“I’d get through and say, 'I got beat in the semis.' And he’d go, 'Ring me when you effing win something'” – Phil Taylor shares how his mentor, Eric Bristow, made him angry

In the world of darts, Phil Taylor is a name synonymous with dominance. But behind those 16 world titles lies no straightforward tale of success. In the Double Tops podcast, “The Power” reflects on his early years, his drive, and the mental reality of winning — and above all, keeping on winning.

Taylor points without hesitation to his mentor Eric Bristow as the defining factor in his development. Not through gentle guidance, but through hard-edged prods. “Eric Bristow was a big influence on me. He’d say, 'Where are you going this weekend?' I’d say, 'I’m playing in the Derbyshire Open.' He’d tell me, “Ring me when you’re on your way back and let me know how you got on.” There were no mobiles in those days, so I had to find a working phone box—half of them were wrecked."

What follows is a story that perfectly sums up Bristow’s mentality. Taylor had to find a working phone box, never a given at the time, to call his mentor. But a decent result wasn’t met with praise.

“I’d get through and say, 'I got beat in the semis.' And he’d go, 'Ring me when you effing win something.' I’d just passed 20 phone boxes trying to call him, and he’d tell me to ring back when I’d won.” That approach paid off. “But it made me angry—and it worked.”

Even at major tournaments Bristow kept pushing Taylor. When Taylor travelled to the Winter Gardens in Blackpool with several shirts, he was told he’d only need two. “I’d look at him and think, 'Yeah, I do.' Then I’d go and win each round. Afterward, he’d say, 'I knew that would wind you up.'”

Winning a world title is often seen as the ultimate moment of euphoria. But Taylor paints a different picture. “It’s a bit of an anticlimax, really. It’s been your dream—like winning the lottery. For about five days, it’s great.” After that comes the void. “You do all your press, radio, TV interviews. But after that, you come down from it and feel quite emotional—very weepy.”

The phenomenon is known as the “arrival fallacy”: the idea that achieving a goal delivers lasting happiness. Taylor admits he experienced it too, but it didn’t stop him from pushing on.

Where many players stumble over expectations and looking ahead, Taylor kept it simple. “But I only ever played the player in front of me.Sometimes I didn’t even know who I’d face next.”

According to Taylor, that’s a major difference from other players. “Some players think, 'I’ve got him—I beat him every time. Then I’ve got him next.' That’s when complacency creeps in. They’re already thinking about the semi-finals, and then they lose in the first round because they’re not focused on the job.” His philosophy was clear: every opponent deserves maximum respect. Only once they’re beaten can you look ahead.

Taylor’s mental resilience was shaped early. His parents played a crucial role. “if I’d said I had mental health issues, my mother would have said, 'Are you a man or a mouse? Get on with it.'”

It sounds harsh, but Taylor says it typifies the era he grew up in. “Different times, weren’t they? It was: 'Suck it up and get on with it. You’ve got a family to look after.' You couldn’t lie in bed either.” He laughs as he recalls how his mother literally got him out of bed — if necessary with a bucket of water. “Next time I even thought about it, she’d be coming upstairs and I was already up, out the door."

His father had a different, but equally important lesson. “My dad’s way was: 'Right, you’ve won that—put the trophy over there. Get ready for the next one. You’re only as good as your next tournament.'”

While honour and legacy took center stage later, money was Taylor’s biggest motivation at the start. “That was my motivation at the beginning, because I didn’t have any.” He spent his first prize money, £500, on a luxury item: a shower. "Nobody had a shower back then. People were knocking on the door: 'Phil, can I have a look at your shower?'”

When he won his first world title and earned £24,000, it again sparked amazement in the neighborhood. "My neighbours were knocking again: 'Phil, can we have a look at that money? I’ve never seen £24,000.' I said, 'I haven’t got it—it’s in the bank. It’s a cheque,'" he concludes with a smile.