#professional darts championship

[jingerbunny]

It's the moooooooost wonderful tiiiiiiiiiime of the yeeeeeeeeeeear! Feliz Navidarts, everyone.

[frimleyblogger]

Drinking Feat Of The Week

Professional darts has gone a long way to cleaning up its act since the days when it featured rather obese chaps quaffing beer and puffing fags as they stood at the oche throwing arrows at a board. Nevertheless, old habits die hard even if they have migrated to the crowd, as events at this year’s PDC World Darts Championship held at Alexandra Palace revealed. Nathan Aspinall stopped play before…

[britishsportinglegends]

Richie Burnett (in the black, red, & white) & Peter Wright (in the blue & black).

[woso-dreamzzz]

Idol II

England Lionesses x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your first call up to the Lionesses

It wasn't you that Sarina had come to evaluate.

It was Grace.

She'd heard great things about Grace Clinton and the idea of putting her into the World Cup squad was tempting which was why she was sat in the freezing cold winter weather in Bristol, trying to see if she could find a way to fit Grace into her midfield at her current level.

But Grace is on the bench, having picked up a slight niggle in the warm up.

So instead of Grace, Sarina finds herself evaluating you instead.

You're by far the smallest and youngest on the pitch, at least two heads shorter than the next smallest and your round baby face makes it clear that you're not anywhere near the next youngest too.

"Er...y/n l/n," One of the staff members replies when Sarina asks who you are," She's currently being looked at for the Under-23s. She's an Under-17 right now."

Sarina frowns. "How old is she?"

"She turned fifteen this August. Her inclusion in the Bristol City team was a surprise to everyone."

Sarina sips on her coffee thoughtfully just as you dance between two defenders and your shot is deflected by the keeper.

The Championship doesn't have the greatest access to camera footage so Sarina's mainly condemned to old youth team footage that's a little unfocussed and shaky.

She hums to herself, fingernails clicking against her desk.

"Hello? Is this Mrs l/n? Hi, this is Sarina Wiegman. I'm calling on behalf of the Lionesses. Yes, about your daughter."

Your coat is two sizes too big and the legs of your trousers have been rolled up a few times, that's one of the first things Keira notices.

The second thing is that your eyes are wide and the smile on your face holds excitement with a hint of nervousness.

She's never seen you before in her life and to even see someone like you at camp is shocking.

She'd been shocked to see a name on the camp list that she didn't recognise, even more shocked when she'd asked around and found that no one really knew who you were.

You walk in with Sarina, tucked under her arm as the introductions are made.

The nervousness is another thing Keira notes, your awkward smile does nothing to hide the way your eyes dart around the area.

"That's the kid Jona was talking about," Lucy says one morning randomly, scoffing down a piece of toast," He said that La Masia were looking to bring her in. She's still on an Academy contract with Bristol City."

"Really?" Georgia asks," You'd think they'd have moved her onto a professional one. Apparently, she's like an integral part to their system. Bristol City are gunning for promotion, I heard."

"She's good," Lucy says as Keira glances over her shoulder to watch you push at your eggs with a wrinkled nose," But her talents are wasted at Bristol."

Georgia flicks a bit of mushroom at her. "Maybe Bayern will have to grab her before you do."

Lucy laughs, pushing herself out from the table. "Well, maybe I should just go and ask her now, shall I? Because I guarantee you, she's going to want to trade England's weather for sunny Spain over Germany."

Georgia stands up too. "Funny. I was going to say that she'd much prefer the food in Germany to the food in Spain. I don't think she likes rice much so she won't like paella."

You're sitting alone at your table, wondering if it's alright to leave the now cold scrambled egg on your plate or if you should force it down so the catering staff don't feel annoyed at your for wasting it.

You practically jump out of your skin as Lucy Bronze and Georgia Stanway slam into the chairs opposite you.

You couldn't look at them - not after meeting Georgia for the first time and mindlessly blurting out her statistics from this season right in front of her.

"So," Lucy says, drumming her fingers on the table," How do you like Spain?"

"Er..."

"Ever been to Germany?" Georgia cuts in," Because, you know, Munich is beautiful this time of year."

"I-"

"Because I was thinking," Lucy continues like Georgia hadn't even spoken," Barcelona is just so nice and warm. You could work on your tan there."

"And of course, there's so many great Christmas markets in the winter," Georgia says," And sometimes we go and visit them as a big team and buy each other stuff."

"Well we do that at Barcelona too. Ingrid has a great list of coffee shops if you're into that kind of thing."

"Sydney knows the best places to grab a bite in the middle of the night."

"Aitana knows-"

A body slumps down into the seat next to you, an arm swung casually over your shoulder.

"You know, Chelsea's the place to be," Millie Bright says," Great manager. Great staff. Great team. We've got it all."

"And how many Champion's Leagues is that?" Lucy asks and Millie kicks her under the table.

"She's not going to any of your teams," Mary interrupts, swinging her feet up and onto the table as she leans back in the chair she stole," Because United are going to have this girl on lock."

The table erupts into laughter and Mary's face drops.

"Hey! It's not funny! We'll see who's laughing next season!"

"Still us," Georgia says," There's no way a kid with this level of talent is going to United! Just you wait, after the World Cup, she's going to have offers flooding in from everywhere.

"Really?" You ask, voice quiet," You really think so?"

You hadn't ever really thought of you future outside of the now. You don't know if you had ever really considered that you were good enough for other people to want. You hadn't ever really considered anyone would take a chance on you like Bristol City did.

"Are you kidding?" Lucy scoffs," Kid, your skills are off the charts at this age! Just you wait, people are going to be clamouring to get you!" She winks. "Just remember to choose the right one."

"The right one being Bayern," Georgia says with grin," Think of the Christmas markets."

"Think of the Barcelona sun."

"Think of being on the best English team."

"Think of..." Mary throws her hands up. "Well how am I supposed to compete with that?!"

"You can't," Lucy laughs with a shrug," Which is why United was never part of the conversation. Face it, Mary, you can't compete with that."

Mary waves her finger around. "Just you wait, I'll have this kid moving to Manchester before this World Cup is over."

A hand falls onto your shoulder and you look up to see Keira standing there, an eye roll already half completed on her face.

"The kid can make her own decisions," She says," She doesn't need you lot badgering her to make one before she has to."

"It's just a bit of fun, Kie," Georgia complains with an eye roll of her own," Sue me if I don't want Barcelona to collect all the best midfielders in the world."

The gentle teasing continues but all you can think of is Georgia's words.

'Collect all the best midfielders in the world'.

She meant you in that conversation as well. She meant to put you in the same bracket as Keira and Bonmatí and Guijarro and Putellas, the staples of Barcelona's midfield.

You stare down at your plate, that stupid bit of cold scrambled egg still sitting on it. You don't know how to react to that.

Say thank you?

Or would that make it weird?

Probably.

You've already embarrassed yourself enough this week. You don't need to do it all over again.

So you just kind of sit there with a shy smile on your face as the older players tease each other around you.

"Don't listen to them," Keira says," Where you go and what you do with your career is all up to you." She winks. "But I wouldn't be opposed if you wanted to come along to Barcelona."

