Mindset – 360TT Blog

SpongeBob, Waldner and Taleb: Table Tennis Lessons

Thu, 08 Oct 2026 00:57:00 -0300

Quick question: what kind of sponge is SpongeBob?

If you answered “a kitchen sponge”, you’re in good company. Yellow, square, full of little holes — the very image of the sponge next to the sink. And that’s exactly how I used Bob in a text I wrote in 2021 that only circulated in WhatsApp groups: as a symbol of resilience. Squashed, he always bounces back to his original shape. “Be a SpongeBob player,” I said.

Five years later, rereading that text, I realized I had gotten two things wrong.

The first: Bob is not a kitchen sponge. He lives in a pineapple at the bottom of the sea. He’s a sea sponge — and not by accident: the creator of the cartoon, Stephen Hillenburg, was a marine biologist before becoming an animator. Hold on to that, because it changes everything at the end of this text.

Kitchen sponge or sea sponge? The difference is the subject of this text.

The second: resilience is not the goal. It’s the middle of the road.

This post is a rewrite of that old text — now with the help of an author who changed the way I think about training, competition and growth: Nassim Nicholas Taleb.

TL;DR: resilience, going back to normal after pressure, isn’t enough: the goal is to come out better than you went in, which is what Nassim Taleb calls antifragility. Stress in the right dose, with recovery, makes you stronger; changing everything out of anxiety (switching rubbers after every loss, tinkering with technique before a tournament) is iatrogenics, the remedy turning into the disease. It all comes down to the 8 to 10 seconds between points, and you can train it: there’s a table to find out which level you’re at, training ideas, Waldner in 1997 and the truth about SpongeBob.

Fragile, resilient, antifragile: a recap

In May, when China lost two matches in the group stage of the World Team Championships and still left London as champions, I wrote about it here on the blog: The Antifragile China: From Chaos to the World Title. If you haven’t read it, it’s worth it — but here is the three-line summary:

Fragile is what breaks under pressure.
Resilient (or robust) is what withstands the shock and goes back to the same state.
Antifragile is what comes out of the shock better than it went in.

The idea that hit me hardest in the book is simple and uncomfortable: the opposite of fragile is not resilient. Taleb uses the example of a package sent by mail with the label “fragile — handle with care”. The opposite of that would not be a package labeled “I don’t care how you handle me” (that’s the robust one). The opposite would be “please, mistreat me”. Something that gets better when it’s shaken.

In my 2021 text, I defined resilience as “going back to your natural state after suffering pressure”. And right after that, I asked the athlete to change, leave the comfort zone, adapt. I was asking for antifragility without having the word for it. Going back to your natural state is great — but whoever only returns to the same place after every loss is, deep down, standing still.

A little more Taleb

Taleb is a Lebanese-American essayist and former financial trader who has spent his life studying uncertainty, risk and chance. He is the author of The Black Swan and Antifragile (2012), the book where everything I’m using here comes from. Nothing in it is about sport — and, at the same time, almost all of it is useful for anyone who trains.

Damocles, Phoenix and Hydra

The Hydra: for every head cut off, two grow back.

Taleb uses three mythological figures to explain the triad:

Fragile — Damocles: lives with a sword hanging over his head by a single horsehair. One shock and it’s over.
Resilient — Phoenix: dies and is reborn from its own ashes, but is reborn the same.
Antifragile — Hydra: the serpent of Greek mythology: for every head cut off, two grow back. The attack makes it stronger.

Think of how many athletes you know who are Phoenixes: they lose, they suffer, they come back to training on Monday exactly the same. Resilient, yes. But the same loss will happen again at the next tournament, because nothing changed.

Hormesis: the dose makes the medicine

Antifragility doesn’t mean “the more suffering, the better”. Taleb relies on a concept from biology called hormesis: small doses of a stressor make the organism react and get stronger; doses that are too large, or continuous with no rest, break it.

Any coach knows this under another name: it’s the basic principle of training. Load, recovery, adaptation. The muscle doesn’t get stronger during the workout — it gets stronger afterwards, in recovery, as a response to the stress it went through. Without stress, there is no adaptation. Without recovery, there isn’t either.

And here comes the part many people ignore: depriving a system of stress also makes it fragile. The player who only does comfortable rallying, only plays people he already knows, only enters the tournament where he knows he’ll do well, is protecting himself — and getting more fragile every week.

The three players at the table

Picture the scene: fifth set, 8-9, you’re serving. Your opponent’s ball hits the edge of the table and goes off. 8-10.

The fragile player explodes. He complains about the edge, looks at his coach, slaps the racket against his thigh. The point is already over, but he keeps playing that point in his head. He serves fast, in a hurry, with no plan. 8-11. On the way home, it’s the edge’s fault, the ball’s, the table’s, the umpire’s, the new rubber’s.

The resilient player breathes, accepts it, goes back to his routine. He keeps his head up and plays the next point well. He may even turn it around. But, winning or losing, he leaves the match the way he came in.

