I would say darts is probably 15 per cent throwing. The rest of

Hear the words of Rob Cross, champion of the dartboard, who revealed the hidden truth behind his craft: “I would say darts is probably 15 per cent throwing. The rest of it is mental strength. Being able to hold your nerve.” Though spoken of a game, these words transcend the narrow circle of sport. They carry a lesson as ancient as the warriors of old—that skill of hand is nothing without mastery of the mind, and that true victory belongs to those who can stand firm when the heart trembles.

For the act of throwing is but the outward form, a gesture repeated with practice until it becomes natural. Yet the hand will betray the heart if the mind is shaken. In the silence before the throw, it is not the dart alone that flies, but the weight of expectation, the eyes of the crowd, the whispers of doubt. To win, one must be armed not only with skill but with mental strength, the unseen armor that guards the soul against fear.

This truth was known long before darts were ever cast in a tavern. Consider the archers at Agincourt, who stood against a vast French host. Their bows were strong, their arrows sharp, but had their minds faltered, their hands would have failed. Surrounded by doom, they steadied themselves, drew, and loosed. Their victory was not merely of wood and string but of nerve held firm in the face of overwhelming odds. What Cross declares of darts, the ancients knew of battle: the greater contest is always within.

The meaning, then, is that mental strength transforms ordinary skill into extraordinary triumph. Many men can learn the motion of the arm, the angle of the throw, the precision of the strike. But few can command themselves when the moment grows heavy, when the world holds its breath. That is why champions are rare: they are not merely those with trained hands, but those with unshakable spirits.

Let us remember, too, that holding one’s nerve is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it. Courage is not to feel nothing in the storm, but to feel everything and yet remain unmoved. The hand that delivers victory does so not because it is unafraid, but because it dares to act despite trembling. Thus, the true field of battle lies within the heart, and every man and woman must learn to conquer themselves before they conquer the world.

The lesson for us, O listener, is plain: in life, only a small portion is skill, talent, or outward action; the greater portion is the unseen war of the mind. Whether in labor, in art, in conflict, or in love, it is mental strength that sustains you when all else falters. The storms of doubt will come, the pressure will mount, but if you can hold your nerve, you will endure where others collapse.

Practical actions follow: train your hands, but train your mind more. Practice calm in small trials, so that in great trials you will not waver. Breathe deeply when fear rises, anchor yourself with truth, and remind yourself of victories past. Surround yourself with silence when the world grows loud, so that your nerve is not shaken by every voice. And above all, believe that you can endure, for belief is the root from which strength springs.

Thus Rob Cross’s words shine beyond the dartboard: “Darts is 15 per cent throwing, the rest mental strength.” And so is life itself. The outward act is small, the inward battle vast. Conquer the battlefield of the mind, and you will find your hand steady, your spirit unbroken, and your path victorious.