[caitified]

secret

sabrina ionescu x reader

warnings:none

for the person who requested sabrina in a hidden relationship! hope it’s okay that they’re teammates.

the season had started with a promise, the new york liberty ready to make a mark in the wnba. sabrina ionescu, the team’s shining star, had quickly become a leader both on and off the court. but behind the scenes, there was another story unfolding—one that neither she nor you had anticipated.

from the moment you joined the liberty, you felt an undeniable connection with sabrina. it was the little things—the way she would catch your eye during practice, the subtle touches when you passed each other, and the shared laughter that echoed through the gym. you tried to keep it professional, knowing how intense the scrutiny of fans and media could be, but your chemistry was electric, making it nearly impossible to ignore.

“we should probably keep this on the down-low,” sabrina said one evening after a particularly long practice, the two of you sitting on the floor of the empty gym, legs stretched out in front of you. her hair was damp from sweat, and there was a softness in her eyes that made your heart race.

“i agree,” you replied, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling inside you. “it’s just… hard, you know? pretending like nothing’s going on when it feels like everything is.”

sabrina smiled, reaching over to squeeze your hand gently. “i know. but we’ve got a season to focus on. the championship is our goal.”

as the weeks passed, you both navigated the ups and downs of the season, all while keeping your relationship a secret. you were always careful to maintain your distance during team events and practices, but the fleeting moments when you were alone felt like stolen treasures.

the liberty’s games became your sanctuary, the energy of the crowd and the adrenaline of competition a welcome distraction. still, you couldn’t help but notice the way fans began to piece things together. whispers of a connection between you and sabrina floated through social media, the occasional tweet or post speculating about your friendship. you both brushed it off, convincing yourselves that it was just fan speculation.

“it’s just a coincidence,” sabrina said during a team dinner, her eyes darting around the table to make sure no one was listening. “people are just looking for drama.”

“yeah, drama that we’re feeding them by sneaking kisses in the locker room,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. sabrina chuckled but her smile faded as she looked around, still wary of being caught.

as the season progressed, you both put your all into every game, the chemistry on the court translating into victories that fueled your determination. but with every win, the scrutiny intensified. fans were quick to capture your interactions, posting clips of sabrina’s lingering glances or the way you leaned in to whisper something during huddles.

“i think they’re onto us,” you admitted one night, sprawled across your bed while sabrina sat next to you, scrolling through social media. “look at this thread.” you pointed to your phone screen, where fans were dissecting every little thing.

sabrina sighed, her brows furrowing. “we’ll figure it out. right now, we just need to stay focused.”

but as the championship game approached, the tension was palpable. both of you could feel it in the air, a mix of excitement and anxiety. the liberty had made it to the finals, and everything was on the line. in the locker room before the game, sabrina caught your eye, her expression serious.

“no matter what happens tonight, just know that i’m so grateful for you,” she said, her voice low but full of emotion.

“me too, sab,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. “we’ve come this far together.”

the game was intense, each possession filled with adrenaline. the crowd roared, the atmosphere electric as the liberty fought for the title. as the final seconds ticked down, the arena erupted into cheers, and you jumped up, pure elation coursing through you.

after the final buzzer, sabrina was mobbed by her teammates, but all you could think about was her. as she broke free from the celebration, she scanned the crowd until her eyes found yours. in that moment, everything else faded away. sabrina rushed over, her face glowing with joy.

“we did it!” she shouted, pulling you into a tight embrace. you could feel the warmth radiating from her, and for the first time all season, you didn’t care about the whispers. you leaned in and pressed your lips against hers, the kiss filled with all the passion and secrecy you had held back for so long.

the world around you blurred into a haze of cheers and confetti, but in that moment, it was just you and her. when you finally pulled away, the realization of what you had just done sank in. the fans around you had witnessed everything, their phones capturing the moment that would ignite the rumors into a full blaze.

“well, there goes our secret,” you said with a nervous laugh, your heart racing as you glanced around at the wide-eyed fans.

sabrina’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “let them talk,” she said confidently.

the celebration continued, and as the team gathered for photos, you and sabrina stood close together, her arm draped protectively around your shoulders. you felt free, ready to face the prying eyes of the world, with the person you loved most.

as always, thanks for reading. leave me some requests!

[theelitespear]

To Perfection

Mr. Perfect, also know as Curt Hennig, was an American professional wrestler. Considered one of the greatest professional wrestlers of all time by peers, critics, and fans, he performed under his real name for promotions including the American Wrestling Association (AWA), the World Wrestling Federation (WWF; now WWE), World Championship Wrestling (WCW), and NWA Total Nonstop Action. Hennig was the son of wrestler Larry "The Axe" Hennig and the father of wrestler Curtis Axel.

Curt Hennig started his WWF career in 1981. His first victory was against Johnny Rodz. He established himself as a promising young performer against the likes of "Playboy" Buddy Rose, Greg Valentine and Killer Khan. Eventually, he was paired-up in tag team matches with another young upstart, Eddie Gilbert, himself the son of a wrestling legend.

Hennig made his televised in-ring return on the September 11 roughly around 1988, episode of All-American Wrestling, defeating enhancement talent Ron Rovishod. On the October 1 episode of Superstars, vignettes began airing on WWF television, during which he was repackaged with a new character of an arrogant braggart villain who claimed to be able to accomplish difficult tasks "perfectly", thus earning the nickname of "Mr. Perfect," originally Terry Taylor was offered the gimmick but rejected it and Hennig took the gimmick. He presented himself as being superior in athletics or anything else he did. These clips showed him hitting half-court, three-point, and no-look basketball shots, bowling a score of 300, running the table in billiards, throwing then catching his own Hail Mary football pass, sinking a long golf putt, hitting home runs and making bulls-eyes in darts. Stars of various major league sports, including Wade Boggs (MLB), Steve Jordan (NFL), Felton Spencer (NBA), and Mike Modano (NHL), co-starred with Hennig in these vignettes. Hennig performed for the first time as Mr. Perfect on the October 4 episode of Prime Time Wrestling, where he defeated Jim Brunzell.

He’d go on to feud with the likes of Bret Hart, Hulk Hogan and Roddy Piper to name a few. He held the IC, US and tag titles either in WWE or wCw when he was signed there. With the help of Bret Hart he is one of the many reasons wrestling is more technical then it was back in the 80s, which is why he is considered one of the greatest wrestlers never to hold a world title. After his passing he did however earn his spot in the WWE HOF and will forever be remembered for his legacy!

[simslegacy5083]

Today's (10/15/2024) Episode: Grinding to Victory

Fortunately, the start of school year was easy on Skye, as despite his parent’s high expectations neither of them could spare him much attention. 

Noemi was kept busy pushing her team to finalize Watcher Tales in time for the New Years release, and Luigi was even busier.

Not only did he have his “day job” as an e-sports celebrity to worry about, but he was also working harder than anyone else to get his game to market.

Had Noemi known how much time her husband was spending on the computer in pursuit of his current professional goals she would have surely intervened, so he took great pains to make certain she didn't find out.

He encouraged his shy bride to manage their team (many of whom did not work out of headquarters) remotely by voice chat and email while he commuted to Rainy Days' corporate offices each day. Without her looking over his shoulder he could easily gloss over how many breaks he was taking.

Although Luigi knew resting his hand was important, getting his game to market on schedule was his top priority and everything moved along much more quickly with his uninterrupted, active involvement in the build. If a little more discomfort than usual was the price for that, it was a price he was willing to pay.

