Beat Luke Littler: Since When Did Fallon Sherrock Become an Amateur?

I'll start by saying this: I quite like Luke Littler.

The lad has done wonders for darts. He's brought in a whole new audience, made the sport ridiculously popular and somehow turned throwing pointy bits of metal at a wall into must-watch television.

So when Netflix announced Beat Luke Littler, I thought, brilliant!

Twenty ordinary people. One world champion. A whopping £501,000 up for grabs.

Imagine Dave from the Dog & Duck, who spends his Friday evenings playing darts between pints, getting his chance to beat the best player on the planet.

And then potentially walking away with half a million quid.

That's proper television.

Except apparently Netflix's idea of Dave from the Dog & Duck is Fallon bloody Sherrock.

Hang on, Fallon Sherrock? The Fallon Sherrock?

Yes. THAT Fallon Sherrock.

The woman who made history at Alexandra Palace in 2019 by becoming the first woman to win a match at the PDC World Championship.

The former Women's World Matchplay champion.

The Queen of the Palace.

A player who's competed against some of the biggest names in professional darts.

And apparently, for the purposes of this programme, an amateur.

Sorry, what?

Now, don't get me wrong. Fallon is a fantastic darts player, and beating Luke Littler in any circumstances is an achievement.

But that's sort of my point.

She's already a fantastic darts player. We know this.

This isn't Brenda from accounts who once hit a 180 at the Christmas party and hasn't stopped talking about it since.

This is someone who's played darts on television in front of thousands of people.

Ah, but she hasn't got a Tour Card!

Apparently, the main qualification was that you couldn't hold a PDC Tour Card.

Fair enough. Those are the rules.

But surely there's a difference between somebody who doesn't currently hold a Tour Card and somebody who's genuinely an amateur?

Because by that logic, if Michael van Gerwen lost his Tour Card tomorrow, could we stick him in the queue alongside Steve, the local plasterer who averages 43 and occasionally hits the wrong double?

Technically eligible?

Maybe.

In the spirit of the programme?

Absolutely not.

It's like advertising a competition where ordinary football fans get to take a penalty against a Premier League goalkeeper.

You get 19 people from the local Sunday league, and then Wayne Rooney turns up in a tracksuit because he's technically retired.

"Don't worry lads, Wayne's an amateur now."

Oh, brilliant. That's fair then.

£501,000 could have changed somebody's life

This is the bit that bothers me most.

Half a million pounds.

Not £500. Not a year's supply of darts flights. Not a speedboat from Bullseye that nobody living in a second-floor flat knows what to do with.

£501,000.

Imagine a warehouse worker, a bus driver, a teacher or someone working behind the bar at their local pub stepping up to the oche.

They've probably spent the last fortnight practising in the garage, annoying the neighbours and convincing themselves they might just have a chance.

They walk out in front of thousands of people, somehow keep their nerve, hit double top and beat Luke Littler.

Their mortgage could be paid off.

Their family could have financial security.

They've just beaten the world champion at something they've only ever dreamed of doing.

Now THAT is a story.

That's the sort of thing you'd still be talking about in 20 years.

Instead, we're debating whether one of the most recognisable players in women's darts should really have been in the competition in the first place.

And that rather takes the shine off it.

Why not just get 20 complete unknowns?

Seriously, Netflix. How hard would that have been?

Twenty people from pubs, social clubs and amateur leagues across Britain.

Give us their backstories.

Give us the bloke from Yorkshire whose mates have been winding him up for weeks.

Give us the woman who's been playing darts in her local league for 15 years and has never appeared on television.

Give us someone who turns up wearing a borrowed darts shirt because they've never needed a proper one.

Most of them would probably get absolutely battered by Littler.

But that's the whole bloody point!

The entertainment is watching somebody attempt the impossible.

And if one of them actually pulls it off?

Television gold.

Or here's another idea: Celebrities!

If Netflix was worried that ordinary pub players wouldn't bring in enough viewers, why not do a celebrity edition?

Twenty celebrities and influencers. One Luke Littler.

Imagine Peter Crouch walking out like he's about to take a Champions League penalty.

Paddy McGuinness spending five minutes winding Littler up before throwing his first dart into the number 3.

Or some influencer who's been practising for two weeks suddenly discovering that throwing darts in front of an audience is slightly different from doing it in their bedroom.

Let the celebrities compete for charity.

The banter would be brilliant, Littler could have some fun, and nobody would be pretending that an established international-level darts player is just somebody who's wandered in from the local boozer.

You could even have two separate programmes.

Beat Luke Littler: The Pub Players — twenty genuine unknowns battling for £501,000.

Beat Luke Littler: Celebrity Special — twenty famous faces trying not to embarrass themselves, with the prize going to charity.

There you go, Netflix. Two programmes instead of one.

You're welcome.

This isn't a dig at Fallon Sherrock

Before anyone gets carried away, this isn't about Fallon personally.

If somebody offered me a chance to win £501,000 by playing one leg of darts, I'd be there faster than you could say "one hundred and eighty".

She was eligible under the rules, and nobody can blame her for taking the opportunity.

And let's be clear: beating Luke Littler is no small achievement, even for an experienced player.

But you can respect Fallon Sherrock while still questioning why Netflix put established darts stars in a programme promoted around everyday players.

Those two opinions aren't mutually exclusive.

And to be fair to Netflix, I can see why they might have done it.

Put a few recognised darts players in the line-up and the chances of somebody actually beating Littler go up. A live show where the world champion wins twenty legs on the bounce isn't much of a show.

But if that was the plan, say so.

Don't sell it as the bloke from the Dog & Duck's big moment and then hand the oche to somebody who's already played at Ally Pally.

So did Netflix miss the double?

For me, yes.

Beat Luke Littler is a fantastic concept.

One leg of 501. The best player in the world. An enormous cash prize.

Simple, exciting and potentially life-changing.

But the magic wasn't supposed to be watching somebody who's already made headlines in professional darts.

It was supposed to be watching someone who'd never dreamt of sharing a stage with Luke Littler.

Someone who'd normally be watching from the sofa with a takeaway and a beer.

Someone who could go back to work on Monday as the person who'd just beaten the world champion and won half a million pounds.

Fallon Sherrock beating Luke Littler was an impressive darts result.

Dave from the Dog & Duck beating Luke Littler would have been a moment of television history.

And that's the difference.

Come on, Netflix.

Next time, give the ordinary punters a proper chance.

And if Michael van Gerwen ever loses his Tour Card, please don't try convincing us he's just an enthusiastic bloke from down the pub.

Anyway, rant over. I'm off to find my darts. If Netflix wants somebody who can hit 26 with three darts, I'm available.

More sporting opinions, questionable jokes and general nonsense at Callery.co.uk.