Let Them Play

I’ve noticed a pattern in the way we talk about greatness.

When Leigh Waters, Anna Leigh Waters, or Ben Johns sit down for interviews, especially on the larger podcasts, the question comes around like clockwork: How long can this last? How many more years? How much longer can Ben dominate? When will Anna Leigh slow down?

It is a peculiar reflex.

These athletes have already done what most thought improbable. They have bent the curve of a young sport. They have set standards that did not previously exist. And yet, instead of enjoying the era we are fortunate enough to witness, we rush to calculate its expiration date.

That is not curiosity. That is scarcity.

There is a subtle but important difference between asking, “How great can this become?” and asking, “When will it end?” The first is rooted in possibility. The second assumes decline as a foregone conclusion.

We do this in business. We do it in markets. We do it in sport. The moment someone achieves something extraordinary, we move from appreciation to anxiety. We stop watching the performance and start measuring the clock.

It reminds me of the Chinese downhill skier who was asked whether her two silver medals felt like lost golds. Think about the framing of that question. An achievement reframed as deficiency. Triumph interpreted through absence. Her answer was composed and wise, but the question itself tells you everything about how we think.

We struggle to let excellence simply be excellent.

At the highest levels, pickleball is already unforgiving. It is a sport of discipline and touch. It demands patience, physical durability, and relentless mental clarity. You do not stay on top through brute force alone. You stay there because you love the daily grind, the repetitions, the nuance, and the small refinements that no one applauds.

When the joy leaves, performance follows.

If you want Ben to play longer, and if you want Anna Leigh to continue redefining what is possible, the formula is not complicated: let the game remain joyful. Let them compete. Let them evolve. Let them choose their timeline.

The growth-minded answer, which they have essentially given every time, is the only rational one: I will do this as long as I love it and as long as my body allows it.

That is how sustainable excellence works.

The fixed mindset demands a schedule. It wants a countdown. It assumes there is a predetermined limit and insists we identify it. The growth mindset says the limit is dynamic. It expands and contracts with purpose, health, hunger, and enjoyment.

As an athlete and an entrepreneur, I have learned something simple. Longevity is a byproduct. It cannot be forced. It cannot be negotiated in interviews. It is earned in quiet hours and sustained by meaning.

We should be careful not to turn pioneers into quarterly earnings reports.

Pickleball is still young. We are in its formative chapters. History will sort itself out in time. Records will fall. New stars will rise. That is not a threat to greatness. It is the evidence of it.

For now, we have front-row seats to a remarkable period in the sport. The appropriate response is not to ask how long it can last. It is to appreciate that it exists at all.

Let them play.

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