With the Del Sol E-Sports championship game right around the corner Luigi was pushing himself just as hard gaming as he was programming, hopping a teleport most evenings straight from downtown to the E-Sports complex in Newcrest for skirmish practice and games. 

He was more skilled than most of his teammates by now in the finer points of Sim Scuffle strategy but felt woefully rusty when it came to putting that knowledge to practical use on the playing field after being forced to take so much time off following the lightning strike incident. 

Placing at the upcoming tournament would finally earn him the title of Championship Gamer and catapult him to the top of the E-Sports career, and Luigi wanted that final promotion desperately. If he went down in history as a bonafide champion, it would quash the recent nasty rumors that he no longer had what it took to "hack it" at a professional level. He had to prove the naysayers wrong, no matter the cost.

The night of the tournament Luigi settled down at his PC and tried to ignore the burning ache that was his constant companion as of late "I just have to get through tonight" he told himself "Watcher Tales is in the final testing phase, at last, and if I place here, I'll earn my promotion. I can do this!" 

A few hours later the announcer finally called out “… and that's it, folks! It’s my pleasure to announce your new E-Sports Championship Gamers… Beau Romano, Frank Harris, and Luigi Lawbourne!" He'd achieved the pinnacle of his professional career that night, but the smile on Luigi's face was closer to a grimace as he gripped his swollen mousing hand tightly under the table, clenching his teeth against the pain.

"Well, your highness, we did it!" Beau said, coming up behind his friend and slapping him on the back as they made their way to the podium to collect their award. "Of course, I still kicked your butt, but what's new?" 

His jovial expression fell away when he saw the look on Luigi's face "Whoa, what's wrong? Is it your hand again?“ At Luigi’s reluctant nod, his concern deepened. "Did you tell doc so he can give you the once over?"

"No time.” Luigi shrugged “I’ll catch up with him tomorrow if I miss him tonight. It's not like he'll have anything new to tell me."

Rather than replying Beau darted away, much to the confusion of the sims waiting to hand the players their trophies.

Reappearing a minute later he whispered "They couldn't start the ceremony without the evenings #1 gamer, am I right? Doc is waiting for you over by the med station."

Luigi nodded, silently mouthing "thank you“ to his friend before queuing up behind him to collect his 3rd place prize.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[rootedinrevisions]

Man Enough: Part 1

SUMMARY: As the crowd cheers, you're focused on capturing the perfect shot of Drew's victory at NXT Takeover Brooklyn III, but the energy shifts when Adam Cole makes his shocking debut, attacking Drew from behind. You’ve seen Adam’s work before, but seeing him in person, up close, stirs something new in you. His confidence, his presence—it’s magnetic. As he stands over Drew, holding the championship belt, he catches your eye, and for a brief moment, your breath hitches. Later, backstage, Adam approaches you, his charm as undeniable as his performance. His teasing banter leaves you flustered, though you try to brush it off. But as he walks away, you realize that this won’t be the last time he’ll leave you feeling this way.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm trying to slowly get back into writing some fanfiction for professional wrestlers. I wrote this one about a month ago but never posted it because I wasn't sure it was good. But after doing some editing and revising I think I'm ready to post it!

WARNINGS: Fluff (It's mostly just flirting), Maybe some explicit language?

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

If you would like to be added to my Tag List please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Just specify which fandom/characters you are interested in!

The Barclays Center was electric, the crowd’s cheers vibrating through the floor beneath your feet as Drew McIntyre stood tall in the ring, victorious, the NXT Championship gleaming in his hands. You stood ringside, your back to the hard camera, capturing the moment of triumph. Drew was overcome with emotion, taking a knee, and staring down at the title as if he couldn’t believe it was his.

Your camera lens was focused on him, framing the perfect shot of the new champion. The angle was flawless, the crowd roar was a powerful soundtrack behind the image you were creating. You were lost in the moment, in the artistry of it all, until you heard a wave of sound–a shift in the crowd’s energy. The cheers became sharper, more frantic.

To your right, the audience’s attention veered toward one of the exits. Faces lit up with excitement, heads turning away from Drew. Something was happening. You quickly adjusted your stance, eyes darting left. That’s when you saw them. Bobby Fish and Kyle O’Reilly, standing menacingly at the far-left corner of the ring, their focus locked on Drew.

Your pulse quickened. There hadn’t been any word about a post-match interference, no mention of an attack. Yet here they were, staring Drew down like wolves ready to strike. Instinctively, you lifted your camera again, ready to capture whatever unfolded next.

Drew, still breathless but unfettered, rose to his feet and squared off with the intruders. But before he could react, a blur appeared behind him. You barely caught the movement–a figure rushing into the ring, fast and deliberate. He shoved Drew from behind, sending him crashing into the corner.

The crowd erupted, and your heart skipped a beat. Boots. Jeans. A dark suit jacket. The man’s back was to you, but the attack was vicious, relentless.

And then he turned–just enough for you to see his face.

Adam Cole. 

Your breath hitched.

He mounted Drew, fists raining down on the new champion’s head, each punch more savage than the last. The arena buzzed with shock, with adrenaline. But all you could focus on was him. The way he moved with such confidence, such precision. You’d seen him work the indie circuit, sure. You knew he was good. But this? Seeing him in person, up close, with that dangerous smirk curving his lips–it was something else entirely.

You watched as Adam stood, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it aside like it was nothing. Bobby Fish and Kyle O’Reilly joined the assault, dragging Drew to his feet. And Adam, as composed as ever, calmly pulled the tie from his hair, letting the long strands fall loose around his face. He was in full control, not just of the situation, but of the crowd, of the ring–of you.

You could feel your pulse in your ears as you raised your camera again, fingers shaking ever so slightly as you tried to steady the lens.

With one swift motion, Adam delivered a brutal superkick to Drew, sending the champion crashing back to the mat. The crowd roared, but everything around you felt muted as if it was all happening in slow motion. Your camera lens zoomed in, capturing the moment Adam squatted over Drew’s beaten body. He picked up the championship belt, holding it with the ease of someone who already knew it would be his.

He smirked. And you clicked the shutter, capturing the moment.

Your eyes stayed locked on him, on the way his lips curled in satisfaction, the way his presence commanded attention. You’d never been so close to him before–had only seen in in passing or from a distance. But here he was, just feet away from you, his confidence and charisma wrapping around you like a spell. And you weren’t sure how long you could resist it.

As the cameras cut and the crowd’s cheers began to subside, Adam turned toward the ropes. Kyle and Bobby followed suit, but before Adam slid out of the ring, he glanced over his shoulder. Your heart stopped as his eyes landed directly on you. It wasn’t just a fleeting glance–it lingered. His gaze traveled down to the camera in your hands, then back up to your face.

And then came that smirk again.

It was quick, if you hadn’t been looking you would hae missed it, but you saw it–the same smirk you had captured moments ago, now aimed at you. You felt your heart flutter in your chest, your breath catching again. It wasn’t just the adrenaline of the match or the chaos of the moment–it was him.

Without a word, Adam slid out of the ring, his boots hitting the ground with a thud as he walked past you. For a moment, your eyes met, and time seemed to slow. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something that sent a thrill down your spine. But just as quickly as it began, he was walking past, making his way up the ramp, Bobby and Kyle in tow.

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the camera tighter. What the hell just happened?

