He looks wounded out there. His cheeks are flushed. Palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. Ryan Joyce is on a finish already. Single‑20. This is as human, as vulnerable, as vincible, as we have ever seen him on that stage. There’s a fearless crowd‑pleasing underdog out there playing like he’s got nothing to lose. And it’s not him.
So, Luke Littler, what do you do at your moment of greatest peril? When this world championship last‑16 game is teetering on a pinhead, when an unfancied opponent 22 years older than you is throwing absolute bombs, when everything has been tried and nothing has worked? When millions are slowly sitting bolt upright on their sofas, in anticipation of an almighty upset?