The antifragile player does everything the resilient one does — and one more thing: he turns what happened into information. That edge teaches nothing (it’s luck, and luck can’t be trained). But the previous point did teach something: the opponent returned my short serve to the forehand with an aggressive flick (what Brazilians call a harau) twice in a row. So the next serve will be different. And after the match, win or lose, he leaves with a new note for Tuesday’s training.

Brazilians have a great expression for the fragile type: the “Gabriela syndrome” — from a famous song by Dorival Caymmi, for people who think they were born one way and will die that way (“I was born like this, I grew up like this, I’ll always be like this”). And there is also the antidote, sung by Raul Seixas: being a metamorfose ambulante, a “walking metamorphosis”. The American psychologist Carol Dweck, of Stanford University, arrived at the same place by another path, researching how people deal with failure: in the book Mindset (2006), she separates the fixed mindset — “my talent is what it is” — from the growth mindset — “my talent is the starting point”. Gabriela is fixed mindset. Raul is growth mindset. Taleb goes one step further: the antifragile doesn’t just believe they can grow — they use stress as fuel for it.

Which level are you at today?

Read the table below honestly. There is no pretty answer: most of us are fragile on some lines and antifragile on others. The goal is to know where you stand, so you know what to train.

Situation	Fragile	Resilient	Antifragile
Training	Prefers what he already knows how to do; avoids drills where he makes many mistakes	Completes the proposed training with discipline	Looks for the drill that exposes the weak spot
Uncomfortable opponent (pips, chopper, left-hander)	Avoids; “I don’t like playing against that”	Plays when he has to, no drama	Asks to train against it
Net and edge	Complains, gestures, carries it into the next point	Accepts it and moves on	Accepts it and moves on — luck isn’t analyzed
Your own bad point	Berates himself out loud; the mistake lasts several points	Returns to the routine quickly	Returns to the routine and extracts information from the mistake
Opponent’s good point	Gets rattled, changes the plan in desperation	Acknowledges it and keeps the plan	Asks “what is he seeing that I’m not?”
Defeat	Blames something external (table, ball, umpire, equipment)	Accepts it, rests and comes back the same	Leaves with 1 or 2 concrete adjustments for training
Equipment	Changes rubber after every loss	Keeps the equipment	Keeps the equipment and only adjusts with a reason and a deadline
Between points	Serves fast, with no plan; the heart races	Has a routine and follows it	Uses the routine to read the game and decide the next point
Inner voice	“It’s not working”, “today’s not my day”	“Calm down, next point”	“What did that point teach me?”

Tip

If most of your answers landed in the first column, start with the basics: a between-points routine and stop changing equipment. If they landed in the second, you already have the foundation — the next step is turning every match into data. If they landed in the third, watch out for the trap in the next section: even the antifragile can get hurt by too much intervention.

Between points: where antifragility really happens

All the reasoning above fits into 8 to 10 seconds. That is roughly the average time between one point and the next in a match — and it is there, not during the rally, that it’s decided whether you’ll be Damocles, Phoenix or Hydra on the next point.

In the post Your heart lost the point, I talked about the physiological side of this: how a racing heart steals decision-making clarity, and how breathing between points helps you regain control. Here, I want to show the other side: the mental structure of those seconds.

The model I use with my athletes — adapted for our table tennis — comes from the work of Hungarian-American Dora Kurimay, a former player and sports psychology specialist, in the book Get Your Game Face On Like the Pros!, which in turn draws on the research of psychologist Jim Loehr with professional tennis players. It has four steps, the 4 R’s:

Reaction — the first 3 seconds after the point ends. Firm posture, head up, no “celebrating the lost point”.
Recovery — breathe, step away from the table, drop your shoulders. Give your body and your head a real pause.
Readiness — two questions: What is the situation? What is my job? Which serve, where, and what I do after it.
Ritual — the fixed gesture before serving or receiving, which tells the body: “now it counts”.

One reference I love from this method is the 80-10-10 rule for reaction: in 80% of points, a neutral reaction (anyone watching can’t tell whether you won or lost the point); in 10%, an energetic celebration on the points that change the momentum of the match; and in 10%, a defiant response after a mistake — a “let’s go!” that pulls you up, instead of a “how awful” that pulls you down.

Between points: 8 to 10 seconds that decide the next point.

Notice how the 4 R’s fit the triad. The fragile player jumps straight from the stimulus to the uncontrolled reaction. The resilient one masters Reaction and Recovery — he returns to normal. The antifragile uses Readiness to turn every point, even the lost ones, into information for the next.

Note

I have a much more complete material on this, which I use in talks and hand to my athletes, with exercises to build your personal between-points routine. It will become a post of its own soon.

Iatrogenics: when the remedy becomes the problem

Of all the concepts in the book, this is my favorite — and the one I see happening most in table tennis.

Iatrogenics is a word from medicine: the harm caused by the treatment itself. Taleb defines it as the harm from a treatment that exceeds its benefits. The classic example is bloodletting, which doctors used for centuries to treat almost everything and which, in many cases, killed the patient faster than the disease. Taleb extends the concept to any field: whenever someone intervenes in a system without knowing whether the benefit will outweigh the damage, they are practicing what he calls naive interventionism.