Later that night, after the show had wrapped, you found yourself in the catering area, grabbing a bottle of water and trying to calm the nervous energy that still lingered from the night’s events. You had been careful not to cross paths with Adam after his match, knowing full well that his ego didn’t need any more inflation from your attention. But, of course, things never went as planned.

You were leaning against one of the tables, scrolling through your phone, when you heard footsteps approaching. Glancing up, you saw him. Adam Cole, fresh from his debut, still exuding that post-show adrenaline, was walking straight toward you.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice smooth, casual, like he hadn’t just made the entire arena go wild an hour ago. “Enjoy the show?”

You raised an eyebrow, determined not to be swayed by his charm. “It was fine,” you replied, nonchalantly, taking a sip of your water. You refused to give him the reaction he was fishing for.

Adam chuckled, leaning a little too close, clearly not buying your attempt at disinterest. “Just fine? Come on, I know you were watching me. I saw you.” His voice was teasing, but there was something more behind it–like he was testing you, pushing buttons to see how you’d react.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the room. “I watch everyone,” you shot back. “It’s part of my job.”

“Is that right?” he said, his smirk, growing. “Well I guess I’m just another face in the crowd then, huh?”

You shrugged, though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “I guess we’ll see if you stand out.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes–a spark of challenge. He stepped a little closer, enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat from his match. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear. “I always stand out, sweetheart.”

As Adam walked away, leaving you slightly flustered and very aware of the tension between you, you couldn’t help but replay the brief interaction in your head. The way his voice dropped, the confidence in his eyes–it was hard not to be affected. But you weren’t going to let yourself fall for it. 

You had worked with guys like him before. Smooth talkers, all charm and no substance. You weren’t going to be another one of Adam Cole’s conquests.

Still, as you watched him disappear around the corner, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time you’d cross paths. And the thought of it both excited and terrified you.

* * * * *

A few weeks passed and you found yourself at Full Sail University on another Wednesday night. The hum of the NXT crowd echoed through the arena as you knelt at ringside, adjusting your camera lens for the next match. By now, you were used to the rhythm of show nights–capturing the high-energy moments in the ring and the candid interactions backstage. Your job was to stay in the background, unnoticed, but ever since Adam Cole’s debut, that had become increasingly difficult.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried to keep things professional. But Adam had a way of finding you every time you were at work. Whether it was a casual glance across the ring during his entrance or a sly smile as you snapped a shot of him backstage, he made it clear that you were on his radar. 

And the worst part? You liked it.

You were adjusting your position to get the best angle when Adam’s entrance music hit. The crowd erupted in cheers, and you instinctively raised your camera, ready to capture the moment. Adam stepped through the curtain, all confidence and charisma, his eyes scanning the crowd before they landed, predictably, on you.

There it was again–his smirk. That cocky, self-assured grin that made your pulse race no matter how much you tried to ignore it. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest as you focused the lens, trying to act like he wasn’t affecting you. But as the shutter clicked, Adam’s gaze never left yours.

He paused for just a second before strutting down the ramp, but the message was clear. This wasn’t just for the fans. It was for you.

Later, after the match, you were reviewing your photos backstage, scrolling through images of the night’s events. You had settled into a quiet corner, away from the hustle of production, when you sensed someone approaching. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“You got my good side, right?” Adam’s voice was smooth as ever, but there was a playful edge to it that had become more frequent in recent weeks.

You glanced up, unable to stop the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I try to make everyone look good,” you replied, keeping your tone professional, though your heart was racing.

Adam raised an eyebrow and took a step closer, standing just a bit too close for comfort–not that you minded. “Yeah, but I’m not everyone.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play off the heat you could feel rising in your cheeks. “Humble as always.”

He chuckled, the sound low and easy. “I just call it like I see it.”

You focused on your camera screen, pretending to review another photo, but you could feel his eyes on you, studying your reaction. This had become a regular occurrence–the teasing, the banter. It was like he was testing how far he could push before you’d break. And the trust was, you were starting to enjoy it more than you cared to admit.

“So,” Adam began, leaning against the wall beside you, “how many photos do you have of me on that camera?”

Your fingers froze over the buttons, and you glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t count.”

“Really?” His smirk deepened. “Because I’m pretty sure you’ve got more of me than anyone else.”

You felt a flush of embarrassment rise, but you covered it quickly, shooting him a pointed look. “That’s called doing my job. You’re just in a lot of my assigned shoots and matches lately.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Or maybe you’re just really into my matches.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You wanted to brush it off, tell him he was full of himself, but you couldn’t quite find the words. The truth was, he wasn’t wrong. You were into his matches. You were into a lot of things about Adam Cole, more than you cared to admit.

Before you could respond, Adam leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind being your favorite.”

* * * * *

The next few weeks passed in a blur of shows, travel, and photography assignments. But through it all, Adam’s presence lingered. It was like a game now–stolen glances during matches, casual run-ins backstage, moments where his hand would brush against yours as passed him in a crowded hallway. Every time, the tension between you built just a little more.

You tried to keep things professional, but Adam was relentless. His flirtations became more pointed, his comments more suggestive. Yet, there was never anything overt. He was careful, keeping it just subtle enough that you could brush it off–if you wanted to. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

After one particularly intense show, you were backstage, capturing candid shots of the talent. Adam had just come out of a grueling match, sweat dripping from his hair, his chest heaving with exertion. You snapped a few photos, focusing on the raw intensity in his expression. When you lowered your camera, you realized he was looking directly at you.

He caught your eye and winked, making your pulse quicken.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool as you reviewed the shot. “What?” you asked, not looking up.

Adam’s grin was lazy, a little tired from the match but no less confident. “Just wondering how long you’re gonna pretend you don’t notice me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to ignore,” he corrected smoothly. Then, with a casual shrug, he added, “But you’ll give in eventually.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. There was something in the way he said it–calm, certain like he already knew the outcome. And maybe he did. Because as much as you tried to deny it, the truth was, he was right.

* * * * *

The following week it happened again. Another run in with Adam cole himself. It was after the show. The backstage area was quieter now, the hustle of the show winding down as people filtered out. You were tucked away in a corner, the dim lighting and the hum of electronics around you lulling you into a state of unexpected calm. The energy of the night had worn you down, and before you even realized it, exhaustion took over. Your head tilted slightly against the back of the chair, camera still in hand, as your eyes fluttered shut. The faint sounds of footsteps and distant voices faded into the background.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not here, not like this. But after hours of shooting, your body had other plans.

Adam had just finished a conversation with some of the crew when his eyes landed on you, slumped in the chair, camera still loosely gripped in your hand. His footsteps slowed as he approached, the edge of his usual cocky smirk softening as he took in the sight of you. Something about the way you looked—so peaceful, so unaware—made his usual swagger take a backseat.

He came to a stop beside you, glancing at the camera still held loosely in your fingers. A part of him wanted to laugh at how dedicated you were, even in sleep. But instead, he knelt down beside the chair, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his voice low and quiet, not wanting to startle you. “Wake up.”

At first, you didn’t stir, lost in a world far from the chaotic environment of the backstage area. Adam’s thumb lightly grazed your wrist, his touch warm and unexpectedly gentle. You slowly blinked awake, your lashes fluttering as the blur of sleep faded, replaced by the sight of Adam crouching beside you.

His eyes met yours as a small smile tugged at his lips. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep, but I didn’t want you to wake up and find everyone gone.”

