Darts’ pettiest rivalries: floorboards, handshakes and the price of glory

Darts has long thrived on rivalries that mix skill, psychology and spectacle, turning what might seem a quiet game into a gladiatorial procession of mind games and grudges. A recent spotlight on darts’ pettiest and most entertaining beefs pulls back the curtain on a circuit where proximity at the oche, hot crowds and high-stakes trophies fuse to produce flashpoints that outlive a single match. The stories range from mentor-mentee tensions to bitter showdowns on the sport’s biggest stages, and they reveal a sport where the line between respect and rivalry can blur in an instant.

One of the sport’s most talked-about dynamics centers on the relationship between Phil Taylor, the long-reigning powerhouse and 16-time world champion, and Adrian Lewis, the Stoke-raised talent branded by some as Taylor’s protégé. Lewis joined the world’s elite and began challenging the man who had mentored him for years. Lewis captured his first World Championship in 2011, with Taylor publicly backing him as he celebrated the achievement. Yet Lewis would later push back on the label, saying, “It’s time to stop calling me Phil’s protégé – all I’ve ever done is to practise with him, but I used to practise with my dad and nobody calls me his apprentice.” The intensity of the split was underscored by Taylor’s later reflections that what Lewis characterized as respect bordered on dismissiveness: he recalled feeling “so let down” and even telling Lewis to “keep away from me” for a period.

The tension between mentor and protégé framed a broader arc in darts: when rivals grow together on the circuit, the lines between mentorship and competition become blurred, and the pressure of competing for the same big prizes can strain even the closest relationships. The two played each other 72 times, with Taylor prevailing more often, but the dynamics between them helped propel Lewis to the upper echelons of the sport while keeping Taylor relevant as a barometer of excellence. The chapter also serves as a reminder that the sport’s most storied figures can be both coaches and adversaries, inviting a complex mix of affection, admiration and rivalry that persists long after the last dart has fallen.

The most famous chapter in this turbulent anthology pits two darts titans against each other: Phil Taylor and Raymond van Barneveld. Barney’s decision to walk on stage with a Dutch flag during the World Championship final in Alexandra Palace immediately drew criticism from Taylor and fans, who saw it as a calculated turn against the English establishment. Taylor would go on to win his 14th world title that night, but he later reflected that turning the final into England v Holland had been a costly misstep for Barney, remarking that the gesture “was his biggest mistake.” The rivalry between Taylor and van Barneveld crystallized a broader narrative in the sport: high-level competition fused with cultural rivalries that could color the atmosphere of even a championship final.

The public memory of that era also centers on a dramatic moment from the 2012 World Championship semifinal between Taylor and van Barneveld. After Taylor won a grueling 6-4 contest, the handshake became a focal point. Taylor described how van Barneveld wouldn’t let go and seemed to pull him into a near-headlock, prompting Taylor to mutter a profanity-laden response that was captured by cameras. He later said he deeply regretted his behavior and offered an apology to van Barneveld. The incident encapsulated a lasting image of darts’ capacity for personal friction to spill into the public domain, even as both players maintained there was mutual respect off the stage.

The sport’s history is chiseled with other memorable rivalries that combined competitiveness with theatricality. The Crafty Cockney versus Old Stoneface, a defining clash of the 1980s, pitted Eric Bristow’s flamboyant, quick-fire style against John Lowe’s calm, methodical approach. Bristow, renowned for his gamesmanship at the oche, contrasted with Lowe’s composure as the era’s dominant forces collided. Lowe’s 1984 televised nine-darter became a historic milestone, accompanied by a record prize that paid out £102,000 at the time — a sum that inflation later marked at roughly £420,000 in today’s money.

Before the world watched, there was agreement to share prize money between Bristow and Lowe that was later rescinded just before Lowe’s famous nine-darter. Lowe recalled the moment vividly: Bristow told him they could not share prize money any longer, and Lowe responded to the betrayal with a straightforward acknowledgment that “we shook hands and that was it.” The fallout underscored how the business side of darts can complicate personal relationships, even among two of the era’s most storied players. The Bristow-Lowe rivalry became a parable in balance: the sport’s most dazzling moments could sit alongside deeply personal disputes about money, recognition and pride.

