Interview With A Serial Sandbagger: Pickleball’s Most Notorious Cheater Shares What He Did To His Victims

For nearly six years, Marcus has been what the pickleball community calls a “sandbagger”—a player who deliberately manipulates their skill rating to compete against weaker opponents. But Marcus isn’t your average sandbagger who shaves a few rating points. He’s something far more calculated, far more sinister. He’s traveled throughout his region and neighboring states, won thousands of dollars in prize money and merchandise, and destroyed the confidence of dozens of players who thought they were competing on a level playing field.

What makes this interview extraordinary—and disturbing—is that Marcus is still active. He agreed to speak with us only under the condition of anonymity because, as he casually mentioned while stirring his coffee, “the system has gotten better at catching guys like me, but I’ve gotten better too.” He’s not remorseful. If anything, he’s proud. And after spending two hours listening to his methods, his justifications, and his contempt for the players he’s victimized, we walked away understanding why pickleball’s sandbagging problem is far worse than anyone wants to admit.

The names, locations, and identifying details in this story have been changed to protect the identity of the subject, who remains an active tournament player.

The Origin Story: “I Realized The System Was Broken”

How did you start sandbagging?

Marcus: Honestly? By accident. I started in singles—didn’t have a regular partner and I liked controlling my own destiny. I’d been playing for about eight months and was solidly a 3.5 player. But I entered my first tournament and choked. The nerves got to me, I played terribly, went 0-3 in my bracket. My rating dropped from 3.5 to 3.2. I was pissed at myself. But then the next month, I entered another tournament—and because my rating had dropped, I got placed in a 3.0-3.5 bracket with much weaker competition. I destroyed them. Won the whole thing 11-1, 11-2, 11-3 in every match. Standing there with my gold medal, I realized something. I was still a 3.5 level player. I hadn’t suddenly gotten worse and then better. But that lower rating on paper let me compete against 3.0 players who couldn’t touch me.

So you just kept entering tournaments below your skill level?

Marcus: At first, yeah. That’s the classic move—just play in lower brackets. A 4.0 entering 3.5 events, that kind of thing. And it worked for a while. But I realized I had to be smarter. If I kept winning everything at 3.0-3.5, my rating would climb back up and I’d lose access to those easier brackets. So I developed a system.

What kind of system?

Marcus: I’d alternate. Win a couple tournaments against weak competition, then deliberately tank one to bring my rating back down. But you can’t just lose 0-11, 0-11—that’s obvious. You go 9-11, 8-11. You play points legitimately but you miss the ones that matter. A serve into the net here, a third shot that goes long there. You act frustrated with yourself, like you’re having a legitimately bad day. The beauty is pickleball is already a high-error sport, so nobody questions it. This kept my rating hovering right at that 3.2-3.3 sweet spot where I could keep entering 3.0-3.5 brackets.

When did it become systematic?

Marcus: About year two. I started keeping a spreadsheet. I tracked which tournaments affected my rating more, which ones I could lose without raising suspicion, and which ones I could win for actual prizes. I mapped out a circuit within driving distance—mostly within three hours of home. I’d lose in tournaments with small draws where nobody knew me, then win in tournaments with good prize money where I’d show up as the underdog.

Why go to all this effort? What’s the point?

Marcus: [long pause] I lost my job in 2022. Tech layoffs. I had savings, but not enough. My wife was working, but we were burning through money. One day I won $500 in a local tournament and thought, “What if I could do this regularly?” If you’re winning consistently, you can pull in a few hundred bucks a weekend. That’s $800, maybe $1,200 a month. And since I was playing locally and regionally, gas money was nothing. That prize money kept us afloat while I was job hunting.

Did you stop when you found another job?

Marcus: [smiles] I found contract work about eight months later. Part-time, flexible. And by then, I was good at this. Really good. I realized I could make almost as much sandbagging tournaments as I could working extra hours. Plus, there’s something else. The rush. Walking into a tournament knowing you’re going to win, watching people underestimate you, seeing the confusion on their faces when you’re up 10-2. It became addictive. The money was just the excuse.

The Hunt: “I Could Tell Everything From Warm-Ups”

You mentioned stalking your victims during warm-up. Explain that.

Marcus: [laughs] Here’s what people don’t understand—warm-ups tell you everything. I’d show up early, find my opponents, and just watch. I wasn’t looking at their shots. I was looking at their body language, their confidence level.

What were you looking for specifically?

Marcus: Insecurity. That’s the gold mine. The apologizers—”sorry, sorry, my bad” even in warm-ups—those are my favorite. The players who look nervous before the match even starts. I’m watching their feet, seeing if they split-step. I’m watching their paddle grip, seeing if it’s too tight. I’m listening to how they talk about strategy to understand if they actually know what they’re doing.

And then what?

Marcus: Then I’d calibrate. If I had opponents who looked shaky, I knew I could win 11-3, 11-2 without even showing my best stuff. The beauty of pickleball is that it’s such a high-mistake sport naturally. Nobody questions it when you hit a ball into the net. But if I had opponents who looked more solid, I’d actually have to play well—just not my absolute best. I always kept something in reserve.

Did you ever feel bad watching these people?

Marcus: [long pause] Look, they signed up for a competitive tournament. They knew what they were getting into.

