reminder of how serendipity, sharp elbows, and a shared hunger for glory can rewrite legacies.
The year was 1986, and darts was teetering on the brink of its big break. The sport, long confined to working-class haunts in England and a smattering of TV appearances on shows like *Bullseye*, was starved for star power. Enter Barry Hearn, the Essex hustler with a background in snooker promotion and an eye for untapped talent. Hearn had already dipped his toes into darts, spotting potential in the likes of Eric Bristow, the “Crafty Cockney” who ruled the roost with five world titles under his belt. But Bristow was the flashy peacock; Hearn needed a quiet powerhouse to build an empire around. That’s when whispers from the Black Country reached him about a 25-year-old prodigy named Phil Taylor, toiling away at a ceramics factory by day and dismantling pub opponents by night. Taylor’s game was poetry in motion—effortless 180s, surgical checkouts, and a competitive fire that burned hotter than a misfired arrow.
Hearn, ever the opportunist, didn’t waste time on formalities. He tracked down Taylor’s number through mutual contacts in the darts circuit and rang him up one evening, probably mid-pint. What followed was less a negotiation and more a comedic coup. As Taylor later recounted with a chuckle in interviews, Hearn launched straight in: no pleasantries, no pitch deck—just pure, unfiltered Hearn. “Phil, I’ve been watching your results. You’re too good for these local leagues. I’m your manager now,” he announced, as if the deal was already inked in blood and beer. Taylor, stunned but amused, paused for a beat before firing back, “Hang on, Barry, we haven’t even met!” But Hearn, undeterred, pressed on with his silver-tongued salesmanship, painting visions of world tours, fat paydays, and the kind of fame that would have Stoke’s streets lined with cheering fans. It was classic Hearn—part salesman, part showman, all bulldog. By the call’s end, Taylor was on board, not just because of the promise, but the infectious energy crackling through the receiver. “He had this way of making you believe it was inevitable,” Taylor would say years later, his Potteries accent thick with fondness. “One minute I’m throwing for a fiver in a smoky boozer, the next I’m signing with the kingmaker.”
That phone call wasn’t just a quirky origin story; it was the spark that ignited a revolution. Under Hearn’s wing, Taylor exploded onto the scene. In 1988, just two years into their partnership, Taylor claimed his first world title at the BDO Championships, dethroning Bristow in a final that felt like a passing of the torch. But the real fireworks came in 1992-93, when the schism in darts birthed the PDC (then WDC), with Hearn leading the rebel charge against the stuffy BDO establishment. Taylor, Hearn’s prized asset, became the face of the breakaway, winning the inaugural PDC World Championship in ’94 and never looking back. Their synergy was electric: Hearn handled the business—the TV deals, sponsorships from beer giants like McCoy’s, and the glitzy exhibitions that turned darts into prime-time entertainment—while Taylor delivered the magic on the oche. Together, they elevated the sport from pub pastime to global spectacle, filling arenas from Alexandra Palace to the Las Vegas Strip.
The fruits of that partnership were staggering. Taylor amassed a record 16 world titles—14 in the PDC—plus 72 major honors, earning him the moniker “The Power” and a net worth north of £10 million. Hearn, meanwhile, grew Matchroom into a behemoth, now encompassing boxing, snooker, and darts, with the PDC’s annual World Championship drawing millions in viewership and £2.5 million in prize money. Yet, beneath the triumphs lay a bond forged in mutual respect and relentless drive. Taylor credits Hearn with teaching him professionalism: ditching the late nights, honing his walk-on routine (that iconic “Sweet Caroline” entrance), and embracing the spotlight. “Barry turned me from a thrower into a showman,” Taylor once quipped. “Without him, I’d still be in the factory, dreaming of pots instead of pots of gold.”
Hearn, for his part, saw in Taylor a mirror of his own unyielding ambition—a kid from humble roots who refused to settle. In rare candid moments, Hearn has admitted the call was a gamble: “I knew Phil had the talent to bury Bristow, but it was that phone chat that convinced me he had the hunger too.” Their collaboration wasn’t without friction—clashes over endorsements, grueling tour schedules, and the occasional ribbing about Taylor’s waistline—but it always circled back to that foundational trust. As darts evolved, so did they: Hearn innovated with streaming deals and women’s tours, while Taylor mentored the next wave, from Michael van Gerwen to a teenage Luke Littler, whom he famously beat in a 2024 exhibition despite the 61-year age gap.
Today, in September 2025, as Taylor enjoys retirement at 64—golfing, commentating, and occasionally lobbing darts at charity events—their story resonates anew. The PDC Pro Tour buzzes with fresh rivalries, but none carry the mythic weight of Taylor-Hearn. Littler, the 18-year-old sensation who’s already pocketed three majors, echoes Taylor’s early promise, and Hearn’s son Eddie now helms Matchroom, ensuring the legacy endures. Reflecting on that fateful call in a recent podcast, Taylor laughed, “Barry didn’t ask; he told me. And thank God for it—best decision I never made.” For Hearn, it’s simpler: “Phil was the spark; I just fanned the flames.” Their perfect partnership, born from a punchline and a promise, proves that in sports, as in life, sometimes the boldest moves start with a ring and a roar. It’s a tale that continues to inspire dart throwers worldwide, whispering that glory isn’t thrown—it’s dialed.
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