In table tennis, iatrogenics has a name, a surname and an address:

1. Changing equipment after every loss. It’s the most common case. The player loses a tournament, concludes that “the rubber isn’t working”, and switches. Three weeks later, still adapting, he loses again — and switches again. Technique and muscle memory take, on average, 60 to 90 days to adapt to new equipment. Whoever switches before that never gets to play adapted to anything. The treatment (the switch) became the disease (the inconsistency).

2. Tinkering with technique on the eve of a tournament. Fixing a stroke is necessary — but the week before a competition is the worst possible moment. The player goes into the match thinking about his elbow instead of thinking about his opponent.

3. The coach who corrects everything at once. I include myself here. The wish to help makes us point out ten things after a training session. The athlete can’t process ten things. One or two at a time, at most.

4. Volume without recovery. Training more is the automatic answer to any loss. But, as we saw with hormesis, stress without recovery doesn’t strengthen — it breaks.

5. Changing tactics after every lost point. It looks like flexibility, but it’s anxiety. Adjusting the plan because you read something in the game is one thing; abandoning the plan because you lost two points in a row is another.

Notice an apparent contradiction: in the previous section, I argued that the antifragile changes, adapts, moves on. Now I’m telling you not to touch anything. It’s not a contradiction.

Important

The antifragile changes based on information; the iatrogenic changes based on anxiety. The filter question is always: “am I changing because I learned something, or because I’m uncomfortable?”

Via negativa: improving by subtracting

Taleb defends an idea he calls via negativa: often, the way to improve is not to add something, but to take something away. When in doubt, don’t intervene.

Applied to the table, this becomes three practical rules:

One change at a time. If you change the rubber, your backhand technique and your training time all at once, you’ll never know what worked.
With a reason. Every change needs a motive you can explain in one sentence.
With a deadline. Decide beforehand how long you’ll give the change — and don’t reassess before then.

And sometimes the best change is to stop doing something: stop berating yourself out loud, stop looking at the coach after every point, stop reading rubber forums every night.

Antifragile training: stress in the right dose

If hormesis says that small doses of stress make you stronger, training needs to have those doses — on purpose, controlled, with recovery afterwards. A few ideas I use:

Start the set behind. Play sets where the opponent already starts with a 3 or 4 point lead. You train exactly the situation that scares you most in competition.
Multiball with random placement. Instead of a predictable sequence, the feeder varies without warning: one or two balls in one spot, then another elsewhere. He decides the location; your brain learns to decide under uncertainty.
Look for the style you hate. Pips players, choppers, left-handers, blockers. If you avoid it, it becomes your Damocles.
Vary the conditions. A different table, a different hall, a different ball brand. The fragile depends on ideal conditions; the antifragile gets used to not having them.
Play points that count at the end of training, tired. A controlled dose of the fatigue you’ll feel in the fifth set.
Treat competition as a dose, not as a final exam. Every tournament is a stressor that brings information. The result matters, but what you learn from it matters more.

And remember: after the dose, recovery. Sleep, rest, hydrate, eat well. That’s where adaptation happens.

Waldner, Manchester, 1997

In my 2021 text, I said Jan-Ove Waldner had been “crushed” in the team event at the 1997 World Championships in Manchester, and then became champion in the singles. I researched it again for this rewrite — and the real story is even better.

A parenthesis: you’ve probably noticed I quote Waldner a lot — and there’s a reason. Table tennis is divided into before and after him. If you never saw him play, I can only feel sorry for you.

Waldner’s Sweden had been three-time world team champion in 1989, 1991 and 1993, and runner-up in 1995, losing the final to China. In Manchester, the campaign fell apart early: in the group stage, Sweden lost to Belgium, with Waldner beaten by Philippe Saive in the deciding game. In the quarterfinals, they fell to China — even with Waldner beating Kong Linghui. For the first time in years, Sweden went home without a team medal.

And it didn’t stop there: in the doubles final, Waldner and Jörgen Persson lost to Kong Linghui and Liu Guoliang in five games.

At 31, with all of that on his back, Waldner entered the singles tournament and did something that had never been done at a World Championships and probably never will be again: he became champion without losing a single game. In the final, he beat Belarusian Vladimir Samsonov 21-12, 21-17, 21-13. It was his second world singles title, eight years after the first, in Dortmund.

That is not a Phoenix, reborn the same. That is a Hydra. And all of Sweden seems to have learned the lesson: three years later, in 2000, it became world team champion again.

Almost three decades later, the China of 2026 repeated the script, only from the other side of the table: it lost to South Korea and to Sweden itself in the group stage, finished third in the group for the first time in the modern era — and left London as champion, with Liang Jingkun turning around a 3-8 deficit in the deciding game of the final against Tomokazu Harimoto. I told that story in detail in the post about the antifragile China.

But Auad, what about SpongeBob?

Remember that Bob is a sea sponge, not a kitchen one?

