By Mark Renneson

There are two things I like about most pickleball players: their love of the game and their desire to help others play better. These two traits are perhaps even more prominent in people who decide to get into pickleball coaching as a business. Whether they are teaching as a side project or are giving it a go as a career path, the coaches I know typically radiate enthusiasm for pickleball and a desire to help people play it better. And this is incredibly important — but also very risky.

For those of us who are attempting to earn money through our coaching, the primary product we sell is ourselves. More specifically, in charging money for our clinics, lessons, boot camps, video analysis, etc., we are essentially saying: “Hey. I’ve got something valuable to offer. My knowledge, skill, and the other things I bring to the table are great enough that I charge people money to access them”. At its root, this is no different than other people who sell goods and services. 

The restauranteur argues that her food is worth buying. The florist claims his roses are worth $24.99. You are asked to pay money to watch a movie, go to Disneyland, or have other experiences that take time, effort, and expertise to provide. It’s how trade works: a person offers something for a price, and people can decide for themselves whether they are willing to pay it. But this is where many pickleball coaches run into trouble. 

I recently met a man in his early thirties who is known in his region as a good pickleball coach. Let’s call him Marvin. When I first met Marvin, it was as he was heading on the court to run a group lesson with three women who played at the 2.5 or 3.0 level. A nice, young guy who seemed well-liked, Marvin was a solid 4.0 player and appeared competent and professional. Marvin seemed well-positioned to be successful as a coach for beginning and intermediate players in this city that was pickleball crazy but not yet overrun with instructors. Later, we chatted and I asked him if he was doing much coaching. “Well”, he said, “not as much as I’d like. It’s been a bit tougher than I expected”. 

As someone who knows well the grind of building a coaching business, I empathized with him. But I was still a little surprised since Marvin checked off a lot of the boxes that busy coaches usually check off: he was in a good market without a lot of competition. He was personable, friendly, and a strong player. He should have people lining up for his lessons. “Hey, are you coming out tomorrow?” he asked. “What’s tomorrow?” I replied. “There’s open play, he said. “I’ll be there from 9-12. You should come”. I took Marvin up on his offer and that was when I discovered why his business was failing. 

I arrived to play around 1030am and was immediately confused — the four courts were full, but not a single person was hitting a ball. Marvin had all eyes on him and about 15 people were captivated as he was cheerfully explaining to the group (with excellent demonstrations), how they should rotate their body when hitting backhands so they could generate more power. His explanation of mechanics was very good. He projected his voice well and was clear and concise in his delivery. He was a good teacher. The problem wasn’t what he was saying — the problem was that he was saying anything at all. 

I laced up my shoes and joined in to play. While we were never on the same court, I noticed that Marvin continued to coach throughout the session — although on a much more individual basis than I first witnessed. He talked to teams about communicating on middle balls, he advised when to play a drop or a drive, he corrected grips and movement, and once he even highlighted the point that you should serve and stay behind the baseline by catching a ball after a player served and wandered forward into the court. “Marvin sure gives a lot of tips,” I said to my partner Bernice, a feisty 60-something woman I played with. “Oh yes,” she said, “he’s terrific. I love when he comes to drop in because I learn so much — it’s like getting a free lesson!”. And at this moment it became clear that the problem wasn’t the product Marvin was selling, it was that he wasn’t really selling it at all — he was giving it away for free. 

If we expect people to buy our product (i.e. our coaching services) then we have to place limits on access to it. If your favourite pizza place gave away their slices Monday to Saturday but charged for them on Sunday, I’m pretty sure I know what day you would not be eating pizza.  

“Have you ever taken a lesson with Marvin?” I asked Bernice during a break. “Once. But he pretty much talks about the same thing at drop-in so I figured I’d save my money for something else. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, right?”. My hunch was that it was Marvin’s genuine love of coaching that got him into this situation. He saw problems that he thought he could help with and he did so enthusiastically. But what he didn’t realize that at the same moment he was helping someone else, he was hurting himself. He was devaluing his product by essentially flooding the market with it. He was the pizza restaurant giving away slices all week and not wondering why Sundays were dead. 

I considered Marvin a colleague and didn’t know him well. He was not (at the time) a member of Pickleball Coaching International where we offer coaching resources and business support, so I was reluctant to tell him how to run his business. But, like Marvin, I’m inclined to help when I think I can. After open play ended, I was helping Marvin tidy up — although I wasn’t sure why it was his responsibility. I told him how much fun I had and thanked him for inviting me. I asked how often he comes to open play:

“Five or six times a week,” he said. “I notice that people really like hearing your tips and suggestions” I commented. “I guess so. I like helping and I figure if they see I can make a difference in their game, they’ll come to me for lessons.” “Oh, so this is part of your strategy?”. “Yeah. Like when you get a free sample at a store. If it is good, you’ll buy it”. I see, I said. “That makes sense. But what would you do if the store always gave free samples, and gave away really big portions of it. Would you still buy it?” I countered. “Maybe. But I’d probably just go eat the sample as my…. luuuunnnnch”. This was the moment that Marvin realized what was happening. That he was undercutting his own business by giving it away to his potential customers.

Coaches — especially those who are trying to develop a reputation and their business — have a tough task ahead of us. We have to convince people that our services are worth spending money on. And to do so, we usually have to give something away so people can see how great our coaching  is. Personally, I think Marvin was on the right track by using this forum to make that case, he was just overdoing it. Paradoxically, Marvin’s enthusiasm for coaching hurt his coaching business.

Had Marvin been a little more stingy with both his time and advice he offered, he’d be more effective at creating demand for it. Instead of being at drop in nearly every day, he could cut it down to four days a week. He would be there often enough to be present in someone’s mind and available to talk (and book lessons), without becoming a fixture they could rely on for free advice nearly each day. And instead of offering tips every chance he got, he could say things like: “Yes. Struggling with a drop is a common problem. It’s something we often work on in our lessons”. He already had the respect of the people (they knew his ‘pizza’ was good)  the time had come for him to have more respect for the product he’s selling — himself.

The business of coaching pickleball is incredibly tough. Would-be instructors have to compete against the fact that pickleball is relatively easy to start playing, that there are always people happy to offer their thoughts on someone’s game (for free), and that there is so much free online material available to anyone who wants it. Facing all of this, it is understandable that coaches can feel nervous about charging money for their lessons. But in an environment where so much is free, requiring money in exchange for access to their product the most powerful signal a coach can send that they truly believe what they are offering is worth something.  If the coach doesn’t value it — why would anyone else?

Mark Renneson is a professional pickleball coach. He is the founder of Third Shot Sports and Pickleball Coaching International. He can be reached at mark@thirdshotsports.com