Your heart stuttered, still disoriented from the sudden wake-up call and the fact that it was Adam Cole in front of you, his touch on your skin sending a jolt of awareness through your tired body. You blinked again, trying to gather your thoughts, as the exhaustion slowly gave way to a rush of adrenaline.

“I wasn’t… sleeping,” you mumbled, sitting up straighter, your hand instinctively tightening around your camera. Adam chuckled softly, his thumb still lightly brushing the inside of your wrist, a deliberate touch that made your pulse quicken.

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, his voice soft, but laced with amusement. He stood up then, moving just close enough that you could smell the faint hint of his cologne. “Long day?”

You nodded, still a little dazed, trying to hide how much his presence was affecting you. “Yeah, something like that. Didn’t realize I was that tired.”

Adam leaned back against the table, his gaze never leaving yours, and the usual edge in his eyes was softer now, almost curious. “Should I be offended you fell asleep watching my match,” he said, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

You rolled your eyes, finally shaking off the grogginess. “Oh, please. That wasn’t because of you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Adam didn’t seem convinced, his tone playful, but there was something more in his gaze—something that made the air feel heavier between you.

As the silence settled, you became acutely aware of how close he still was. The lingering warmth of his touch on your wrist felt like a brand, a reminder of the small but significant distance between you. The cocky, swaggering Adam you’d seen in the ring was still there, but it was tempered by something else—something softer, more genuine.

His eyes flickered to the camera still clutched in your hand, and he cocked his head slightly. “How did those photos from earlier tonight turn out? I look okay in them?” The question was casual, but his smirk had returned, though this time it was more playful than arrogant.

You smiled, holding the camera up. “You’ll have to wait and see.” Your voice came out steadier than you expected, despite the way his presence was setting your nerves alight.

Adam shifted closer again, leaning in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as his hand lightly trailed along your arm before resting on the back of the chair. He was close now—close enough that you could smell the mix of sweat and cologne lingering from his match, the tension between you thickening with every second.

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, unsure of how to respond. The teasing glint in his eyes hadn’t faded, but it was accompanied by something else—an intensity that made your stomach flutter. He was waiting for something, pushing you, testing the waters. You could feel the weight of the unspoken challenge between you, the lingering question of how far either of you were willing to take this.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

Adam’s smirk softened, his thumb lightly tracing a pattern on your wrist. “What do you think?” His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and for the first time since you’d met him, there was a flicker of uncertainty there—just a brief moment where the confident Adam Cole wavered, as if he was waiting for you to set the tone, to give him permission to keep going.

And then, before you could respond, he gently lifted your wrist, his eyes on yours the entire time, and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist. It was a simple gesture, yet it sent a shiver down your spine, making your pulse race.

The room felt smaller, the space between you both shrinking. You weren’t sure when the playful banter had turned into this, but now that you were here—standing on the edge of something unspoken—you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Adam’s gaze softened as he lowered your hand but didn’t let go. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice quieter now, more sincere. There was something different in his tone—something careful, almost protective, as if he was testing the waters, just like you were. “If you want me to stop flirting, just tell me.”

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. But before you could answer, the truth hit you.

You didn’t want him to stop.

* * * * *

The next few weeks passed with the usual buzz of NXT shows, but the energy between you and Adam Cole had shifted. Where there was once harmless banter, now there were stolen moments, lingering touches, and subtle teases that made it harder to pretend you weren’t affected by him.

Tonight, as you moved around backstage capturing shots of the wrestlers preparing for their matches, you felt that familiar awareness settle over you—the one that came when you knew Adam was nearby. And, sure enough, as you rounded the corner, you found him leaning against a crate, talking with a few of the other guys.

You tried to pass unnoticed, focusing on adjusting the settings on your camera, but Adam’s voice called out to you before you could slip by.

“Hey, photographer.”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your cool, glancing up briefly with a small smile. “Hey, wrestler.”

The group chuckled at your response, but Adam’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his grin widening just a fraction. “You get my good side last week?”

“Do you even have a good side?” you shot back, unable to resist the playful jab.

Adam’s laugh was deep and genuine, and as the other guys continued their conversation, he broke away from the group and closed the distance between you. He was just close enough now that you could smell the faint hint of cologne mixed with the adrenaline of a match well-fought.

“You know, you’re getting bolder with the comebacks,” he mused, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “I like it.”

Your pulse quickened, but you forced yourself to focus on adjusting your camera strap, pretending to be nonchalant. “You’ve got to keep up around here.”

“Oh, I’m keeping up,” Adam replied, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable. “Question is, can you keep up with me?”

You looked up at him then, meeting his gaze, and for the briefest moment, it was just the two of you in your own little world. There was a challenge in his eyes, one that made your stomach flip in ways you hadn’t expected.

Before you could respond, someone called Adam’s name from down the hallway, breaking the spell. He gave you a wink, as if to say the conversation wasn’t over, and turned to rejoin the group.

* * * * *

The following week, things escalated even further. You had been assigned to shoot a promo segment for Adam and his stable, Undisputed Era. It was nothing new; you’d been photographing wrestlers for months. But this time, the atmosphere was different.

As you moved around the set, capturing shots of the guys joking around and preparing for their segment, you could feel Adam’s eyes on you, tracking your every move. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And then, as you adjusted the angle for a shot, Adam caught your wrist lightly, stopping you in your tracks.

“You gonna make me look good again?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with meaning.

Your breath hitched as you turned to face him. His hand lingered on your wrist, the touch light but unmistakably intimate. You tried to play it off with a smile. “That’s my job, right?”

“Yeah, but I think you’ve got a special talent when it comes to me,” he replied, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity up your arm, and for a second, you couldn’t find your voice. You wanted to pull away, to keep things professional, but something in the way Adam looked at you made it impossible. His gaze was steady, confident, as if he knew exactly how he was affecting you.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “You’re really pushing your luck.”

Adam’s grin widened, a flash of mischief in his blue eyes. “Maybe. But I think you like it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. Because the truth was, you did like it. You liked the way he pushed, the way he flirted, the way he made you feel seen. And as much as you wanted to keep pretending this was just harmless banter, you knew that things were shifting, blurring, becoming something more.

* * * * *

It was another packed NXT show, and as usual, you were positioned ringside, camera in hand, ready to capture the action. The Undisputed Era’s music blared through the arena, and the crowd erupted as Adam and his stable made their way to the ring.

As you focused your lens on Adam’s confident strut, you tried to push the thoughts of your last backstage run-in out of your mind. His touch, his teasing words, the way he watched you—it was becoming harder to separate work from whatever game he was playing. But tonight, you told yourself, you’d keep things strictly professional. No stolen glances, no lingering thoughts. Just focus on the job.

But Adam had other plans.

As he approached the ring, he caught sight of you standing by the barricade, camera raised, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. He didn’t break stride, but just before he stepped onto the apron, he turned his head ever so slightly toward you and winked. The motion was so quick, so subtle, that it almost felt like it hadn’t happened at all.

But you saw it. And so did your pulse.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off, but the way your heart raced betrayed you. Shaking off the moment, you focused on capturing the energy of the crowd, the match, anything to keep your mind off Adam.

Midway through the match, though, he struck again.

