Why Retired Tennis Players Are Quietly Struggling With Pickleball

There’s a scene I’ve watched play out more times than I can count.

A former tennis player shows up to the pickleball courts. Good posture. Confident walk. Nice gear. They warm up with a few groundstrokes that look like chef’s kiss. You can almost hear their internal monologue: This should be easy.

And then… the game starts.

What follows is confusion, mild frustration, and the slow realization that pickleball is not, in fact, “mini tennis.” Not athletically. Not emotionally. Not strategically.

Here’s the truth nobody wants to say out loud: retired tennis players often struggle with pickleball — not because they’re bad athletes, but because they’re too good at the wrong things.

Tennis rewards power, pace, and finishing points. Pickleball rewards patience, touch, and the ability to hit a shot that feels almost… irresponsible. The third-shot drop goes against every fiber of a tennis player’s being. You don’t attack? You reset? You intentionally hit the ball softly into the danger zone? That feels illegal.

Then there’s the kitchen.

In tennis, the net is something you approach to end points. In pickleball, the kitchen is where points are won slowly, one dink at a time, while everyone pretends they’re not getting emotionally invested. Former tennis players often hover too far back, waiting for a winner that never comes, while the rally quietly slips away from them.

There’s also the ego factor — and I say that with love. Tennis players are used to being the alpha athlete on the court. Pickleball has a way of humbling everyone equally. Suddenly, you’re getting beaten by someone who learned the game six months ago, uses a paddle that costs less than your tennis shoes, and casually says, “Nice try” after every point.

Add in doubles dynamics — communication, teamwork, shot selection — and pickleball starts feeling less like tennis and more like a social chess match with sweat involved.

But here’s the good news: once tennis players stop trying to prove something and start trying to learn something, they often become excellent pickleball players. Their hand-eye coordination, anticipation, and athletic instincts eventually shine — just in a different key.

Pickleball doesn’t punish tennis players. It just asks them to unlearn a few instincts, check their pride at the gate, and embrace a game where finesse beats force and patience outlasts power.

And honestly? That’s kind of the beauty of it.

Moments like these — the awkward transitions, the learning curves, the subtle culture shock — are exactly why I wrote the book, “Who Just Served?”. The book isn’t a manual for fixing your third-shot drop; it’s a humorous look at the shared experiences, misunderstandings, and gentle humbling that happen when people from different sports (and different stages of life) meet on the same pickleball court. Be sure to check out chapter 7 titled “Zero Zero Start” where I compare pickleball’s scoring system with tennis’ “love love” scoring.