TV VIEW: THE CITYWEST Hotel was, Sky Sports presenter Dave Clark promised us, rocking when we tuned in for the semi-finals of the World Grand Prix on Saturday, and he wasn't wrong.

Indeed, by the time Mervyn "The King" King made his entrance to the sound of Motorhead's King of Kings- do you notice a regal theme here? - the crowd were almost popping with frenzy. Raymond "Barney" van Barneveld's arrival, to the sound of an air-raid siren followed by Eye of the Tiger, tipped them over the edge.

As the banners confirmed, Barney was the crowd favourite, though we couldn't quite decipher who the man holding up the "Seoige Sisters xoxox" sign was supporting. Nor, indeed, the man waving the "Helena - Thanks for feedin' my goldfish" banner. But the odds are they were rooting for the Dutchman.

And resident expert Rod Harrington was certain the crowd's man would prevail, not least because having gone back to old darts he was comfortable.

"In his 'ead, he's on fire . . . And when you're right in the 'ead your action is smoother," said Rod.

On this basis The King must be wrong in the 'ead because his action looked decidedly rough as the match kicked off, so to speak.

We were surprised because he'd looked confident enough to us as the pair warmed up.

"Should we read anything in to the body language?" Dave had asked. "Na," said Rod.

A bit of a damp squib, as it proved (or as Mark Hateley so magnificently once said of a Scottish title race, "a bit of a damp squid"). Barney blew The King away, winning 5-0, and that was that.

But that's when the frenzy went up another notch or 12. We're talking fever pitch here. The Power was on his way.

We couldn't quite figure why Phil Taylor needed three heavies to bring him out - perhaps security feared he'd be showered in beer and nuts - but it was a stirring entrance, one that had Sid Waddell close to tears.

Sid, as we all know, is the legendary legend of all legends when it comes to this commentating business, and even though it might have seemed a little immodest when he picked out something he'd said himself, in his Sky Sports column, as his quote of the week, when you're Sid you're entitled to do things like that.

"If the ghosts of Montgomery and Rommel are sat up in heaven watching this battle, they will be delighted at the tactics - it's like the Mardle's Howitzers against the Somme-like attrition of Priestley," he'd said when Wayne Mardle played Dennis Priestley, their contrasting styles reminding Sid of "classical military warfare".

So Sid certainly sees things in darts we less-informed folk fail to spot. And he loves those slow-motion action replays of the board-bound arrows.

To be honest we don't see the point; it's not like the dart takes a deflection off a defender's knee or goes through the goalie's legs before nestling in the treble 20. But we trust Sid implicitly when he says it's a beautiful sight.

Any way, The Power's opponent, in the second semi-final, was Terry "The Bull" Jenkins, who, said Sid, needed to "start like a whippet with a fox behind it" if he was to have any hope of beating the master.

Terry, though, started more like an overfed Pekingese, Phil, his shirt an advertising hoarding for gambling, alcohol and plant hire, gobbling him up.

Not that foxes eat Pekingeses, but you know what we mean.

"Eeeeeh, bring me your huddled masses, give them a daft hat and a pair of tectonic tonsils, and let fly with the arrows of desire," said Sid, which left his co-commentator - and ourselves, if we were to be honest - a little lost for words.

The Bull threatened a mini-revival of sorts late in the match, only for The Power to gore him. "Call yourself a bull," said Sid. "Well, stick that wet rag up your nostril. It's like asking a caber tosser for a match, you might get more than you bargained for."

Well, exactly, as we've often found to our cost when asking for a light at the Highland Games.

A rocking week, then, at the darts. A memorable one, too, for Adrian "Jackpot" Lewis, who was beaten earlier on by our Barney.

Adrian, Sid told us, turned up for his match with "blood pouring from his chin". A punch-up? No. His mother attempted to give him a good-luck kiss before the match, but "instead of kissing his lips she sank her teeth into his chin".

Like you do.