The kitchen sponge is resilient: you squeeze it, it returns to its shape. Until the day it tears — and then it goes in the trash.

The sea sponge is another story. Marine sponges are animals, and they are among the living beings with the greatest regeneration capacity on the planet. If a piece breaks off, that piece can become a new sponge — the farmers who grow sponges at sea do exactly that: they cut pieces and let them grow. In 1907, the American biologist H. V. Wilson ran a famous experiment: he pressed a sponge through a fine cloth, separating it into loose cells, and watched those cells regroup and form a sponge again.

Cut a sea sponge and you may end up with more sponges.

In other words: cut a sea sponge and you may end up with more sponges. That is Taleb’s Hydra, in real life, at the bottom of the sea.

And there’s one more detail I ignored in 2021: a sponge doesn’t just serve to return to its shape. A sponge absorbs. When it is squeezed, it lets go of what no longer serves — and gets ready to absorb again. That is exactly what the antifragile player does with every loss: squeezes, lets go of the frustration, the excuse and the blame on the edge, and absorbs what that match had to teach.

How about being a SpongeBob athlete — the real one, from the bottom of the sea? Or, if you prefer, a Hydra athlete: every loss cuts off a head, but what matters is how many grow back.

So, have you ever had a loss that you squeezed until you got a lesson out of it? Tell us in the comments — let’s swap ideas. I’ll read and answer every one.

Your heart lost the point. And it wasn't nerves...

Sun, 04 Oct 2026 20:58:00 -0300

As many of you already know, since my hip replacement I haven’t gone back to coaching table tennis. I keep studying and advising players, friends and a few coaches, all informally, just to help out, pass on knowledge and learn a bit more. Every time I teach, I learn.

On September 26 and 27, 2026, a stage of the state championship took place here in Belo Horizonte. I went to support the tournament and see my friends. At one point, I saw from a distance a 360TT player losing the first set by a wide margin, already close to the end, against an experienced and good penhold player. I got up and went to try to help. What happened next seemed important enough to become a post.

TL;DR: nerves speed up your heart and your breathing, and the player loses precision even with the right plan in hand (what happened in the match and why). Above a certain heart rate, which is yours alone and changes with your fitness, the easy-ball mistakes begin. You can find your threshold with a smartwatch, use the 8 to 10 seconds between points to breathe, and train this away from the table.

The match

I got to the table practically on the last point of the set, and our player lost it. For context: both are right-handed. Our player is very tall, almost 2 meters, always plays close to the table and uses OX long pips on the backhand. The penhold player uses a square-headed racket and, although he has a rubber on the backhand side, he practically never uses it.

When he came over to me, I asked how the match was going. He said he was far more tense and nervous than usual and was trying to calm down. He was sweating a lot and was quite out of breath. I gave him a simple strategy, with only 3 instructions:

On serve: use a single serve, short backspin to the forehand, because the penhold player was expecting a very wide serve to the left, almost off the table. If the ball came back to the forehand, attack the third ball down the line. If it came back anywhere else, push with the pips to his backhand, as wide as possible. That would be the serving plan until the opponent adapted.
On receive: if the serve was long to the forehand, attack with a topspin. In any other case, receive with the pips, pushing to the opponent’s backhand, even if the serve was short to the forehand.
In the rally: if the point went on, always play to the penhold player’s backhand, except when attacking.

He went back to the match breathing better, calmer, and quickly built a lead by following the plan to the letter.

When the plan started to slip

Suddenly, a serve that was supposed to be short went long. The penhold player, who was behind on the scoreboard, attacked and won the point. On the next point, the penhold player served long to the middle, angled toward the backhand. Instead of following the plan (pushing with the pips to his backhand), our player did a half pivot, tried to attack and missed. The lead shrank.

Then the penhold player served short to the forehand. Our player pushed crosscourt with his inverted rubber, got hit by a third ball he didn’t even see go by, and the match was even again. Once more, he didn’t follow the plan.

Then came the 6-point mark, when players are allowed to use the towel, and the penhold player went to dry off. Our player didn’t. He got angry and shouted at himself to stick to the strategy. That only made things worse, as I explain below.

On the first serve after that, very short to the forehand, the opponent pushed short to the middle, our player pushed with the pips to his backhand and won the point outright, as he did EVERY time he used that play. On the next serve, the same problem: the serve went long, the penhold player attacked and won the point. At 9–9, with two serves in hand, the penhold player closed out the set.

Between sets

At the change of ends, our player came over to me out of breath, more than at the first break. I barely talked about technique anymore. I had identified that the biggest problem was the nerves combined with fast breathing through the mouth. I told him:

“Breathe more between points, always go to the towel so you have time to breathe and think. Don’t rush.”

He went back for the third set, and every time he applied the plan, he won the point. But his decisions weren’t always good: he attacked balls he shouldn’t have, couldn’t serve short anymore, lost his precision and started missing simple balls.

