“I don’t like the term ‘replacing John McDonald’. You can’t – he’s irreplaceable”: Lewis Jones addresses online criticism as new era begins

The curtain has now fallen on the PDC World Darts Championship, and with it one of the most significant transitions the sport has faced in decades. John McDonald has officially stepped away after delivering his final introductions on the Alexandra Palace stage, bringing an end to an era defined by a voice synonymous with modern darts.

As the dust settles on that farewell, attention inevitably turns to what comes next, and to Lewis Jones, the man who found himself under intense scrutiny while sharing the Ally Pally spotlight during the tournament.

Speaking to Online Darts during the latter stages of the World Championship, Jones addressed the comparisons, the online criticism, and the uncomfortable label of “replacement” that followed him throughout the event. A term he flatly rejects.

“I don’t like the term ‘replacing John’,” Jones said at Alexandra Palace. “You can’t. He’s irreplaceable as an MC and as a human being.”

By the time Jones sits down with Online Darts, the schedule alone hints at the scale of his baptism. “This is day 12,” he says. “I’ve done ten afternoon sessions so far. It’s been good. It’s been a fast process, but I’ve enjoyed every minute.”

The leap from behind the scenes to centre stage has been rapid. “From Blackpool to now, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind,” he admits. Yet the groundwork stretches back further than many assume.

“I started doing bits over a year ago now. The first one was Minehead. I think the idea was always to have someone around who could potentially step in for John as the season gets busier. Darts is blowing up, and it made sense to have backup while also learning.”

Jones is not a newcomer to the sport’s ecosystem. “I’ve been around darts a long time. I’ve been involved for about 17 years now. I started at MODUS, and I’ve just gradually been thrown into things.” That long apprenticeship, he believes, has been crucial. “It’s been exciting, and I’ve loved every minute. I feel like I’m improving every time, but we’ll see how it goes.”

Asked to pinpoint the moment it became real, Jones traces it back to Blackpool. “I’d mostly been doing off air stuff like fan cams and warm ups,” he explains. The next step came from McDonald himself. “It was actually John’s idea. He said, ‘Why doesn’t Lewis jump in and do that?’”

Jones had already been sharpening his craft elsewhere. “I’d been practising at exhibitions and things like that, and I think I did alright.” A screen test followed, then a decision. “I did a screen test, that went well, and then we decided to go for it.”

There is no substitute, he says, for doing the job live. “You can practise in the mirror all you like, but when you go out there live, it’s completely different.” The pressure is obvious, but he refuses to frame it as imitation. “For me, it’s about creating my own character and improving every time I do it.”

If Jones is firm about forging his own path, he is equally open about how much he has taken from McDonald. Their relationship predates this transition by years. “We’ve had a good relationship for many years,” he says. “We’ve done exhibitions all over the country, even been to Australia together over a decade ago.”

What has followed is mentorship in its purest form. “John’s been incredible with me. He rings me every morning before I go on when he’s not there, or sends me a text.” Sometimes the classroom is a motorway. “I’ve had long car journeys with him where he’s given me tips, and you couldn’t buy that time.”

The advice is practical as well as philosophical. “He’s helped me with things like lowering my voice and getting the right tone,” Jones explains. “I’ll forever be in debt to John for how much he’s helped me.”

No high profile role in modern sport escapes scrutiny, and Jones is acutely aware of it. “I’m comfortable with it,” he says when the topic of online criticism is raised. He does not dismiss it out of hand. “Looking back, some of the criticism was fair.”

The technical challenges are real. “I’ve got a vocal coach now, because when you get nervous, your voice naturally goes up.” Add broadcast complications and it becomes more complex. “You also have talkback in your ear, and I’ve got hearing loss in one ear, so levelling all that out is something you have to learn.”

He is realistic about expectations. “If someone says I haven’t improved since then, you’re never going to please them.” At the same time, he acknowledges the early verdicts. “It was too shouty, too rushed, and the nerves were obvious.”

What has not changed is the thrill. “Live TV is very exciting, and every time I’ve done it, it’s felt like a huge moment in my life.”

Few stages amplify emotion like Alexandra Palace, and Jones knows its history intimately. “I was there when Michael won his first world title,” he recalls. “I was there when Mark Webster beat Phil Taylor to reach the semi finals.”

Those memories sharpened the nerves when his own turn arrived. “About ten minutes before my first session, it really hit me.” The building itself seemed to speak. “All those memories are embedded in Ally Pally. The tension, the drama, the emotion.”

The physical reaction was immediate. “My hand was shaking,” he admits. Yet he views that as part of the experience. “If you’re not nervous, you’re not excited.” With repetition has come calm. “Over the ten afternoons I’ve done, the nerves have settled a lot, and I think my voice is starting to improve.”

Looking ahead, Jones is careful not to overreach. “I’ll take it one session at a time,” he says. “It’s all performance based.” His immediate focus is narrow. “I’ve got another afternoon tomorrow, but after Christmas I’m not sure yet.”

One priority is non negotiable. “This is John’s final World Championship, and the fans need to see him on that stage.” Jones is content to play a supporting role where needed. “I’ll still be around doing VIP work, crowd warm ups, and engagement.”

Those duties matter to him. “That’s something I’ve improved at massively too,” he says. “The crowd don’t need much encouragement, but I know I help.”

As darts prepares to turn the page, Jones’s words offer a blueprint for how that change might look. There is respect for what has gone before, honesty about the challenges of the present, and patience about the future.

“You can’t replace John,” he repeats. In that simple statement lies both an acceptance of legacy and a determination to stand on his own terms. The next era at Ally Pally will sound different. For Lewis Jones, the task is not to echo the past, but to earn his place within it.