In the smoke-filled intensity of Leicester’s Morningside Arena, where the sharp crack of darts hitting the board echoes like thunder, the 2025 World Grand Prix kicked off with a bang on Monday night. But it wasn’t just the precision throws that had fans on the edge of their seats—it was the raw, unspoken tension between two of darts’ most storied warriors: Scotland’s Gary Anderson and the Netherlands’ Raymond van Barneveld. What unfolded was a last-leg decider that crackled with rivalry, culminating in a handshake snub that’s already sparking heated debates across the oche. For Anderson, the two-time world champion whose gruff humor and unyielding grit have become his trademarks, it was business as usual: a hard-fought victory laced with sarcasm, no grudges held.
The matchup was a dream for purists, pitting two legends against each other in the opening round of this £500,000 double-in, double-out showcase. Van Barneveld, the 57-year-old Dutch icon with five major world titles under his belt—including a dramatic 2007 PDC triumph—has been on a heartwarming comeback trail. After retiring in 2019 amid personal battles and a return to the BDO circuit, he rejoined the PDC in 2021, proving age is just a number with a semi-final run at the 2024 UK Open and a string of solid performances this year. His game remains a masterclass in composure: elegant setups, clinical finishes, and that signature barrel grip that’s inspired a generation. But against Anderson, the 55-year-old Scot who’s as much a character as he is a competitor, the pressure mounted like a gathering storm.
Anderson, “The Flying Scotsman,” entered the fray fresh off a mixed 2025—flashes of brilliance at the Premier League and Players Championship Finals, but dogged by inconsistencies that saw him dip outside the top 20. Known for his chain-smoking rituals and deadpan wit that can disarm or deflate opponents, Anderson has long been darts’ anti-hero, the guy who’d rather crack a joke about his own missed doubles than dwell on defeat. This tournament, though, carried extra weight: a chance to reclaim momentum ahead of the lucrative end-of-year playoffs, and perhaps remind the world why he once terrorized the sport with back-to-back world titles in 2015 and 2016.
The match itself was a slow-burn thriller, a testament to why the World Grand Prix’s unique format—best of five sets, all legs double-in, double-out—breeds such nail-biters. Anderson struck first, taking the opening set 3-1 with a clinical 115 checkout that silenced the partisan crowd, his average hovering around a respectable 89 as he peppered the board with ruthless efficiency. Van Barneveld, unfazed, roared back in the second, reeling off three straight legs including a blistering 109 finish on the bullseye, his experience shining through in the clutch moments. A third set loomed, and with it, the decider that would define the night.
Tensions simmered from the outset. Subtle barbs flew off the board—missed doubles eliciting wry glances, 180s met with stoic nods rather than cheers. The arena, packed with 3,000 fervent fans waving Scottish saltire flags and Dutch orange banners, sensed the needle. By the final set, both men were locked in a 54% doubles duel, their checkout percentages razor-close at 53.8% for Anderson and 54.5% for Barney. Van Barneveld edged ahead 2-1 in legs, his veteran savvy forcing Anderson into a do-or-die stand. But the Scot, drawing on that trademark steel, held firm. With the score tied, he set up for double four on 32, the dart burying itself dead center. Game over. Anderson’s final average: 90.06 to Van Barneveld’s 86.22, complete with two maximums that had the crowd erupting.
Then came the moment that’s replayed endlessly on social media: no handshake. As the winning dart thudded home, Anderson turned, his back to the oche, and began gathering his flights, tossing a few into the roaring stands like confetti. Van Barneveld lingered, darts in hand, a flicker of something—frustration? Expectation?—crossing his face before he too collected his gear and headed offstage in silence. No clasped hands, no nod of respect, just the awkward shuffle of two giants parting ways. Whispers rippled through the commentary box: Was it a deliberate snub? Fatigue from the grind? Or just the frosty byproduct of a battle too fierce for pleasantries?
Post-match, in the dim glow of the press room, Anderson addressed the elephant in the room with his signature blend of deflection and dry humor. “I don’t get upset,” he quipped, leaning back with a grin that could curdle milk. “Maybe once or twice in nine months, but not tonight. I was fine. When I won? Yeah, I was over the moon. Buy yourself a fishing rod for Christmas.” The room chuckled, but Anderson doubled down, insisting there were no hard feelings. “I had to fight for everything,” he added, reflecting on the match’s brutality. “It was tough out there, but that’s darts— you grind it out or you go home.” His nonchalance painted a picture of a man who’s seen it all: from the highs of world glory to the lows of injury layoffs and on-stage meltdowns. For Anderson, this wasn’t pettiness; it was pragmatism. In a sport where emotions run hot, he chooses cool detachment, saving his fire for the board.
Van Barneveld, ever the gentleman, offered no public retort, instead channeling his energy into the next challenge. The Dutchman’s post-match demeanor was measured, a quiet acknowledgment of the defeat that spoke volumes about his resilience. At his age, every tournament is a bonus round, every leg a story etched in history. Their rivalry, though, isn’t new—clashes dating back to the early 2000s have always carried an undercurrent of respect laced with edge. This snub? Likely a fleeting blip in a career-spanning saga, amplified by the tournament’s high stakes.
As Anderson advances to face Joe Cullen in the last 16—a rematch of sorts after Cullen’s straight-sets demolition of James Wade—the World Grand Prix rolls on, a microcosm of darts’ evolution. Once a niche pub game, it’s now a global spectacle, with PDC events drawing TV audiences north of 2 million and prize pots swelling to eye-watering heights. Stars like Luke Humphries, who opened his title defense with a clinical 2-0 whitewash of Nathan Aspinall, and emerging threats like Rob Cross embody the sport’s depth. Yet, it’s veterans like Anderson and Van Barneveld who infuse it with soul—their battles reminding us that darts is as much about heart as it is about aim.
For fans, the handshake—or lack thereof—adds spice to the stew, fueling podcasts and pub debates. Was it disrespect, or just the heat of the moment? Anderson’s words suggest the latter: a shrug at the small stuff in a game defined by the big throws. As the tournament heats up through October 12, with £120,000 on the line for the winner, one thing’s clear: In darts’ unforgiving world, grudges are as fleeting as a missed double. Anderson’s already eyeing his next target, fishing rod jokes and all. The oche calls, and the Flying Scotsman is airborne once more.
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