When the match ended, he was frustrated, because he knew he had lost to himself. The plan worked. If his breathing had been balanced, with oxygen and carbon dioxide at the right levels, he would have been thinking clearly, and following the plan would have been much easier.

The heart

We table tennis players say that big matches are decided “with the heart”, with emotion.

But the heart that lost that set was the muscle, the real one.

Nerves were the trigger, but what cost him the points was what they did to his body. Nerves release adrenaline, and adrenaline makes the heart beat harder and faster. That’s the first push. Along with it comes short, fast breathing through the mouth, and the whole thing turns into a cycle:

Breathing too fast flushes carbon dioxide out of the body. It sounds strange, but breathing very fast doesn’t “give more air” to the brain. The resulting imbalance reduces the blood flow that reaches the head. This is the most likely hypothesis for what I saw: I didn’t measure our player, but everything I observed is consistent with it.
The head pays the bill. The result shows up where the game demands the most from the brain: reading spin, precision of touch, split-second decisions.
Frustration closes the cycle. When our player gets on his own case, shouts or fills up with tension, more adrenaline comes, the heart speeds up even more and breathing gets worse. That is exactly what happened with his shout.

The result is what we saw: our player knows what to do, but loses the precision to execute it. A short serve becomes a long serve, a ball meant for a pips push becomes an attack, an easy ball becomes a mistake.

It wasn’t voluntary tactical disobedience, nor a lack of will. It’s the body sending the bill, and that can be trained.

Table tennis is like interval training

You could say table tennis is like interval training (HIIT): the effort lasts a few seconds and then comes a short break. The time between points averages 8 to 10 seconds, and in big tournaments it can be even longer. That interval is your greatest ally for the body to recover. But when your heart rate is already too high, 8 to 10 rushed seconds recover nothing, and the player goes into the next point already “in debt”.

A note so as not to exaggerate: a study of the sport’s demands showed that table tennis is mostly aerobic and that lactate stays low during matches. In other words, the problem isn’t always “tired legs”. It’s heart rate, breathing, brain oxygenation and tension.

Your threshold changes with your fitness

Since I started wearing a smartwatch in my matches and training sessions, I’ve noticed something: above 150 beats per minute, the phenomenon shows up in my game (I start missing easy balls and making worse decisions). Below that, I keep thinking clearly. That number is mine. Yours may be higher or lower, and it isn’t fixed: as your fitness improves, it changes quite a bit.

By the logic of effort, the less fit you are, the faster you get close to your limit at the same intensity of play, and the longer it takes to come back down. Studies on recovery show that fitter people have a lower resting heart rate and recover faster after exertion. It’s reasonable to expect the same in table tennis: fitter players tend to recover more between points.

Mini method: find your threshold with a smartwatch

The idea is to use a smartwatch (or a chest strap) as a training tool, to learn where your heart rate is when you lose precision. A chest strap usually gives a more reliable reading than the wrist, especially when the effort is high. The smartwatch already helps a lot to see the trend.

Record the session. In practice matches with a real score (sets that count), keep the smartwatch or strap recording.
Mark the moments you lose precision. Ask someone to note down, or note it yourself afterwards, the score when you missed an easy ball, when the short serve went long, or when you attacked a ball you shouldn’t have.
Cross-check with the graph. After the session, open the heart rate graph and see which range you were in at those moments.
Repeat over a few sessions. After 3 or 4 sessions, a range shows up. That is your alert zone.
Set your “yellow light”. Just before that range is when you trigger your between-points routine (below).

Once you know your limit, you can glance at your watch between points and see your heart rate in real time. Check first whether your competition’s rules allow it. In training, checking in real time is a good way to connect the feeling of fatigue to the number. For anyone who needs to keep their heart rate under control, it’s also a safety matter.

Without the watch, your body also warns you. Signs that your heart rate has gone too far: breathing through the mouth, shoulders rising, feeling your heart pounding, the urge to serve quickly and grab the ball in a hurry, hands tense on the racket.

Once you find that limit, you can play or train while monitoring your breathing and heart rate and, if you notice it getting out of control, trigger your between-points routine right away.

How to make the most of the 8 to 10 seconds between points

When your heart rate is racing, the break between points is your tool. A short routine that fits in the time:

At the start of the break: take a step back or look away from the table and drop your shoulders.
One full breath: breathe in without rushing, ideally through the nose, and breathe out slowly, longer than the inhale. A simple rule is to breathe out for twice as long as you took to breathe in. One cycle like that fits in 8 to 10 seconds. If two fit, even better. Also make use of the longer breaks, like when the ball goes far away or the umpire talks to your opponent: they’re extra pauses to breathe.
A mental cue, not spoken: talking uses up breath, so think it, don’t say it. A good phrase is “stick to the plan”.
Avoid: breathing fast through the mouth and grabbing the ball any old way. Rushing speeds up your heart. If you have to fetch the ball from far away, go slowly. Remember: not rushing also spares your heart.

At the towel, which comes every 6 points, use it without guilt and without skipping it: do 2 or 3 breathing cycles and pick ONE instruction from the plan. In the 1-minute break between sets, breathing comes first, and only then technique. Avoid drinking a lot of water at once: while you drink, you don’t breathe, and afterwards you’re out of breath. Drink in small sips.

