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Luke Littler: How the 17-year-old achieved sporting greatness and put himself on a path alongside Pele and Serena Williams

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Luke Littler: How the 17-year-old achieved sporting greatness and put himself on a path alongside Pele and Serena Williams

At the end of the second set of the final of the World Darts Championship, the biggest game in one of the biggest indoor sports in the world, Luke Littler calmly strolled off stage, gave his family a wry, knowing smile and rubbed his hands together like he had the prescient foresight of the beating he was about to dish out.

The man, no, the boy that 3,000 people had crammed inside London’s Alexandra Palace to see produce history, plus millions more watching at home and in pubs around the UK and the world, was doing it not just with dispassionate ease, or with flamboyant style, but with disdainful relish.

Darts finals have been won more handsomely — the sport’s all-time great Phil Taylor dished out three 7-0 whitewashes in his heyday — but not like this. Never like this.

Luke Littler is 17. He has facial hair that men many years his senior yearn to grow and in a sport that has its history rooted in pubs, Littler is not yet able to drink alcohol in one.

And yet he already carries the bravado and stage persona of someone ready to lead the sport down roads it has never visited before, which is exactly what he is already doing.

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Like Pele and Serena Williams, Littler has won one of sport’s biggest prizes while still a teenager (Ben Stansall/AFP via Getty Images)

Littler has already helped push darts further towards the mainstream in the UK, with viewing figures on Sky Sports, a subscription service, up almost 200 per cent for some tournaments in 2024, following record numbers of 4.8 million for last year’s final (the most watched non-football event in the broadcaster’s history), which a then-16-year-old Littler lost to Luke Humphries.

Now, by becoming world champion, he has earned the right to enter the pantheon of youthful sporting legends. Sure, Pele was good with a football at 17, but could he throw three treble-20s at a red, green and black board from almost two-and-a-half metres away?

Serena Williams won the US Open at 17, Ian Thorpe was the same age when he won Olympic gold in the pool, Sachin Tendulkar was 16 when he made his India debut and snooker magician Ronnie O’Sullivan was 17 when he won the UK Championship. What sets Littler apart in his particular field is that he has become the greatest current player in the world in the entire sport before he has become an adult.

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How darts, a traditional ‘pub game’, became must-watch sport for Britons

Why is he so good? Is it natural talent? Well, he’s been playing darts since his dad bought him a magnetic dart board from the pound shop when he was 18 months old. He’s not old enough to vote, but he’s basically been practising for this moment almost his entire, short life.

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And it’s not all youthful exuberance and freshness, either. Littler had mental scars from losing last year’s final despite being 4-2 up (he watched it back just hours before Friday’s match to recap what went wrong), but he was relentless and merciless in his pursuit of victory here in north London, bulldozing into a 4-0 lead against one of the greatest players to ever chuck an arrow, three-time champion Michael van Gerwen.

The youngster later said he felt nervous after taking that early lead, but his actions in obliterating one of the best players in the world suggested the exact opposite.

He unyieldingly hammered the treble bed like he was using a dart-sized jackhammer, ploughing perfect tiny holes in the helpless board as he sculpted his journey to greatness.

With the throwing hands of a sporting artist, Littler smiled and waved to the crowd, talking to them and himself throughout, in complete control of his own destiny.


Littler surpassed Van Gerwen’s record as the youngest darts world champion in history (James Fearn/Getty Images)

He didn’t just try to win, he tried to produce darts from the Gods while he was at it. He kept leaving himself on 170, darts’ biggest outshot to win a leg, which happened too frequently to not be deliberate. Darts players normally look pained when they miss a nine-darter (i.e. darting perfection of winning a leg with the smallest possible number of throws), but Littler just gave a nonchalant shrug when he missed the seventh dart like he knew he would get another chance.

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A powerless Van Gerwen, the winner of 157 PDC (Professional Darts Corporation) titles, could only scowl and grimace like Dick Dastardly in a lime green shirt.

The Dutchman was once the youngest world champion, aged 24. The symbolism of a weighty dart-shaped baton being passed to the next generation here was irresistible.

Van Gerwen rallied, as champions do, clinging to Littler’s coattails as they swapped the next six sets, but it was never going to be enough in front of a deliriously partisan crowd, drunk on booze and throwing. He may give off the appearance of a combination of Bond villains, part Blofeld with his shiny bald head, part Jaws with a grille across his chops, but he could only play the bad guy for so long against a tidal wave of trebles and tons.

Littler was just too good. Whenever Van Gerwen came up for air, the teenager pushed him back underwater with one hand and hit double 10 with the other.

“Wow… wow,” Littler said to himself as he welled up having just hit double 16 to win 7-3, confirm the title and become £500,000 ($621,056 at current conversion rates) richer. He muttered “I can’t believe it” three times in his immediate post-match interview.

