In the glittering chaos of professional darts, where precision meets bravado under the relentless glare of Alexandra Palace spotlights, the air is thick with anticipation. The PDC World Darts Championship, that annual crucible of triple-20s and nerve-shredding checkouts, kicks off this week, drawing the world’s sharpest throwers into a battle for glory and a cool £500,000 prize pot. At the heart of the frenzy stands Luke Littler, the 18-year-old phenom from Warrington whose meteoric rise has rewritten the sport’s script. Last year, he stormed to victory in a final that left seasoned champions grasping for answers, crushing his opponents with a blend of youthful audacity and uncanny accuracy. Now, as the defending champion and freshly minted world number one, Littler enters the fray as the overwhelming favorite, his path cleared by a string of triumphs including the Premier League title and the Grand Slam of Darts. Yet, even as fans chant “The Nuke” in adoration, a voice from the old guard echoes a sobering warning: the road to sustained dominance is paved not just with darts, but with the unyielding weight of life itself.
That voice belongs to Michael van Gerwen, the three-time world champion from the Netherlands whose green-shirted silhouette has loomed large over darts for over a decade. At 36, Van Gerwen is no stranger to the summit; his trophy cabinet boasts 155 PDC titles, including a record 89 Pro Tour events, cementing him as the second-most successful player in the sport’s history. But 2025 has been a year of reckoning for the Dutch powerhouse. Once the unchallenged “Green Machine,” Van Gerwen has navigated a storm of personal tempests that have tested his mettle far beyond the oche. A divorce from his wife of more than a decade, Daphne, shattered the stability he once took for granted, while his father’s ongoing battle with cancer has forced a profound reevaluation of priorities. “It has made me understand what’s most important in life,” Van Gerwen reflects, his words carrying the quiet gravity of hard-won wisdom. “It has to be family. Of course I love darts but I love my kids much more. Before, when I didn’t have kids, it was easier. Darts was always my number one. Then, when I had kids, darts was not my number one any more. You have to try to balance things a little better.”
These aren’t abstract musings—they’re battle scars etched into Van Gerwen’s game. The man who once dominated with ferocious consistency has endured a season of inconsistency, marked by early exits and a nagging sense of vulnerability. His form has dipped, a far cry from the invincible force that claimed world titles in 2014 and 2019. Heading into the championship as the third seed, Van Gerwen opens against Japan’s Mitsuhiko Tatsunami on Thursday, a matchup he views not as a formality but as a spark to reignite his fire. “No one has to tell me,” he declares with characteristic defiance. “I tell myself I’m going to win.” There’s a steely resolve in his tone, a refusal to fade quietly into the narrative of a “new era” ushered in by Littler and world number two Luke Humphries. Van Gerwen dismisses talk of a prolonged “Luke era” outright. “They’re great players, the Humphries, the Luke Littlers, things like that,” he concedes. “Dominating for years? No—I’m still here and I won’t allow that to happen.”
It’s against this backdrop that Van Gerwen turns his gaze to Littler, the prodigy who dismantled him 7-3 in last year’s final, a defeat that marked Van Gerwen’s third straight world championship final loss (following heartbreaks in 2020 and 2023). At 18, Littler embodies unbridled potential: a kid who turned pro just a year ago, lives comfortably with his mum, and has already amassed 10 major titles. His journey has been a fairy tale—plucked from obscurity at 16, he exploded onto the scene with a world championship run that captivated millions, blending cheeky trash-talk with checkouts that border on the supernatural. Social media erupts with his highlights, television ratings soar in his wake, and endorsements flow like a well-struck 180. “Social media is bigger than ever. The television coverage is good,” Van Gerwen acknowledges, crediting Littler’s savvy navigation of the spotlight. “So [Littler] does really well for himself and can play himself into financial independence in the next few years. He also did well for darts so far.”
But here’s the rub, the dart that Van Gerwen hurls with surgical precision: ease is fleeting. “He lives with his mum and everything is easy for him. He doesn’t have a family, he has no responsibilities, everything’s fine,” the Dutchman observes wryly, his words laced with the empathy of experience rather than outright malice. “But when you start to face real life then things are changing. You have to deal with new things in life then. It’s not going to be smooth for the rest of his life. I want to see when he has kids, how he’s going to deal with that.” It’s a brutal yet paternal caution, underscoring how the oche’s demands amplify life’s curveballs. Van Gerwen knows this intimately—parenthood shifted his center of gravity, divorce tested his resilience, and illness in the family reminded him that no 180 can outrun mortality. For Littler, whose carefree existence has fueled his ascent, the message is clear: maturity isn’t just about averaging higher; it’s about throwing true when the board blurs with worry.
Littler, ever the unflappable showman, brushes off the subtext with his trademark swagger. Facing Lithuania’s Darius Labanauskas in his title defense opener on Thursday, he issued a four-word gauntlet to the field: “You can’t rattle me.” It’s the bravado of youth, the kind that turns pressure into propellant. Yet as the tournament unfolds— a grueling best-of-11 format in the early rounds escalating to best-of-13 in the semis— the ghosts of past defenses loom large. No player has retained the title since Gary Anderson in 2016, a decade of dreamers who faltered under the crown’s weight. Humphries, Littler’s elder by a mere two years but battle-hardened by his own 2024 victory, lurks as a prime threat, hungry to reclaim the throne he briefly held.
Darts, that peculiar alchemy of mathematics and machismo, thrives on these rivalries. Van Gerwen’s words aren’t a vendetta; they’re a bridge between eras, a nod to the shared solitude of the throwing line. The sport itself is booming—ticket sales at Ally Pally shatter records, global audiences swell, and a new generation discovers the thrill of a nine-darter. Littler’s arrival has supercharged it all, making darts cooler, more accessible, a spectator sport that rivals football in its fever pitch. But as Van Gerwen reminds us, true legends aren’t forged in isolation. They emerge tempered by the full spectrum of existence, where family tugs at focus, setbacks sharpen aim, and victory tastes sweetest against adversity.
As the first arrows fly this week, watch for the sparks. Will Littler’s youth prove bulletproof, or will Van Gerwen’s hard-earned grit carve a path back to the top? In a championship where underdogs become icons overnight, one thing’s certain: the oche levels all, demanding not just skill, but soul. And in that demand lies the real game.
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