If you’ve ever played tennis, you know the most cursed words in the sport are: “We’re going to a tie-break.”

Because here’s the thing: tie-breaks aren’t about skill. They’re about who can survive a miniature Hunger Games where every point feels like the end of the world.

The Setup

I can’t tell you how many matches of mine ended in a tie-break, but I can tell you this: I hated every single one of them. You could be playing the most casual Saturday tournament match, everything’s fine, you’re locked in—and then suddenly it’s 6–6. Which means congratulations, you’ve unlocked a free ticket to spiraling.

The Tie-Break Itself

If you’ve never played one, here’s the breakdown:

• First to 7 points (win by 2).
• Every point feels like it’s worth 100 normal ones.
• If you mess up the first serve? Congrats, now you’re doubting your entire existence.

I remember one match where I was up 5–1 in a tie-break. Victory felt so close I could taste it. And then—because tennis is cruel—I lost 7–5. Yes, I choked that hard. Yes, it still haunts me.

The Endless Ones

And don’t even get me started on the tie-breaks that refuse to end. You know the ones: it’s 7–7, then 8–8, then 9–9. Suddenly, what was supposed to be a “mini” decider feels like its own full-length match. Both players are exhausted, no one remembers how we got here, and parents in the bleachers are Googling if tie-breaks actually can go on forever.

At that point, it’s not even tennis anymore—it’s survival of the fittest. Hydration? Gone. Nerves? Shot. Logic? Nonexistent. Just two people trading points until someone finally blinks first.

The Mental Spiral

The worst part is that tie-breaks expose your brain more than your forehand. Suddenly you’re thinking things like:

• “If I double fault here, my legacy is ruined.”
• “Why does the net look taller now?”
• “Wait… what’s the score again?”

And the second you start overthinking, the game is basically over. You’ve lost before you’ve even swung.

Why It Still Matters

Here’s the thing, though: as much as I claim to hate tie-breaks, they also taught me the most. Because tennis, like life (cue dramatic music), is rarely about being perfect. It’s about surviving the mental chaos long enough to find your footing again.

I can laugh about it now, but in the moment, tie-breaks made me want to throw my racquet across the court and become a full-time pickleball player.

So yeah—tie-breaks are my villain origin story. But they’re also why I learned how to stay calm under pressure. Even if “calm” sometimes looked like internally screaming while smiling at my opponent.