Working-class teen Luke Littler has awoken the world to the drama and beauty of greatest game – there’s nothing better
IF YOU were ever in doubt as to the majesty of darts, all that must now be dispelled following Luke Littler’s incredible run to reach the World Championship final at the Alexandra Palace, London, on his DEBUT.
The style, the panache, the pizazz of the kebab-chomping 16-year-old throughout the tournament wooed darts lovers like never before — and even attracted those who wouldn’t know one end of a tungsten arrow from the other.
His effortless, insanely talented performances were at times god-like.
He feared no one and took to the big stage like a duck to water. He was immense. Sublime. Supreme.
Until he met his match in the final, the bearded kid (he does look 28, at least!) from the North West of England appeared unstoppable.
How does a child who still goes to school become a darting legend at such a tender age? Well, he started throwing arrows at 18 months old, when his dad bought him a £1 magnetic dartboard.
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He banged in his first 180 aged six. At ten he joined St Helens Darts Academy and was also playing for the under-21s. And he rattled off his first nine-darter, the sport’s holy grail, aged 13. Destiny was calling.
The late darts commentator, the god of the mic, Sid Wadell, would have had a field day waxing lyrical about the bold Luke.
Sid, the son of a miner from Northumberland and a Cambridge-educated historian, was the master of the darting metaphor.
He’d have dug deep into his well of witticisms to describe Luke, who is the greatest talent the world of darts has ever seen, or likely will.
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When Eric Bristow, aka the Crafty Cockney, dominated the game in the 1980s, winning the world darting crown FIVE times between 1980 and 1986, Waddell summed up his grace to fans who tuned in every year to witness the drama at the Lakeside Country Club.
When Bristow won his fifth crown in 1986, Waddell whooped: “When Alexander of Macedonia was 33, he cried salt tears because there were no more worlds to conquer . . . Bristow’s only 27.”
And Littler’s only 16!!
Wednesday’s final between Luke “The Nuke” Littler and Luke Humphries was a sluggathon of big scores and marvellous finishes for the first six sets.
Leading 4-2, Littler looked on course to continue to devour his opponent.
Such was the drama, the crowd and those watching on bar stools across the planet were gripped or, as Wadell would have said: “Absolute pandemonium here! Barmaids are frozen like Greek statues watching! No beer’s been served! Everybody’s eyes are absolutely hooked on that board.”
And they were. Littler didn’t fade.
No, Humphries just rallied to notch up FIVE SETS on the spin to dispatch the kid 7-4 and lift his first world crown.
Huge payday
Never mind. Littler, who trousered an incredible £200,000 for coming second, will undoubtedly return year after year to the Ally Pally, where you’d imagine he will dominate the game and go on to win many, many world titles.
I watched the drama unfold in the pub on Wednesday night. The place was packed with vintage darts aficionados and total darting novices. Glued to the telly for two absorbing hours, we were. Experiencing all the emotions of winning and losing in the blink of an eye.
When it comes to sporting entertainment, there is simply nothing that betters darts. Up and down like a rollercoaster. Happiness to sadness within seconds. A nailed-on winner to narrowly losing in the time it takes to smoke a fag.
Paddy Power, the sponsors of this year’s event, couldn’t have asked for more. Littler took the game I love and held it up like the North Star for all the world to see.
Even the stuffy Paper of Record, the Irish Times, couldn’t resist telling its readers: “Here’s How to watch the World Darts Final.”
I nearly choked on me porridge. The Irish Times, the paper loving the darts! Isn’t that something?
A teenage, working-class lad who loves cheese omelettes, pizza and kebabs has awoken the world to the precision, the drama, the subtlety, the beauty, the elegance of the greatest game known to man.
LOCK UP PUB FIRE MORONS
THE cretins who burned down a pub in Ringsend, Dublin, that had been earmarked to house homeless families deserve to be tarred and feathered and put on public display so we can throw rotten fruit and veg at them.