An honest warning: breathing with a long exhale has been tested in studies of daily practice (about 5 minutes a day), and it reduced tension and improved mood. Using it between points is my own application, based on observation and experience. Test it and practice breathing this way before using it in an important match. If you’re not used to breathing through your nose under effort, you may feel short of breath at first, so build up gradually. Ideally, you shouldn’t have to keep thinking about controlling your breathing: with training it should become automatic, so you can focus only on the game.

How to train this away from the table

Fitness: the better your physical conditioning, the higher your threshold and the faster you recover. Work on it with table-tennis-specific sessions, like intense multiball with short breaks. A good strength and conditioning coach or personal trainer can help a lot.
Breathing: practice long-exhale breathing for a few minutes a day, ideally at a fixed time.
Match routine: practice the between-points routine in every practice match, so it becomes automatic when the pressure arrives.
Mindset: when you miss, focus on getting back to the plan and to your breathing, not on shouting. Getting on your own case out loud speeds up your heart and can release more adrenaline.

About shouting, from my experience as a coach, there are two kinds. The relief shout, which releases tension and can leave you calmer afterwards, is fine. The self-scolding shout, the “I have to make this!” kind, tends to speed your heart up even more. Use the first one wisely, so the effect isn’t the opposite.

Important warning

If you feel any chest pain, strong dizziness or unusual shortness of breath during exercise, see a doctor before you keep training. What’s here is table talk, not medical advice.

At the end of the day

The winner is whoever can keep a clear head under pressure the longest.

And the head only commands the racket if the body knows how to breathe.

Now I want to hear from you: what’s your routine between points? Have you noticed at what heart rate your clear thinking starts to suffer? Have you ever used a smartwatch to find out? Tell me in the comments: I’ll reply, and I’ll learn along with you.

The Antifragile China: From Chaos to the World Title

Sun, 10 May 2026 23:04:00 -0300

Analysis · 2026 World Championships

The antifragile thrives and grows when exposed to chaos, volatility and stress.

Nassim Nicholas Taleb, Antifragile

Nassim Nicholas Taleb spent years developing a concept that goes far beyond what most people call “resilience”. Being resilient means withstanding the shock and returning to the same state. Being antifragile is different: it means coming out of the shock stronger than you went in. The antifragile needs stress in order to improve.

At the 2026 World Table Tennis Team Championships, held at the OVO Arena Wembley in London, China’s men’s team gave the world a practical, unforgettable lesson in what it means to be antifragile. Two defeats in the group stage. A 26-year legacy thrown to the ground. And then: a dramatic semifinal against France, a dominant final against Japan, and the 24th world title in history.

This post tells that story, with all the real data, match by match.

TL;DR: China arrived in London with 26 years without a defeat in the tournament and lost twice in the group stage (South Korea and Sweden). It reacted with revenge on Korea, a comeback semifinal against France, in which Liang Jingkun came back from 0-2 down after a talk from coach Wang Hao, and a 3-0 over Japan for the 24th title. For the author, it is a real case of Taleb’s concept of antifragility: the team that needed the chaos to show what it is made of.

26years without a defeat in the tournament

83consecutive team matches without losing

262individual matches in that streak

24world titles in total

The unthinkable: the two group stage defeats

To understand the magnitude of what happened in London, you first have to understand the size of the myth that had to be torn down.

Since the final of the 2000 World Championships in Kuala Lumpur, when China lost to Sweden, the Chinese men’s team had built one of the most impressive streaks in the history of any team sport: 83 team matches without a defeat, involving 262 individual matches and only 13 sets lost in 26 years. Eleven consecutive world titles. An unbeaten run that felt more like a philosophy than a result.

In London, that myth died twice in two days.

1st defeat: China 1 × 3 South Korea (group stage)

The first blow came on Saturday, May 2. South Korea, with a bold strategy and a calculated team lineup, beat China 3-1, breaking a 26-year streak of Chinese wins in the tournament.

The most telling detail: the world No. 1 and reigning champion, Wang Chuqin, was rested. The Chinese delegation had underestimated the opponent. In his place came Zhou Qihao, 29 years old. South Korea took advantage and won with authority.

The reaction from the Chinese media and fans was immediate and brutal: questions about the team’s decline, about the quality of the squad, about the end of an era. In just 48 hours, what had been seen as the most dominant team in the history of table tennis became a question mark.

2nd defeat: China 2 × 3 Sweden (group stage)

If the first defeat was a shake, the second was an earthquake.