The 2000s and 2010s also gave rise to a modern Welsh-Scolish feud, as Gerwyn Price and Gary Anderson traded barbs over celebrations and perceived attempts to derail one another during matches. The 2018 Grand Slam of Darts final framed their clash, with Price rallying from behind to win 16-13 and claim his first major PDC title. The intensity spilled over as Anderson’s ire grew at Price’s celebrations and seemingly deliberate pacing, culminating in a fine of £12,000 for Price and a suspended ban. The tension carried into later years, as a broader sense of mutual distrust and competitive edge colored their matchups and the optics of the sport’s showpiece events. Anderson’s hostility toward Price in those moments reinforced the reality that football-like fervor can accompany darts’ precision and strategy, elevating the stakes beyond three-dart averages and checkout percentages.

Darts’ rivalries have not been limited to the era of big televised events. Adrian Lewis’s long-running friction with Peter Manley in 2006 became a touchstone for the sport’s more chaotic moments: Manley was accused of muttering behind Lewis and attempting to throw him off, to which Lewis responded by storming off the stage. Sid Waddell, the longtime darts commentator, characterized Lewis’s actions at the time as cheating, a label the sport’s culture would debate for years. Lewis would later recover and reach the upper tiers of the sport, but the Manley episode underscored how even a moment of perceived dishonesty could become a lasting symbol of contentious play.

The clashes continued into the next decade, with Lewis involved in further disputes that highlighted how floorboards and stage cues could become focal points in a player’s strategic play. A well-documented confrontation with James Wade centered on a creaky piece of flooring that Lewis claimed disrupted his rhythm; Wade, in turn, was accused of using the moment to unsettle his opponent. Lewis freely admitted that the confrontation, like many others, reflected his own willingness to speak his mind and challenge what he perceived as unfair tactics. He explained that “trouble does seem to follow me around,” insisting that his behavior sprang from a genuine, outspoken nature rather than simple theatrics.

The most recent chapters in this drama saw Lewis again at the center of a floorboard controversy during a match with Peter Wright in 2021. Lewis alleged that Wright’s pointing out the loose floorboard was an attempt to take him out of rhythm, a tactic Lewis decried as unsportsmanlike and a breach of fair play. He argued that Wright’s approach was designed to disrupt his focus, and he did not hesitate to respond with sharp terms that included the accusation that his opponent was attempting to cheat. The exchange underscored a broader narrative about how modern darts balances the pressure of elite competition with the micro-dramas that unfold at the foot of the stage.

Across these episodes, one theme recurs: trouble tends to shadow the sport’s brightest stars, even as the public rewards them with adulation and high prize money. Lewis, in particular, has been at the center of several combustible moments, a reminder that personality and passion can be as defining as technique in the world of darts. He has argued that his openness and willingness to voice his thoughts come from a fundamentally honest approach to the game, even if that honesty occasionally lands him in the crosshairs of teammates and rivals alike. In his own words, he is a “genuine person who wears my heart on my sleeve,” a self-description that captures why these feuds resonate with fans: they are human stories of pride, pressure and the relentless pursuit of excellence.

As the sport continues to evolve, the line between rival and ally remains blurry for many of the game’s biggest names. Taylor’s retirement this May serves as a natural pivot point in a narrative that has always been as much about relationships as it is about numbers. The rivalries highlighted here — from mentoring tensions to onstage spats and floorboard tricks — have helped craft darts into more than a game of darts: they have cemented its status as a dramatic, high-stakes entertainment that enthralls fans as much for its personalities as for its treble-20s. In that sense, darts’ fiercest feuds are as much a part of the sport’s fabric as the perfect 180 or the arching arc of a winning comeback.

In the end, the pettiest and most entertaining rivalries are those that reveal the emotional core of professional darts: competitive instinct fused with personal history, shaped by the intimate theatre of a crowded venue and the long, sometimes acrimonious, road to the sport’s highest honors. The stories endure because they are human, and because the game endures: treble after treble, rivalry after rivalry, until the next big moment redefines what it means to be the best in darts.