Treble-20. “Ohh, he couldn’t.” Treble-19. “Oh, you spiteful young man.” Bull. “You spiteful person! That is ridiculous!” As usual, Wayne Mardle – commentating on the World Matchplay final for Sky Sports on Sunday night – summed it up most neatly.

The finest solo champions possess a ruthless edge. The capacity not only to channel their own power, but to align it with their rival’s point of peak exposure. To detect frailty, spot hesitation and strike without mercy. To cultivate and crave the very traits we seek to curb and deter in our offspring. To land a 167 checkout, while the opponent waits on double-10, in a major final.

To be fair to Luke Littler, he would likely have prevailed no matter his actions, however he released the darts, whether he showed mercy or not. Such is the gap he holds over what we politely term “his competition”. Gerwyn Price entered Sunday’s final performing perhaps the finest darts of his career; possibly better than when he claimed the world title in 2021. Among the challengers to Littler’s throne, Price appears to have pondered most deeply how to unsettle the teenager’s focus, how to avoid intimidation, how to leverage the audience and his own fierce confidence to become the issue. Littler dismantled him 18-9 in just over an hour.

This marked Littler’s second straight World Matchplay title, alongside a second consecutive world championship in January and a second successive UK Open in March. There are 11 major events in the Professional Darts Corporation schedule and Littler has claimed six out of six this year, the last eight in succession, nine of the past 11. His order of merit total of £3.1m exceeds triple that of Luke Humphries in second. A streak of 36 victories in his past 37 matches in ranking events rivals the legendary Phil Taylor, who competed against weaker fields in a less developed era.

Like many in his constantly connected generation, Littler fixates on figures and milestones, the influence they bring, the frustration of his defeated foes. This contributes to what makes him such an intriguing figure in major events: the notion that supremacy serves as its own goal, not merely the result of a carefully planned sequence. It explains why he delivers his sharpest darts on the grandest platforms, in the extended formats. Why he craves the thrill of the 170, the nine-dart finish, the broadcast lenses, the spectators, whether they support him or not.

More than 800 miles distant, on the inclines of Le Lioran, a comparable scene was developing. Yes, on a key level, I acknowledge Littler and Tadej Pogacar differ greatly as competitors: one the ideal physical form refined from youth via disciplined nutrition and an intense regimen, the other a five-time Tour de France victor. Yet after observing both extensively over recent weeks and years, I have noted most the parallels, the shared impressions, the odd contradiction that emerges when someone excels so thoroughly that observers begin to claim they are spoiling the contest for others.

“It’s like viewing two separate sports,” the TNT Sports commentator exclaimed as Pogacar surged ahead of Richard Carapaz on stage 10 en route to extending his advantage over Jonas Vingegaard to a near unassailable three minutes. This was the stage where the Bastille Day spectators started to jeer Pogacar for the grip he has established on the discipline. “Haters gonna hate,” Pogacar remarked, and fellow riders also rallied to his support. Central to this was a query: how far do we wish to witness dominant athletes prevail?

For Pogacar, these issues are coloured by road cycling’s troubled past. No matter how many tests he clears, no matter the openness he provides, a segment of cycling supporters will always equate dominance with doubt. And – crucially – a doubt that can never fully be disproved. If you distrust the anti-doping measures and never truly accept the Tour can be won cleanly, how can anyone display greatness? What purpose does a three-week contest serve if no one is ever permitted to be outstanding? Why follow this sport at all?

For Littler, however, the appeal rests in the complete lack of analysis, the sheer shortfall of darting language to frame what he achieves. Figures and achievements exist, naturally, but the Littler reign amounts to a feeling, a hint, a fear, the awareness he can take a match any way he chooses. He can overwhelm you swiftly or slowly; leading or recovering, grinning or grimacing. The outcome may rarely be in doubt, but nearly all else remains open.

As with Pogacar, Littler’s command has sparked both praise and concern lately, less as direct rebuke and more as regret for a time when the sport felt less predictable and more contested. Part of the unease stems from their youth – Pogacar 27, Littler 19, both still able to break every mark in their fields, disheartening a whole wave of rivals.

Even the absolute best hold sway only briefly. Eddy Merckx, perhaps Pogacar’s sole peer as the finest cyclist ever, secured nearly all his gains in an eight-year span from 1967 to 1975. Roger Federer’s dominant period spanned roughly six years; Usain Bolt’s and Steffi Graf’s about eight. Even Taylor’s two decades of control need perspective: only from around 2005 did darts become a true year-round pursuit.

The weekend before last, I visited the London Stadium to observe another seemingly unbeatable competitor perform. Mondo Duplantis had shattered the men’s pole vault world record 13 times in four years and would surely do so again. Yet he did not. He suffered an injury and settled for second with a still-remarkable height of 5.95m.

Far from feeling deprived, I departed with an odd sense of sadness, recalling that what seemed inevitable then was not a lasting standard, but a short-lived exception. Perhaps we undervalue the transience of real dominance, the degree to which it is not a fixed condition, but a passing alignment of circumstances, the scarcity of absolute mastery.

Pogacar, Littler, Duplantis, Jannik Sinner, Barcelona Women, Australia Women: oppose them if you wish. But recognise also that it could all vanish overnight.