On Sunday, against Sweden, Wang Chuqin came back and was brilliant, winning both of his matches with authority:

Wang Chuqin (No. 1) 3×0 Anton Källberg (No. 33): 11-8, 11-5, 11-6
Wang Chuqin (No. 1) 3×0 Elias Ranefur (No. 70): 12-10, 11-6, 11-4

But it wasn’t enough. Sweden adopted a brilliant strategy: they entered Truls Möregårdh, world No. 2 and silver medalist at Paris 2024, as the team’s third player, avoiding a direct clash with Wang Chuqin. Möregårdh played only one match and sealed the deal:

Elias Ranefur (No. 70) 3×2 Lin Shidong (No. 6): 9-11, 6-11, 11-3, 11-6, 9-11
Anton Källberg (No. 33) 3×1 Lin Shidong (No. 6): 12-10, 10-12, 11-8, 11-8
Truls Möregårdh (No. 2) 3×2 Liang Jingkun (No. 21): 11-7, 9-11, 11-9, 3-11, 12-10

China finished third in Group 1. For the first time in its modern history, it did not finish in the top two of a group stage at the World Team Championships.

The WTT broadcast commentator spoke with the legendary Ma Long, considered the greatest table tennis player of all time, who had traveled to London to watch the matches. Asked about his presence, he simply answered:

I came to learn.

Ma Long

A sentence that summed up the moment of a nation.

The turnaround begins: the round of 16 and the quarterfinals

Before the semifinal, China had to get through two knockout rounds. And the signs of recovery began to appear.

In the round of 16, against Romania, China won 3-1, but not without scares. Romania’s Eduard Ionescu (No. 41 in the ranking) beat Liang Jingkun in straight sets, one more reminder that nothing was guaranteed. Wang Chuqin, unbeaten in the tournament, closed out the match.

In the quarterfinals, China met exactly the South Korea that had beaten it in the group stage, and this time delivered a categorical revenge: 3-0, in a match that lasted only 2 hours and 56 minutes. Wang Chuqin, Lin Shidong and Liang Jingkun all played. The message was sent.

China had secured its 32nd medal in 34 appearances in the history of the tournament. But the big story was still to come.

Semifinal against France: the night the myth was reborn

With Ma Long in the stands of Wembley Arena, China stepped up to the table on Saturday, May 9, to face France, the only unbeaten team in the men’s event up to that moment, which had knocked out Brazil in the quarterfinals 3-0 with a devastating performance from the Lebrun brothers and Flavien Coton.

What followed was the match that defined the spirit of the whole tournament.

Match 1 · semifinal

Wang ChuqinCHN · 1st

3×2

Flavien CotonFRA · 23rd

Wang Chuqin came in as the absolute favorite. Coton, just 18 years old, a former world cadet champion, wanted none of it. The Frenchman played fearlessly, pushing Wang to the limit. In the first set, Coton gave nothing away: Wang had to get to 15-13 just to win the opener. France turned it around in sets 2 and 3. Wang reacted, but needed a deciding set to confirm the win. Wang remained unbeaten, but had been taken to a fifth set for the first time in the tournament.

Match 2 · semifinal

Lin ShidongCHN · 6th

0×3

Félix LebrunFRA · 4th

Félix Lebrun, 19 years old, Olympic bronze medalist at Paris 2024 and world No. 4, was relentless. With his sharp counter-attacking game, he dominated Lin Shidong in 3 straight sets. Team match tied.

Match 3 · semifinal⚡ The turnaround match

Liang JingkunCHN · 21st

3×2

Alexis LebrunFRA · 12th

This was the heart of the semifinal. And probably one of the most dramatic moments in team table tennis in years.

Alexis Lebrun, 22 years old, European champion and world No. 12, dominated the first two sets in crushing fashion, conceding only 4 points in total. Liang Jingkun looked finished. China was on the edge of the cliff.

That was when the team’s coach, Wang Hao, himself a three-time individual world champion, stepped in during the break between the second and third sets with words that mixed technique and mental release. The talk was caught by the WTT cameras:

🎙️ Wang Hao, China's coach, during the timeout

“On the serve receive, you have to have the attitude of going firmly into the ball, of taking his serve on head-on. Don’t overthink things, take the weight off your head.

If you go on the attack, go all in. After you flick the receive, stay very sharp. If you open the rally with the flick, he’s going to block quickly in your direction, so you have to be ready to defend or counter-attack that ball coming back.

There’s no room to count on luck now, there’s no free ball.

Play as if you’ve already lost, go all or nothing. Let your arm go without fear of missing! Value every chance you get on the table. Believe in your game, you can turn this around. Let’s go!”

It was, at the same time, a precise technical instruction and an act of psychological release. The key was in the central sentence: “play as if you’ve already lost.” Taleb would call this removing the downside: when there is nothing left to lose, fear disappears and the player can act with total conviction.

And that is exactly what Liang did. The third set went to 15-13 in Liang’s favor. In the fourth, he opened 10-3; Alexis fought back and tied it at 10-10. Liang closed it out. In the fifth set, it was quickly 9-2, and he finished it at 11-2.

Wembley Arena exploded.

Match 4 · semifinal

Wang ChuqinCHN · 1st

3×1

Félix LebrunFRA · 4th

With China ahead and Liang Jingkun having rekindled the team’s flame, Wang Chuqin returned to face the best French player in a classic of world table tennis. The rallies were of a high level from the start. But Wang, energized by Liang’s reaction, grew progressively and closed it out in four sets.

