When I signed up for the 3.5+ men’s ladder league, I didn’t really know what to expect. I just knew I wanted more competitive reps. More pressure. More growth.
Six weeks later, I finished with a record of 11 wins and 19 losses.
Not great. Not horrible either. But here’s the part that stung — I finished second to last.
The league wasn’t ranked by wins. It was ranked by point differential. So even when I won, if the score was 11-8 instead of 11-2, it didn’t carry much weight. The numbers don’t lie. My differential wasn’t good. And as much as I tell myself numbers aren’t everything, they do tell a story.
That story? I’m probably at the lower end of 3.5 compared to that group.
And honestly, that’s okay.
One thing I noticed right away was the top players were different. Out of the 24 guys in the league, the ones near the top didn’t just show up once a week. They were playing multiple times a week. Some of them had podium finishes in 3.5+ tournaments. A lot of them were already on the courts from 6–8pm before our 8pm matches started. By the time league began, they were loose, warm, and dialed in.
Smart? Absolutely.
Realistic for me with work and family? Not always.
I’ve played four-hour sessions during the summer before, and I love it. By hour three, I can feel the fatigue creeping in — but that’s when I’m fully warm, relaxed, and playing free. In league, I was sometimes warming up during the first game while others were already in rhythm.
The league itself was run through the CourtReserve app, which honestly was great. It auto-paired partners, rotated courts, and made it easy. One of the biggest benefits was not needing a set partner. You show up solo, and you play. That part I really liked. I got to play with people I normally wouldn’t. I saw different styles. Different tendencies. Different personalities.
And I improved in areas because of it.
There’s this heavy slice serve some guys hit — not topspin, but a sharp, curving serve that dips and dies near the kitchen. Early on, I couldn’t return it cleanly. The ball would just drop and fade off my paddle. Over time, I adjusted my positioning slightly more to the right, anticipated the curve, and started handling it better. Not perfect, but better. That felt like real progress.
But here’s where things got interesting.
On the lower courts — where I played most of the time — the game was fast. Drives everywhere. Speed-ups. Minimal dinking. Almost no resets. And what made it tougher was that even after driving, a lot of players wouldn’t move up to the kitchen.
I’m not going to pretend I dropped every ball either. I drove plenty. But there were moments where I knew I should’ve slowed it down. I knew the smarter play was a drop, a reset, a dink — something to transition forward properly. Instead, the game often turned into “who can hit harder.”
And transition, I’m realizing, is everything.
Knowing when to move up.
Knowing when to stay back.
Knowing when to shift from defense to offense.
Even for me, I noticed I sometimes hesitate moving up when my partner hits a return. With my history of knee surgeries, I’m not as quick to close in as some guys. I know when I should go — but my body takes an extra half-second. At this level, that half-second matters.
Communication was another thing I struggled with. I’m usually vocal — calling balls, directing traffic, saying “mine” or “yours.” In this league, I got quieter. I’m not even fully sure why. Maybe because I didn’t know my partners as well. Maybe because I was overthinking. But I noticed it.
Poaching is something I’m learning too. I see opportunities. I go for them occasionally. But if my shuffle isn’t set right, I’ll dump it in the net. I’ve been conservative because of that. Still improving.
Now let’s talk about the real challenge.
Me.
I realized over these six weeks that I am extremely hard on myself. Back-to-back balls into the net? It lingers. A simple return long? I replay it in my head. I’d carry an error from three games ago into the next match. Sometimes even from the week before.
The night before the final league night, I listened to a mental performance coach talk about separating effort from outcome and managing emotions in competition. One phrase stuck with me.
Be kind to yourself.
That last week, I kept repeating it.
Before every serve, I slowed down. I took a deep breath. I stopped trying to crush heavy serves that sometimes clipped the net. I focused on just putting the ball in play. Build the point. Play simple.
Week two had actually been my best week, and when I look back, it’s obvious why. I wasn’t forcing anything. My serves were consistent. My returns were solid. I wasn’t chasing perfect. I was just playing.
Free points are killers. Giving away serves or easy returns is a momentum swing you feel immediately.
There were frustrating moments too. In/out calls were tough sometimes. From certain angles, a fast ball is hard to judge. A few times I called one out and saw the look on their faces like it clipped the line. A couple times I just gave them the point. Not ideal — but part of rec play reality.
Despite finishing near the bottom, I did some things really well.
My overhead confidence has grown a lot. Especially with paddles like the Luzz Inferno, Tornazo, and Selkirk Boomstick — those feel incredible out of the air. When I got a clean overhead, it was usually over.
My third-shot drop is something I’m genuinely proud of. I’ve worked hard on it at home with the Dink Master 3.0. Seeing a smooth backhand drop float over the net and not get slammed back at my feet? That’s satisfying. That’s earned.
I can hang at 3.5. I’m not dominating it. But I can compete. And that matters.
Would I recommend a ladder league?
Yes — especially if you don’t have a consistent partner and want structured competition with rotating pairings. It’s great for exposure and variety.
But for me personally? I’d rather build chemistry with a steady partner. Learn each other’s tendencies. Stack. Adjust roles. If he’s aggressive, I reset and defend. If I’m attacking, he covers middle. There’s something powerful about that consistency.
The league cost $150 plus tax for six weeks. Not cheap. Open play near me is $20, but it books fast. Indoors is fine, but I’ll always prefer outdoor summer pickleball. The heat. The sound. The atmosphere. It just hits different.
In the end, this league wasn’t about my record.
It was about learning that my mental game needs work. That breathing before serves matters. That slowing down wins more than forcing pace. That I have strengths. And that I need to stop being so hard on myself.
Everyone posts their highlights.
Not many people post 11–19.
But growth doesn’t always show up in standings.
If you’re competitive like me and struggle to let mistakes go, hear this:
Be kind to yourself.
You’re learning.
You’re improving.
And that counts.