Adam had just taken down his opponent with a swift kick, the crowd roaring as he stood tall in the ring. He turned toward the ropes, scanning the crowd—and then his eyes locked onto you. Your camera was trained on him, and before you could lower it, he gave you that signature smirk, raising his hand to his lips.

In one smooth, fluid motion, Adam blew a kiss directly at you.

The crowd, caught up in the heat of the match, didn’t seem to notice the gesture, but you felt the full impact of it. Your breath hitched, and your grip tightened around the camera as you quickly lowered it, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

But Adam didn’t look away. Even as he returned to the action, the smirk never left his face.

Later that evening, long after the crowd had left and most of the roster had cleared out, you found yourself in one of the quieter backstage hallways, sorting through the day’s photos. You were still replaying the kiss in your head, trying to convince yourself it was just part of Adam’s showmanship—just a bit of harmless flirting to entertain the crowd. But deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“Did you get my good side tonight?”

Adam’s voice was smooth, laced with that familiar teasing tone. You looked up to find him leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his post-match glow still lingering. His damp hair fell messily over his forehead, and there was that damn smirk again.

You forced yourself to keep your voice steady. “Depends. Which side was blowing kisses?”

Adam chuckled, pushing himself off the wall and stepping closer. “You noticed, huh?”

“Hard not to when it’s directed at me in front of a few thousand people,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

He stopped just a couple of feet in front of you, hands sliding into his pockets as he tilted his head slightly, studying you. There was a shift in his demeanor—still playful, but with an undercurrent of something more intense. “Can’t say I’ve ever blown a kiss to someone ringside before.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral. “How lucky for me.”

Adam’s smile grew, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re fun, you know that?”

“I try,” you quipped, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. It was a familiar dance now—his teasing, your defenses—but each time, the stakes felt higher.

He took another step closer, just barely inside your personal space, and you could feel the heat coming off him. “Tell me something,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “How much longer are we going to pretend this is just work?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling between you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adam’s eyes darkened slightly, his smile softening into something more serious, more real. “Come on. You feel this, too. Don’t tell me you don’t.”

Your heart pounded in your ears, and for a split second, you considered denying it, brushing it off like you always did. But the look in his eyes—confident, sure, but also something deeper—made it impossible to lie.

“I—” You started, but before you could finish, another voice called out from down the hall, breaking the moment.

“Adam! We need you in the locker room, man!”

Adam sighed, clearly frustrated by the interruption. He gave you one last look—one that promised this conversation wasn’t over—before turning and jogging down the hall to join his team.

You stood there for a long moment, your heart still racing, the weight of his words pressing down on you.

* * * * *

The next few days after the gym were a blur of photoshoots, travel, and the constant buzz of the WWE schedule. You did your best to keep your interactions with Adam strictly professional, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the magnetic pull between you two.

And neither could he.

It was a quiet afternoon at the Performance Center, and you were once again stationed in the weight room, capturing shots for an upcoming social media feature. The gym wasn’t as busy as usual, with only a handful of people scattered around, working out in relative silence.

You moved between the machines, camera in hand, focused on getting candid shots of the wrestlers. You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice Adam approaching until he was right behind you.

“Miss me?”

His voice was a low murmur, and the familiar warmth of his presence sent a shiver down your spine. You straightened, turning to find him standing impossibly close—close enough that you could feel the heat of his skin. His signature smirk was in place, but there was something different in his eyes today. Something darker, more intense.

“I didn’t realize you were gone,” you quipped, but your voice lacked its usual sharpness. You had noticed he was gone. It had been over a week since you had seen him as he was put on the schedule to go on the road the last few weeks while you were back in Orlando doing other work.

Adam chuckled, stepping even closer until there was barely a breath of space between you. His hand came up, brushing against your arm—light at first, but then lingering, his fingers trailing down toward your wrist. The touch was casual, but the effect it had on you was anything but.

You felt your breath catch, your pulse quickening, and you could tell by the way Adam’s smirk widened that he noticed.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping to that low, almost predatory tone that never failed to send your heart racing. His fingers continued their slow, deliberate path along your arm, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist.

You tried to keep your composure, but the way he was looking at you, the way his touch seemed to burn through your skin, was making it difficult to think straight. You took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between the two of you, but Adam didn’t let you off the hook that easily.

He followed, closing the gap in an instant, his hand now resting on your waist—bold, confident, and unmistakably intimate.

“I think you’re starting to like this,” Adam murmured, his lips just inches from your ear. “The way you react every time I touch you. You can deny it all you want, but I know you feel it too.”

You wanted to fire back with a quick retort, to brush off his words like you always did, but for the first time, you found yourself at a loss for words. The truth was, he wasn’t wrong. You did feel it—the tension, the attraction, the pull that seemed to grow stronger with every interaction.

And the worst part was, Adam knew it too.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “Tell me something. How much longer are we going to pretend this is just teasing?”

Your heart was pounding now, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adam’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his other hand coming up to cup the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the pulse point that was beating wildly beneath his touch. “I think you do.”

You swallowed hard, caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean into him. Before you could decide, someone walked into the gym, and you quickly stepped back, breaking the moment.

But the look Adam gave you as you moved away—the dark, heated gaze that promised this wasn’t over—lingered long after he left.

* * * * *

The next interaction came unexpectedly, in the parking lot outside the Performance Center.

You had finished up a late shoot and were heading toward your car when you spotted Adam leaning casually against his own vehicle, his phone in hand. As if sensing your presence, he glanced up, and that familiar smirk curled at his lips.

“Need an escort to your car?” he called out, pushing himself off the hood of his car and sauntering over to you.

“I think I can manage,” you replied, though there was no mistaking the hitch in your voice. Every time you were around him now, it was harder and harder to keep things professional. The way he looked at you, the way he moved—everything about Adam screamed confidence and control, and it was messing with your head.

He fell into step beside you anyway, his hands sliding into his pockets as he cast a sidelong glance your way. “You sure? I’d hate for something to happen to you out here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at your lips. “I think the scariest thing out here is you.”

Adam laughed softly, but there was something behind it—something that hinted at the fact he was very aware of the effect he was having on you. “Come on,” he said, stopping just as you reached your car. “Am I really that intimidating?”

His tone was teasing, but the look in his eyes was anything but. There was that intensity again, the same look he’d given you in the gym, and it was making your heart race all over again.

You leaned against the door of your car, arms crossed over your chest, trying to put up some kind of barrier between you and him. “Not intimidating. Just… persistent.”

Adam’s smirk widened, and he took a step closer, his hand coming up to rest on the roof of your car, effectively trapping you between him and the vehicle. “Is that a bad thing?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the proximity making it impossible to think straight. “Depends on what you’re after.”

Adam’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you could feel the weight of his gaze—heavy, heated, and full of unspoken promises. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m after.”

He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, his lips just inches from yours. The tension between you crackled in the air, and for the first time, you couldn’t bring yourself to step away.

But just as Adam leaned in, his phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the moment.

With a soft curse under his breath, he pulled back slightly, glancing at the screen. His jaw tightened, and he sighed, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “I’ve gotta take this.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest as you fumbled for your keys, grateful for the reprieve but also painfully aware of how close you’d come to crossing that line.