What class of idiots are they? Those who believe the lies that permeate social media, that’s who. Those who have never read a newspaper or book, that’s who.
Dipsticks who believed the concoction that the pub was to be used to house ‘unvetted asylum seekers’, that’s who.
The Far Right gomdaws who set fire to the boozer must be rooted out and jailed for a very long time.
The arson was not just an attack on a building, it was an attack on all of us.
That said, the government must roll up its sleeves and get down and dirty with the fascists.
The taoiseach, Leo Varadkar must be front and centre to all out the lies at every turn.
A big problem in communities, especially those in poorer urban areas of Dublin, is that there is little, if any communication between the authorities and locals about plans to house the homeless and asylum seekers.
Until there is more effective communication to combat the Far Right thickos, arsons like the one in Ringsend will continue to happen.
BIG TO-DO OVER ROO
HOW Birmingham City ever employed Wayne Rooney as manager will remain a mystery to me and many others who love the beautiful game.
Brum were 6th in the Championship and going great guns after winning back-to-back games when they unexpectedly decided to sack their manager, John Eustace.
In came Rooney on October 11. Eighty-three days later and Birmingham had dropped to 20th in the league.
In his time in charge - 15 games - Rooney had managed to preside over just TWO wins.
He drew a further four and LOST nine. A win ratio of just 13 per cent.
My team, Sheffield Wednesday, rooted to the bottom for much of the opening half of the season, have managed an incredible run under their new manager, Danny Rohl. We’ve won five of the last eight and now sit three points from safety and just six behind hapless Brum.
Hence the squeaky Brum and the sacking of Roo.
He’ll never manage again.
DON'T FORGET UKRAINE
IT defies the imagination to begin to even fathom what they went through.
Some 200 Ukrainian prisoners of war were freed from Russian captivity this week.
Dishevelled, visibly malnourished and bearing wounds of battle and probably torture they emerged from the darkness of months inside a prison to be welcomed back home.
Many could barely muster up a smile for the cameras.
They looked defeated as human beings, drained of all vitality. No doubt, the hope of one day being freed from their torment keep them alive.
Our eyes averted by the war in Gaza, the struggle in Ukraine is being forgotten.
Russia has gained the upper hand. The Ukrainian offensive in the south has largely failed and both sides are now taking the war to the skies, bombarding each other with daily barrages of rockets and drones.
Ukraine’s capital Kyiv has sustained daily rocket fire from an emboldened Russia that seeks to sap morale. Ukraine has launched attacks inside Russia, hitting the border city of Belgorod daily.
A war of attrition will continue for months, if not years.
WAY TO CROWE
FAIR play to Tubs. After what must have been a horrible year for him, he’s back on track, and on the air again over the pond.
He went live with his first show on Virgin radio this Tuesday (it airs every morning here on Q102) and by all accounts it has been a success. He is a consummate professional after all.
He even had a call from his best buddy, actor Russell Crowe, to wish him well. Wish I had mates that are well known.
WATCH IT OR ELS!
I HAD never seen a Fast & Furious movie til the other night, but it wasn’t Vin Diesel who had me spellbound, it was Elsa Pataky, the Spanish actress who’s married to (lucky) Brit Chris Hemsworth.
I subsequently learned she speaks French too, which made my heart skip an extra few beats.
DRIVEN ROUND THE BEND
IT’S a bloody hard job, driving buses. I know three lads who get behind the wheel at Dublin Bus every day.
The hours are long, the shifts unpredictable. And there aren’t enough of them to deliver the service demanded by the National Transport Authority. That’s being rectified, but it’s taking too long.
Not only do they have to contend with worsening traffic, they have to deal with all manner of commuters too. All with a smile on their face for fear of being reported.
So, my shout-out this week goes to the bus drivers, the unsung heroes, delivering people from A to B every day. They are a vital cog in the entire transport machine, and all too often get overlooked.
If you’re on the bus today, give them a salute and a big thank you. They deserve it.