But they didn’t know they were playing someone who was lying about their rating.

Marcus: Everyone manipulates their rating to some degree. I just did it better.

The Close Call: “Someone Made A Spreadsheet”

You mentioned almost getting caught. What happened?

Marcus: Summer of 2023. I’d won three tournaments in the region over four months—different venues, always in the 3.0-3.5 range. Some guy who lost to me at one tournament saw my name pop up as a winner at another and got suspicious. He started tracking my results and created this whole presentation with my match scores, my rating history, everything. He posted it in a Facebook group with like 4,000 members.

What did it say?

Marcus: Basically accused me of sandbagging. Showed that I’d won 47 of my last 52 games at the 3.5 level but my rating never went above 3.6. Said the statistical probability of that was basically impossible. He was right, obviously. But here’s the thing—he didn’t have proof of intent. All he had was data that looked suspicious.

How did you respond?

Marcus: I didn’t. I had friends—people I’d played with who didn’t know what I was doing—and they defended me. Said I was just inconsistent, that I was working with a coach. The thread got messy. Some people believed him, most people moved on. But I stopped playing in that area for eight months. Shifted to venues an hour in a different direction, grew a beard.

Did that scare you?

Marcus: It pissed me off and made me want to do it more, which I did. This guy spent hours of his life building a case against me because he couldn’t handle losing. But yeah, it made me smarter. I started spacing out my wins more. I’d intentionally bomb out of tournaments I could have won. I made my rating graph look more erratic, more natural.

The Inside Help: “She Thought She Was Just Talking Shop”

You mentioned getting information from someone on the inside. How did that happen?

Marcus: Met a tournament director at a venue I played regularly. We started dating. She didn’t know what I was doing—not at first. We were together for about seven months. And yeah, she helped me, but not intentionally. She never cheated for me. Never gave me favorable draws. But she talked about her work. She explained how tournament directors deal with rating complaints, what red flags they look for, how DUPR tracks suspicious patterns. She told me about monthly TD meetings where they’d discuss problematic players. She showed me the blind spots—like how smaller unsanctioned tournaments don’t feed into DUPR, or how playing up occasionally makes your profile look more legitimate. She thought she was just venting about work. She had no idea she was giving me a playbook.

Did she ever find out?

Marcus: She found my spreadsheet on my laptop. All my tournaments, all my intentional losses, the whole strategy. She lost it. Called me a sociopath, said I was ruining the sport. Threatened to report me to USA Pickleball.

Did she?

Marcus: No. Because I pointed out that she’d been complicit. She’d told me how the system worked, where the gaps were. If I went down, I’d make sure everyone knew she’d helped, even accidentally. We broke up. She stepped down from being a TD a few months later. Last I heard she doesn’t even play anymore.

Does that bother you?

Marcus: [shrugs] She made her choices.

Still Active: “The Game Changed, So Did I”

You said you’re still doing this. How is that possible with DUPR and better rating systems?

Marcus: DUPR actually made it easier in some ways. More data means more noise. I just had to get more creative. Now I play unrated recreational games intentionally badly. I’ll join open play sessions and just hit balls out, play lazy. Those games can feed into the algorithm if they’re logged. I also learned to manipulate my tournament schedule better—I’ll play up a division and lose legitimately, which balances out my wins at the lower level. And I focus more on unsanctioned events now. There are tons of club championships, league finals, local shootouts that have prize money but don’t touch your DUPR.

Have your tactics changed significantly?

Marcus: The biggest change is I target smaller tournaments now. The mega-tournaments with 500+ people have better oversight. But your local club championship with 50 players? Nobody’s analyzing rating trends and they still need to have the prize money to bring people in. I also play mixed doubles more now—easier to hide behind a partner’s legitimate weaknesses. And I’ve started coaching. Ironically, teaching beginners actually helps me understand how to play like one convincingly when I need to tank.

The Justification: “Everyone’s Gaming Something”

Last question—why keep doing this?

Marcus: Because I can. I get angry thinking about how broken the system is, and I get to the point that I don’t care. Someone’s going to exploit it. Might as well be me. And before you get all self-righteous, think about how many players you know who conveniently forget to log their losses, or who dodge good players at open play to protect their rating, or who play down with their weaker spouse to get easier brackets. Everyone’s gaming something. I just refuse to be a hypocrite about it.

But you’re taking medals from people who earned them.

Marcus: No. I’m taking medals from people who weren’t good enough to beat me. If they were actually competing at the right level, they’d be playing tougher opponents anyway. I’m doing them a favor—showing them they’re not as good as they think they are.

That’s a hell of a rationalization.

Marcus: [stands up, puts on his jacket] Maybe. But I sleep fine at night. Do you think the 4.5 player who sandbags down to 4.0 for an easy medal sleeps badly? What about the guy who lies about his age to play in the senior division which happens all the time? What about the tournament directors who let it all happen because they need registration fees? Everyone in this sport has dirty hands. Mine are just dirtier.

Marcus left the interview and drove away. We watched him go, realizing that somewhere, right now, he’s probably signing up for another tournament. And somewhere, a 3.5 player is practicing their serve, dreaming of their first gold medal, with no idea what’s waiting for them.