As Adam turned to walk away, he threw one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that said this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

[iammistressofmyfate]

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Tags: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Rule 63, Rivals To Friends with benefits To Lovers, Hockey, Olympics, Long-Distance Relationship, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Longing, queer women in love, bisexual Ilya forever, women in professional sports , Friendship, Headaches & Migraines, Dating, Falling In Love, Travel, Family Fluff, Mentions of Pregnancy, Weddings, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Honeymoon, Bathtub Sex, Shower Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Scissoring, Strap-Ons, Children, Menstruation, POV Alternating, Depression, Anxiety, Nipple Play, Alcohol, Smoking, Clubbing, Bachelorette Party, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Grievance/Mourning

Summary:  Shane Hollander and Iliana Rozanova are the biggest names in women's hockey. Meeting at the IIHF championship starts them on a journey into love that spans the next decade of their lives and beyond.

Excerpt:

February 2024 - Montreal

“What do you think?” Shane asked, her eyes anxious, darting between the box in Hayden’s hands and her best friend’s face. 

Hayden was holding a small, hand painted ring box and was looking at the engagement ring that Shane had bought for Ilia. 

They had talked about marriage and getting engaged many times, especially in recent weeks. Ilia had never mentioned a style of ring that she liked but she did like sparkly things and only ever wore gold. Shane had managed to get her ring size and had finally taken the plunge and bought the ring she thought Ilia would like best. 

It was a simple design; one diamond in the center with two pear shaped diamonds on either side, set on a gold band. Pretty, elegant, something that would be eye-catching but not gaudy. 

[New Beginnings]

[IIHF Championship - Regina]

[scotianostra]

On March 24th 2012, just two days after his 62nd birthday Scotland lost a legend when John Thomas "Jocky" Wilson passed away at his home in at Kirkcaldy.

Jocky spent most of his early life in orphanages after it was deemed his mother and father were unfit to bring him up, his jobs included a couple of years in the army, a coal delivery man, fish processor, and also a miner at Kirkcaldy's Seafield Colliery. He also worked for a time at the Lister Bar, the local where a 19-year-old Wilson first learned to play darts, he never thought when throwing those first arrows that he would ever become the champion of the world and a Scottish legend.

From his debut at the World Championship in 1979 until 1991, Wilson managed to reach at least the quarter-finals of the tournament on every occasion. Wilson also lifted the British Professional Championship four-times between 1981 and 1988, as well as the British Open and Matchplay titles.

Wilson was also generous with his time for charity and had a neat line in self-deprecation. He was known as 'Gumsy' because his constant sweet-eating and refusal to brush his teeth - 'my Gran told me the English poison the water' - meant that he had lost his last tooth by the age of 28. Following the 1982 triumph, Wilson paid £1,200 for dentures. But he never took to them. They made him belch when drinking, he complained. And once, celebrating a victory, they flew out of his mouth and on to the oche. In the end, they were employed as a ball marker in pool games with Bristow.

'People might think that having no teeth snookers you when it comes to eating,' Wilson wrote in his 1983 autobiography, Jocky. 'But I can manage just about anything with my gums. I can chew a steak provided it's well done. I can even eat apples. Great Yarmouth rock and nuts are the only two things that defeat me.'

Other tales include the time he kicked Bristow's shin before they were due to play each other - the Crafty Cockney, who became Wilson's firm friend, was forced to shake hands on stage with a bleeding shin. And after one defeat he fell off the stage.

Sadly after being diagnosed with diabetes Jocky gave it all up, he became bankrupt and spent the remainder of his life, with his Argentinian wife, Malvina in a council flat in the town he grew up in, as virtual recluse, shielded by his wife when visitors knocked on his door, be it journalists or just well wisher fans nobody got through the door.

I will always remember the early days of television darts and Wee Jocky, at the oche, a true character. When he won his first world title at Jollees Cabaret Club in Stoke, Sid Waddell announced him as "Jocky Wilson , The lad has the psychology of a claymore!”

RIP Jocky!

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: OCTOBER 1998

REGAL STEPS TO THE LINE FOR PERFECTION 

By Kevin Kelly

Stroll into any English pub and you are sure to find a dartboard. For anyone who has ever played, it’s a challenging game. Trying to throw the dart with any degree of accuracy takes years of practice. And then somebody arrives with his own darts who seems to be a little sharper, more professional in appearance. All his throws are bulls-eyes. He can’t miss. He doesn’t know how to miss…

When Steven Regal entered the world Wrestling Federation, the game changed. A man who makes no mistakes has stepped to the line, ready to shoot. For his debut on Raw, the locker rooms–usually a hotbed of activity–were silent. Collectively, the Federation Superstars watched in awe. A true craftsman was at work. He systematically destroyed Darren Drozdov and in the process sent a message to the entire organization. 

While Regal was bludgeoning the former Denver Bronco, however, there was one man who didn’t even glance toward the monitor. For him, there was no need to. He’d seen Regal perform thousands of times and was well aware of his incredible skill. That man is Stone Cold Steve Austin. With the wrestling business being such a small world, it’s no surprise that Austin knows Regal quite well. You don’t have to know him to appreciate him, however. 

Just look at the artistry with which the Liverpool, England, native plies his trade. Steven Regal doesn’t need closed fists to batter opponents. He has forearms that have been known to crush jaws. Regal never uses chairs to main his foes. He has a repertoire of submission holds that are torturous and inescapable. While respectful of the rules generally, he hardly “kills with kindness.”

For wrestling aficionados, it seems that Steven Regal has been around the game forever. While into his fourteenth year as a professional,  he is just 30 years old. Regal began his career at the age of 16, wrestling in carnival-like shows along the seacoast of England. It was a rough way to break into the business because he had to worry not only about winning, but also about survival. 

If traveling and wrestling in 20 or so shows a week wasn’t difficult enough for a 16-year-old rookie, he had to watch his back constantly. The cutthroat atmosphere that existed with everybody trying to make names for themselves brought about some desperate acts from men who simply wanted to escape the unbearable conditions. But this lawless atmosphere may have prepared him for what would be his ultimate goal–competing in the World Wrestling Federation and making a run at the Federation Championship. 

The top contenders for that title have been through the wars of Federation competition and have survived. It’s a vindictive era and the action has never been more physical. On the roster, there are at least a dozen superstars over six feet, six inches tall and weighing 300 pounds or more. Regal is deceptively tall six feet four inches. Thanks to a dog-eat-dog environment, real friendships are rare and partnerships can tear apart in a split second. That’s just fine with the quiet, low-key star who has battled the odds alone for more than a decade and a half. 

The five years Regal spent at World Championship Wrestling did not deter him from his ultimate goal, which was always to become the World Wrestling Federation Champion. In fact, it made him even more determined. Regal’s resume is eerily reflective of Stone Cold Steve Austin’s. Will Regal be able to match the success of Stone Cold? A tall order indeed. Austin is the single biggest phenomenon in the history of the wrestling business. But, that’s fine. Regal would simply be satisfied with the Federation Championship. 

Steven Regal has an enormous challenge ahead of him. He must fight through the ranks of the most athletic Federation roster of all time in order for an opportunity at the Rattlesnake. If and when he gets there, he will battle a man who knows him inside and out. A former traveling companion of Regal’s, Stone Cold knows what makes this man tick, but he most certainly also knows that inside there beats the heart of a champion. 