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“At 2-0 up, I started getting nervous, but I said to myself, ‘Just relax’.

“That first game against Ryan Meikle, it’s the game that really mattered.”


Littler cried on stage after that second-round victory over Meikle before Christmas. He broke down, couldn’t finish an interview, left the stage and went to give his mum a hug.

On the train journey down to London earlier that day, he couldn’t wait for the match to start, but when he threw his first dart he basically, paraphrasing his own words, bottled it.

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” he later said after composing himself. “It was a weird feeling… it’s the biggest stage out there. It was probably the toughest game I’ve played.”

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To prove his otherworldly nature, he had somehow produced the greatest set of darts ever seen in the history of the world championships at the end of that “toughest” match, averaging more than 140, but yes, he had started it like a glorified pub player by his own incredibly high standards.

“I’m thinking to myself; ‘What are you doing? Just relax’,” Littler said.


Littler during his walk out for the final against Michael van Gerwen at Alexandra Palace (James Fearn/Getty Images)

It’s no wonder, what with the enormous pressure on his young shoulders at being the favourite to lift the title aged just 17, a normal kid from Runcorn, a small town near Liverpool in the north-west of England, who eats kebabs and likes football.

Thereafter, throughout almost the whole tournament, he was imperious, reflecting the form that saw him rise from 164th to fourth in the world rankings last year.

Despite the unimaginable increase in money, fame, popularity and exposure, the 1.5 million Instagram followers, the endless television appearances and mixing it with Max Verstappen or his heroes at Manchester United, he stayed focused, winning 10 PDC titles, the Premier League, Grand Slam and World Series finals, plus hitting four perfect nine-darters along the way and earning more than £1million ($1.2m) in prize money.

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He was the most searched athlete of the year on Google and the runner-up in the BBC Sports Personality of the Year award.

“Littler has captivated people because he’s relatable,” Sky Sports darts presenter Emma Paton told The Athletic earlier in the tournament. “He’s taken the sport to different places… Darts has never had this exposure before. It’s not even because of what he’s done in the sport, which has been ridiculous by the way, but it’s the impact he’s had on it.

“Compared to a lot of other sportspeople, darts players are refreshingly honest and are basically just being themselves and Luke is no different. He’s just a kid at the end of the day.

“People have asked me, ‘What’s it like speaking to Luke Littler? It doesn’t seem like he has loads to say’. I’m like, ‘He’s just very chilled out, he doesn’t really care that much, he’s just a 17-year-old kid’.”

Darts obsessive Littler plays exactly like that, like a kid having fun on the stage, ticking off his own personal bucket list of darting dreams.

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He has an uncanny ability to detach himself completely from the enormity of the event, chat to the crowd, ignore his opponent and just play his own game, the old sporting cliche.

He relishes showing off the skills he’s honed over years of practice, expanding on the possibilities and limits that we thought the sport previously had. He tries irregular setup shots, he hits double-doubles or two bullseyes. He essentially takes the practice board to the world stage.

And then, when he needs to, a steely glint of determination emanates from his eyes and an unforgiving rhythm of 180s ensues. He can turn it on like few in the sport ever have before.


An emotional Littler reacts after winning the PDC World Championship (Ben Stansall/AFP via Getty Images)

“I sometimes say, every 17 years a star gets born,” a humbled Van Gerwen said. “He’s one of them… Every chance he got, every moment he had to hurt me, he did it.”

World champion, famous, a millionaire. What on earth next, other than impending adulthood?

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“I just want to add to it, maybe get a few more,” Littler said. “If I want the 16 (Taylor’s record of world titles), then I’m sure I could possibly achieve it.

“I’ve been doing this since 18 months old on a magnetic board wearing a nappy.

“When I’d say to my mates I’ve got a darts competition, they’d be like, ‘Darts?!’ ‘Yeah, darts, have you not seen it?’”

They’re all seeing it now, thanks to an unassuming 17-year-old lad who can throw arrows like few ever have before.

(Top photo: Ben Stansall/AFP via Getty Images)

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Culture

I Think This Poem Is Kind of Into You

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I Think This Poem Is Kind of Into You

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A famous poet once observed that it is difficult to get the news from poems. The weather is a different story. April showers, summer sunshine and — maybe especially — the chill of winter provide an endless supply of moods and metaphors. Poets like to practice a double meteorology, looking out at the water and up at the sky for evidence of interior conditions of feeling.

The inner and outer forecasts don’t always match up. This short poem by Louise Glück starts out cold and stays that way for most of its 11 lines.

And then it bursts into flame.

