Luke Littler, the 18-year-old darts phenom who turned the sport upside-down with a world-title explosion at 17, has just nailed another bullseye—this time on four wheels. The Warrington wonder passed his practical driving test on the very first attempt with a perfect zero driving faults, a clinical display that would make even his sharpest 180s look sloppy. After a bruising six-theory-test losing streak that became the stuff of locker-room legend, the teenager known as “The Nuke” can finally trade the passenger seat for the driver’s throne and cruise toward his £30,000 dream Mercedes A-Class. It’s the kind of everyday triumph that feels monumental when your day job is dismantling world champions in front of 10,000 screaming fans.
The theory saga started as a quiet subplot in Littler’s otherwise meteoric 2025. While he was busy hoovering up ranking titles, defending his Grand Slam crown with a 16-3 demolition of Martin Lukeman, and banking north of £1.5 million in prize money, the Highway Code refused to yield. Six times he stared down the computer screen, six times the fail screen blinked back. “I did do a theory the other week but I didn’t put it on my Instagram,” he admitted in September, voice laced with the same sheepish grin he flashes after a rogue bounce-out. “Oh, it was a bad one—I’ll let you know that.” Each red mark stung more than a missed double in a decider, not because the questions were rocket science, but because they clashed with a calendar that already had him jetting from Bahrain to Barnsley and back.
Attempt number seven was the charm. Littler scraped across the line with 43 out of 50 on the multiple-choice—one solitary mark above the pass threshold—and a far more comfortable 63 out of 75 on hazard perception. He celebrated like he’d just fired a nine-darter: results letter posted to Instagram, captioned with a gleeful “We will have a look, of course we will have a look!” and a blizzard of dancing emojis. The monkey was off his back; the practical test beckoned.
Fast-forward to a crisp autumn morning in Warrington. Littler slid into the learner car with his instructor from Colin Price Driving School, adjusted the mirrors, and delivered a masterclass in composure. Roundabouts negotiated with textbook precision, speed limits observed to the letter, maneuvers executed without a tremor—zero faults, first time out. The instructor broke the news online: “Congratulations to Luke Littler on passing his driving test today at Warrington on his first attempt with ZERO driving faults. Absolutely amazing achievement, well done—now enjoy that car!” Littler’s reply was pure adrenaline: “Get innnn,” the same two-word eruption that ricochets around arenas when the treble 20 lights up.
The victory lap starts with a Mercedes A-Class, a car Littler has name-checked since the confetti was still falling at Alexandra Palace. Fresh from his £500,000 world-title payday in January, he told reporters, eyes sparkling like a kid in a showroom: “I’ve always loved a Mercedes A-Class—just a small car. Last year I was looking at driving and I loved Ford Focuses. But now I’ve gone up in the world a little. What model? No idea—just an A-Class. I don’t know the different models.” At around £30,000, it’s modest luxury by Premier League standards but a quantum leap from the push-bike days of his early teens. He even joked about the timeline: “I’m going to have to do my lessons before I get into my twenties when it’ll be too late and I can’t be bothered. It won’t be a birthday present. I think it would be a birthday present from me to me.”
Impatient as ever, Littler didn’t wait for the license to start spending. Months ago he parked a mystery car in the garage—a placeholder he teased in interviews: “I’ve got a car—and it’s not a Mercedes—but it’s sat there waiting.” The delay only sharpened the hunger. Just days before the test, he endured a nightmare on the M6 when a fatal crash turned the motorway into a car park and left him sprinting late to a Players Championship in Wigan. He missed registration by minutes and vented online: “Not the best day today but played some decent stuff, but really glad to hear from a few of the other players that people have been let in almost half an hour late for a pro tour but I can’t be two minutes late. Says a lot, one rule for one and one for another.” From now on, he sets the schedule.
The timing is poetic. This weekend he rolls into Wolverhampton for the Grand Slam group stage—perhaps behind the wheel himself—before December’s return to Alexandra Palace to defend the Sid Waddell Trophy under fairy lights and fancy dress. Most 18-year-olds are cramming for exams or flipping burgers; Littler is juggling multimillion-pound tournaments, global travel, and the simple thrill of turning a key in his own ignition.
Off the baize, these grounded milestones keep him tethered to the kid from a quiet Cheshire town who once dreamed of Ford Focuses before upgrading his horizons. The same reflexes that spot a rogue car at 50 yards on a hazard-perception clip are the ones that thread arrows through treble beds at 100 miles per hour. As he eases onto the open road—maybe in that garage sleeper, maybe soon in Mercedes gloss—the horizon stretches wide. Zero faults on the test, infinite possibilities ahead. The Nuke is mobile, and the best is yet to come.
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