While Regal has obstacles to overcome, he has fought through tremendous odds before. The brutal, backstabbing circuit in England he was reared in professionally has prepared him for what will be the fight of his life in the World Wrestling Federation. Despite championship caliber skill, he knows that every opponent he faces here can compete with him. Regal will look to wear down and frustrate enemies with his impeccable technical precision and super-human stamina. 

Regal also steps to the line knowing that any bulls-eye he throws can be equaled. But he has the ability to keep throwing bulls-eyes time after time. He simply doesn’t miss. Then again, Steve Regal cant afford to miss if he wants to achieve his goal. Chances are, he will never miss again.

[exclusivetraveller]

Darts fans here a fantastic mini break away in London at the Cazoo Premier Darts Competition and Hotel Break. London 25th May 2023 from 7pm at the London O2 A tiered seat located in a premium location • An Anytime Day Travelcard valid for the event day (Zones 1, 2, 3 and 4 on tube, buses and DLR) #cazoo #cazoodarts #darts #dartsport #dartslife #pubs #Bolton #Boltonpubs #exclusivetravelholidays The PDC World Darts Championship, known for sponsorship purposes as the Cazoo World Darts Championship, organised by the Professional Darts Corporation, is a World Professional Darts Championship held annually in the sport of darts (at Exclusive Travel Holidays) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpkDZcTI8lc/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[freenewsreport]

Luke Littler's Journey to Becoming the Youngest Major Tournament Winner

Luke Littler meteoric rise in the world of darts has captivated fans worldwide, with many hailing him as the next big thing in the sport. His journey to becoming the youngest major tournament winner in history has been nothing short of extraordinary. The story of his rapid success is one that demonstrates both raw talent and relentless determination. From his early days in the sport to his impressive performances on the grandest stages, Littler’s path to success has been a fascinating one.

One of the most remarkable milestones in Luke Littler’s career came during the 2024 World Darts Championship, where he entered the final at just 16 years old. With this achievement, Littler made history by becoming the youngest player ever to compete in the World Darts Championship final. Alexandra Palace, known as the home of darts, became a place where Littler showcased his incredible talent. While he ultimately finished as the runner-up, losing to world number one Luke Humphries in a hard-fought 7-4 match, his performance throughout the tournament cemented his status as one of the most exciting prospects in the sport.

The tournament itself was a defining moment in Littler’s career. To make it to the final, he had to defeat a series of seasoned professionals, including former world champion Rob Cross. Littler’s ability to overcome such tough competition at such a young age was a testament to his mental toughness and skill. His run to the final did not only catch the eye of fans and analysts but also shifted the spotlight onto his future potential. Many darts experts are now predicting that Littler will soon be among the top contenders in major championships, and some even believe that he could go on to break more records in the sport in the coming years.

Littler’s Journey to the Premier League Finals

One of the next major events in Littler’s career was his entry into the Premier League, an elite competition that brings together the best players in darts. Making it to the Premier League Finals was another milestone that showcased how quickly Littler was making his mark. His performances in the early rounds were impressive, showing a level of maturity and precision that belied his years. Despite being one of the youngest participants, Littler held his own against some of the sport’s most established stars.

His entry into the Premier League Finals was not only a testament to his talent but also a reflection of his growing fanbase and the increasing recognition of his skills. For a player so young, the ability to compete with the sport’s elite was an achievement that spoke volumes about his potential. Littler’s journey in the Premier League demonstrated that his success was no fluke, but rather the beginning of a promising career that could reshape the future of darts.

Semi-Final Showdown

One of the defining moments of Littler’s rise came during a dramatic semi-final showdown at a major tournament. In what was a thrilling encounter, Littler faced off against some of the biggest names in the sport. The match was filled with suspense and high-level play, with Littler’s composed demeanor under pressure impressing both fans and analysts alike. Despite the intense competition, Littler maintained his focus, delivering a performance that proved he was more than just a rising star – he was a force to be reckoned with.

This semi-final match not only solidified Littler’s place in the sport but also raised expectations for what he could achieve in the future. His ability to perform in high-pressure situations showed that he possessed the mental strength required to thrive at the top levels of darts. Even though he did not take the title in this particular tournament, his performance in the semi-final sent a clear message to the darts world: Luke Littler was here to stay.

The Grand Final: Littler vs. Humphries

As previously mentioned, Littler’s crowning achievement came when he reached the final of the 2024 World Darts Championship. The grand final itself was an epic encounter between the young prodigy and the reigning world number one, Luke Humphries. The match was a display of the finest darts the sport has to offer, with both players exhibiting exceptional skill and strategy. Littler fought valiantly, but Humphries ultimately claimed victory, securing the title 7-4.

Despite the loss, Littler’s performance in the grand final was widely praised. He showed that he had the potential to compete with the best, and his maturity on the big stage impressed many. The match was not only a showcase of Littler’s skills but also a glimpse into what the future holds for the young star. As analysts have pointed out, Littler’s time will come, and he will undoubtedly be a force in future world championships.

Emotional Victory Celebration

Although Littler did not win the World Darts Championship, his emotional reaction to the final was a testament to his passion for the sport. The young player showed a deep sense of gratitude and pride for having reached such a prestigious stage at such a young age. His celebration, while tempered by the disappointment of not winning, highlighted his love for the game and his unwavering commitment to improvement.

Littler’s emotional victory celebration was a reminder of the dedication it takes to reach the pinnacle of any sport. While the title may have slipped away, Littler’s journey was far from over. His reaction showed that he was driven to push even harder, to continue growing as a player, and to one day claim the ultimate prize.

Media Coverage and Public Reception

Since his rise to prominence, Luke Littler has been the subject of extensive media coverage. His incredible achievements, especially his early success in the World Darts Championship, have made him a household name in the darts world. The public’s reception of Littler has been overwhelmingly positive, with fans and pundits alike expressing their excitement for his future.

Littler’s journey has inspired many young players, and he has become a role model for aspiring darts professionals. His story is one of perseverance, talent, and the power of believing in oneself. As media outlets continue to follow his career, it is clear that Littler’s influence on the sport will only grow in the coming years. His success at such a young age has already left a significant impact on the darts community, and many expect that his journey is just beginning.

Conclusion

Luke Littler’s journey to becoming the youngest major tournament winner in darts has been filled with both triumph and lessons learned. From his stunning performances in the World Darts Championship to his entry into the Premier League Finals, Littler has demonstrated a level of talent and determination that has captured the attention of the darts world. His remarkable ability to compete with the sport’s best at such a young age has established him as a rising star, with many predicting a future filled with more success.

As he continues to refine his skills and gain experience, it is clear that Luke Littler’s journey is far from over. His potential is limitless, and the future of darts looks incredibly bright with him in the mix. The youngest major tournament winner today, Littler could very well become the dominant force in the sport for years to come.

[businesspr]

Costumes, Beers and Cheers: How Darts Became London’s Rowdiest Winter Party

The professional darts championships draw tens of thousands of raucous fans. The beer flows freely in the stands, but the competition is serious. source https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/02/world/europe/darts-championship-pdc-london.html

[norainahmadme-blog]

Costumes, Beers and Cheers: How Darts Became London’s Rowdiest Winter Party

The professional darts championships draw tens of thousands of raucous fans. The beer flows freely in the stands, but the competition is serious. Source link

[trendstodaynet]

Costumes, beer and cheer: How darts became London's loudest winter party

The professional darts championship attracts tens of thousands of wild fans. Beer flows freely in the stands, but the competition is serious.