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“Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” comes from Glück’s debut collection, “Firstborn,” which was published in 1968. She wrote the poems in it between the ages of 18 and 23, but they bear many of the hallmarks of her mature style, including an approach to personal matters — sex, love, illness, family life — that is at once uncompromising and elusive. She doesn’t flinch. She also doesn’t explain.

Here, for example, Glück assembles fragments of experience that imply — but also obscure — a larger narrative. It’s almost as if a short story, or even a novel, had been smashed like a glass Christmas ornament, leaving the reader to infer the sphere from the shards.

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We know there was a couple with a flat tire, and that a year later at least one of them still has feelings for the other. It’s hard not to wonder if they’re still together, or where they were going with those Christmas presents.

To some extent, those questions can be addressed with the help of biographical clues. The version of “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” that appeared in The Atlantic in 1967 was dedicated to Charles Hertz, a Columbia University graduate student who was Glück’s first husband. They divorced a few years later. Glück, who died in 2023, was never shy about putting her life into her work.

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Louise Glück in 1975.

Gerard Malanga

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But the poem we are reading now is not just the record of a passion that has long since cooled. More than 50 years after “Firstborn,” on the occasion of receiving the Nobel Prize for literature, Glück celebrated the “intimate, seductive, often furtive or clandestine” relations between poets and their readers. Recalling her childhood discovery of William Blake and Emily Dickinson, she declared her lifelong ardor for “poems to which the listener or reader makes an essential contribution, as recipient of a confidence or an outcry, sometimes as co-conspirator.”

That’s the kind of poem she wrote.

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“Confidence” can have two meanings, both of which apply to “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson.” Reading it, you are privy to a secret, something meant for your ears only. You are also in the presence of an assertive, self-possessed voice.

Where there is power, there’s also risk. To give voice to desire — to whisper or cry “I want you” — is to issue a challenge and admit vulnerability. It’s a declaration of conquest and a promise of surrender.

What happens next? That’s up to you.

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Can You Identify Where the Winter Scenes in These Novels Took Place?

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Can You Identify Where the Winter Scenes in These Novels Took Place?

Cold weather can serve as a plot point or emphasize the mood of a scene, and this week’s literary geography quiz highlights the locations of recent novels that work winter conditions right into the story. Even if you aren’t familiar with the book, the questions offer an additional hint about the setting. To play, just make your selection in the multiple-choice list and the correct answer will be revealed. At the end of the quiz, you’ll find links to the books if you’d like to do further reading.

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From NYT’s 10 Best Books of 2025: A.O. Scott on Kiran Desai’s New Novel

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From NYT’s 10 Best Books of 2025: A.O. Scott on Kiran Desai’s New Novel

Inge Morath/Magnum Photos

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When a writer is praised for having a sense of place, it usually means one specific place — a postage stamp of familiar ground rendered in loving, knowing detail. But Kiran Desai, in her latest novel, “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny,” has a sense of places.

This 670-page book, about the star-crossed lovers of the title and several dozen of their friends, relatives, exes and servants (there’s a chart in the front to help you keep track), does anything but stay put. If “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” were an old-fashioned steamer trunk, it would be papered with shipping labels: from Allahabad (now known as Prayagraj), Goa and Delhi; from Queens, Kansas and Vermont; from Mexico City and, perhaps most delightfully, from Venice.

There, in Marco Polo’s hometown, the titular travelers alight for two chapters, enduring one of several crises in their passionate, complicated, on-again, off-again relationship. One of Venice’s nicknames is La Serenissima — “the most serene” — but in Desai’s hands it’s the opposite: a gloriously hectic backdrop for Sonia and Sunny’s romantic confusion.

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Their first impressions fill a nearly page-long paragraph. Here’s how it begins.

Sonia is a (struggling) fiction writer. Sunny is a (struggling) journalist. It’s notable that, of the two of them, it is she who is better able to perceive the immediate reality of things, while he tends to read facts through screens of theory and ideology, finding sociological meaning in everyday occurrences. He isn’t exactly wrong, and Desai is hardly oblivious to the larger narratives that shape the fates of Sunny, Sonia and their families — including the economic and political changes affecting young Indians of their generation.

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But “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” is about more than that. It’s a defense of the very idea of more, and thus a rebuke to the austerity that defines so much recent literary fiction. Many of Desai’s peers favor careful, restricted third-person narration, or else a measured, low-affect “I.” The bookstores are full of skinny novels about the emotional and psychological thinness of contemporary life. This book is an antidote: thick, sloppy, fleshy, all over the place.

It also takes exception to the postmodern dogma that we only know reality through representations of it, through pre-existing concepts of the kind to which intellectuals like Sunny are attached. The point of fiction is to assert that the world is true, and to remind us that it is vast, strange and astonishing.

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See the full list of the 10 Best Books of 2025 here.

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