The 2026 PDC Pro Tour campaign commenced with Adam reigning supreme as the most aggressively overpopulated name in professional darts. At one stage, there were four of them lumbering around the tungsten ecosystem simultaneously – Gawlas, Lipscombe, Paxton and Warner all proudly waving the Adam banner like a mildly confusing medieval clan nobody particularly asked for.
And before anyone informs me that I’ve missed out Adam Leek – I know! I have a thing against certain fruits or vegetables, leeks being one of them. Whilst this is not in anyway a dig at the Aussie – I decided long that if there was a Tommy Tomato -he wouldn’t have counted either. Bizarre I know, but thems the rules.
However, thanks to the tidal wave of Challenge Tour call-ups caused by withdrawals, mystery illnesses or players believing no matter how shit you are at a time, an aeroplane will hang around and wait for you, there is now a new nomenclatural apex predator stalking the floor events: Tom.
Yes, Tom. This year, thanks to those parachuted in from the secondary circuit, that name has now reached a full five representatives on the 2026 Pro Tour circuit and nudging ahead of the Adam’s family. And before eagle-eyed readers will look puzzled with the sort of fury normally reserved for parking disputes, yes, Tommy and Thomas are absolutely being dragged into the same category. Linguistically speaking, they are all acceptable variations.
Among the Tour Card aristocracy alone, you already had Tom Bissell, Thomas Lovely and Tom Sykes – which sounds less like a list of professional darts players and more like three men who own a roofing company in Yorkshire who exclusively drink John Smith’s Bitter. Then, courtesy of the commendable exploits of Messrs Morris and Lishman on the Challenge Tour, the full Tom pentagon has now been completed.
Five of them. An entire boyband of Toms. You could sit them all down on stools dressed like knobheads, mic in hand – then ask them to all stand simultaneously at the key change.
The Gospel names, meanwhile, are proving extraordinarily one-sided. If we refuse to indulge in theological gymnastics by allowing Matthias Ehlers to masquerade as Matthew, Maik Kuivenhoven to sneak in under Mark, or Jonny Clayton to suddenly become John like he’s entered a dreadfully covert witness protection, then Luke becomes the sole Evangelist name spelt correctly and therefore canonically admissible.
And although only Luke Humphries and Luke Woodhouse have actually appeared on Players Championship duty this season, Luke Littler obviously has to be included in the biblical arithmetic because modern darts media would somehow mention The Nuke even during a documentary about medieval plumbing. Consequently, the Gospel table currently stands at a comfortable 2-0 to the Lukes… and a very firm “absolutely not” to everybody else trying to sneak in through the side entrance.
The Steve contingent, however, are mounting a surprisingly resilient insurgency against the Tom dictatorship. Again embracing the acceptable use of Ste, Steven and Stephen – because otherwise the entire exercise collapses quicker Kier Starmer’s leadership hopes – they currently boast four representatives: Stephen Bunting, Stephen Burton, Steve Lennon and Steve Rosney. I’m not having any Stefan’s – even if they are the Swedish equivalent. Form your own Scandinavian name club.
It is genuinely heart-warming to see the Steve’s still battling on in modern darts like the last surviving mechanics at a collapsing Vauxhall dealership.
One more Steve emerging from the Challenge Tour wilderness and they draw level with the Toms. Frankly, if you grew up in Britain during the 1980s, this feels spiritually correct. Every street once contained six Steve’s, four Dave’s, a Gary who fixed your video recorder for cash, and at least one bloke called Paul who would offer to wash your car for a quid.
Yet modern darts is increasingly abandoning those gloriously old-fashioned British pub names. Scotland famously contributes a Gary and a Peter. England offers a modest pair of James’s in Wade and Hurrell, while Dave Chisnall remains the lone surviving Dave on the Pro Tour, carrying the entire nation’s supply of builder’s tea and white New Balance trainers on his shoulders like some exhausted tungsten Atlas. I did consider allowing in Jimmy’s but then though no. It’s not always the case they were born as a James – and in fact, they’ve made their Jimmy bed so can lie in it.
The only British Michael comes via Bully Boy Smith himself. Beyond that, we are forced to venture into Dutch and Belgian territory for Michael van Gerwen and Mike De Decker in order to assemble a functioning population of that name. I guess, if being generous, Mickey Mansell could stick his hand up and ask to be in. But given it’s just him and Michael Smith, I doubt they’d want to be in the same name club – or barely in the same room for that matter.
And astonishingly, there is not a single Arthur, Albert, Brian, Fred, Harry, Paul or Simon currently roaming the 2026 PDC Pro Tour landscape. Yes, that’s correct – not one Brian. It was good enough for Monty Python to use as the star in their messiah-based blockbuster – not for the PDC roster it seems. Mr Raman – we need you to get that tour card back son!
Also, it feels fundamentally wrong for a sport historically built inside social clubs where at least three Brian’s would normally be arguing over whose round it was whilst somebody microwaved a sausage roll to the exact temperature of molten lava.
Still, modern darts has become magnificently cosmopolitan, which naturally results in a glorious assortment of singular names appearing throughout the rankings. I cannot honestly recall ever encountering another Mensur, Yorick, Dimitri or Pero in civilian life. Although admittedly, spending roughly seven minutes in Austria, the Netherlands, Belgium or Croatia would probably solve that mystery fairly quickly. I bet there’s hundreds on them knocking about on the continent thinking our names are weird.
Naturally, whatever nomenclature somebody inherits at birth has absolutely no bearing whatsoever on whether they become a world-class darting phenomenon or a man averaging 43 every Thursday whilst blaming his crappy torn flights for eighteen consecutive months.
Still, it remains oddly fascinating. Granted, perhaps not to everybody. Certainly not to normal people.
