Tournament Partner Play: The Roller Coaster of Relationships

Lately, I’ve heard more and more players say the same thing: “I just want to find a partner and play competitively.”

It makes sense—competitive partner play is a whole different animal. With a steady partner, you can unlock new strategies, better communication, and a stronger on-court connection. But partnerships aren’t always easy. Finding, keeping, and thriving with a partner is a skill in itself.

I should know—I’ve now played in tournaments with seven different partners and, truthfully, I’m still looking for my perfect match. The good news? Unlike in life, pickleball is a little more forgiving. Polyamory is not frowned upon here. You can have more than one partner, and that’s okay.

Lessons from My Partnering Journey

1. Languages of Love (Pickleball Edition)

We give support the way we want to receive it. But really what’s important is understanding what works for them. The key is asking your partner what they need.

One of my partners made three errors in a row, and I asked, “Should we stop and slow down?” Her answer: No—we’re giving our opponents time to feel good about themselves. It baffled me at first, but really it just showed me she needed something different than I did.

For me, when I mess up a few points in a row, what I crave is simple: my partner walking over, putting a hand on my arm, looking me in the eye, and saying: “You got this.”

That tiny gesture of reassurance makes all the difference.

2. Codependency on the Court

Sometimes I find myself trapped in the fear of disappointing my partner. The moment I worry they’ll be mad at me for a mistake, I tense up… and then I make more mistakes. It’s a vicious cycle.

I had one friend where we’d have deep conversations on the drive to a tournament, then barely speak on the way home. Off the court, we had a wonderful connection, and when we were winning, we laughed and had a blast. But our styles were very different—my game leaned soft, hers leaned hard.

When I dropped a ball into the net or threw up a shaky lob, her frustration was almost palpable. The angrier she became, the tighter I got, and the more errors piled up. Then my inner judge would kick in, fuming each time she blasted a ball into the net without seeming to notice her own mistakes. In my head, the story was that she blamed me for my weak drops but never took responsibility for her miss-hits.

And then my “Avoider” side would take over—doing anything to sidestep conflict instead of leaning in with her. I would slink back to the service line, no eye contact, no clinking paddles, not a word.

We truly gave it our best, but after five tournaments, we finally admitted that maybe our energy was better spent on our friendship than on competing together.

Looking back, what I wish I’d been able to do was simply stay grounded in my own game—focusing on my execution, my rhythm, and my presence—instead of crumbling under the pressure or grumbling at every misstep.

3. Coaching Boundaries

Another lesson: don’t coach your partner unless they’ve asked for it. Asking in the heat of the match, “Want some advice?” is basically a trap. I used to do it all the time, but finally caught on.

That said, there are exceptions. Once, a partner hit a ball into the net, and I gently said, “I’m noticing you’re not making contact in front of you.” She was so grateful, it broke my own rule.

The truth is, everyone is different. Some people want feedback, some don’t. The golden rule “Do unto others…” doesn’t cut it here. Instead: know what you need, and find out what they need.

The Truth About Partner Play

It’s been painful at times—this journey of finding partners. I’ve felt rejected, mismatched, judged, and discouraged. But I’ve also had moments of flow, joy, and connection where everything clicked.

Partner play is like any relationship: it takes patience, communication, and the courage to be vulnerable. It’s not easy—but when it works, it’s one of the most satisfying experiences on the court.

So if you’re out there searching for your pickleball soulmate—or just your next tournament partner—know this: you’re not alone on the roller coaster. And maybe, just maybe, the ride itself is the point.