What Liang showed tonight moved me. Seeing him fight back from that position made me believe more when I went back to the table.

Wang Chuqin

Final against Japan: the 24th title and the 12th in a row

In the final on Sunday, May 10, in front of more than 7,000 spectators in a packed Wembley Arena, China faced Japan, which had reached its first men’s World Team Championships final since 2016, after beating Chinese Taipei 3-0 in the semifinal.

It was the seventh time the two countries had met in a men’s final in this tournament. China had won all six previous ones. This time, the story was different from what many expected, not because of the margin, but because of the protagonists.

Match 1 · final⚡ Another epic comeback

Liang JingkunCHN

3×2

Harimoto TomokazuJPN · 3rd

Sets: 8-11 / 4-11 / 11-9 / 13-11 / 11-8 (comeback from 3-8 in the decisive set)

Harimoto, 22 years old and world No. 3, won the first two sets. In the fourth, he had match point. It looked as if the semifinal comeback had been an isolated flash.

But Liang Jingkun, the man who had risen from the dead in the semifinal, was not willing to die again. In the decisive break, Wang Hao gave the instruction and calibrated without stirring things up:

🎙️ Wang Hao, China's coach, in the deciding set

“Keep exactly this rhythm. Overall, there’s no need to rush and speed up the game.

When you attack, pull the ball more toward the middle of his side of the table, got it? Go a bit more measured and focus there in the middle.

If you use the forehand, play heavy, right in the middle of him. If it’s the backhand, since he steps up to the table, turn the ball to the other side.

Very good. That’s it, total focus now. One point at a time. Hold his game. You don’t need to try to force impossible balls, just pin him down.

In this final stretch, you have to believe in yourself. If you go on the attack and sink your teeth into the game, he’s the one who will get desperate and panic. Okay? Go.”

Where before Wang Hao had freed Liang from fear, now he rebalanced him: control, patience, faith. Two timeouts. Two completely different registers. One same principle: put the player in the right mental state for the moment.

Liang Jingkun listened. He came back from 3-8 in the deciding set. He closed it out at 8-11, 4-11, 11-9, 13-11, 11-8.

Two matches in a row. Two epic comebacks. One same man.

Match 2 · final

Wang ChuqinCHN · 1st

3×1

Matsushima SoraJPN · 8th

Sets: 8-11 / 12-10 / 11-2 / 11-9

Wang Chuqin maintained the solidity and leadership he had shown throughout the tournament. He lost the first set to the talented young Matsushima, but responded with authority in the next three. Wang finished the tournament unbeaten in every individual match he played, a historic performance.

Match 3 · final🏆 The title

Lin ShidongCHN · 6th

3×1

Togami ShunsukeJPN · 18th

Sets: 11-9 / 11-5 / 7-11 / 11-9

Lin Shidong had been China’s most inconsistent player in the tournament: he had lost four matches, including to the Swedes Ranefur and Källberg in the group stage. He was the big unknown of the Chinese team.

In the final, when it was time to close out the championship, he was the one who sealed the conquest. China is a twelve-time consecutive world champion (12x), with 24 titles in total, double Hungary, the second-biggest winner in history with 12.

The organizers raised the Swaythling Cup. Ma Long smiled in the stands.

The parallel with antifragility: why this is more than sport

Taleb describes three categories of systems: the fragile, which breaks under pressure; the robust, which resists without changing; and the antifragile, which gets stronger with chaos. China’s men’s team in London 2026 was a perfect case study.

Principle 1 · defeats as a stimulus

When a team that went 26 years unbeaten loses twice in two days, the natural response would be panic and a defensive reorganization. China did the opposite: it used the defeats as information. It identified vulnerabilities (Lin Shidong inconsistent, Liang Jingkun in poor form) and exposed those players to the fire of competition, instead of protecting them.

Principle 2 · individual stress, collective strength

Liang Jingkun lost matches against South Korea, Sweden and Romania. On any fragile team, he would have been rested. On China, he was picked for the most important match of the tournament, and responded with a comeback that defined the championship. The accumulated stress converted into extraordinary performance exactly when it mattered most.

Principle 3 · the psychology of legends

Ma Long “came to learn”. Xu Xin was in the stands. Coach Wang Hao freed Liang from fear with the paradox “play as if you’ve already lost” and then, in the final, rebalanced him with tactical calm: “one point at a time, don’t try to force it”. Two timeouts, two completely different registers for the same player in different situations. Accepting defeat removes the pressure of avoiding it and allows you to act with total conviction.

Principle 4 · the system is bigger than the parts

Lin Shidong, the player with the most defeats in the tournament, closed out the championship. Liang Jingkun, the one who suffered the most, was the hero of the semifinal. Wang Chuqin, the most brilliant, was the anchor and finished unbeaten. None of them, alone, tells the complete story. The team was the system. Taleb writes that antifragile systems need skin in the game (real exposure to the consequences). China had that in London.

The difference between dominating and winning

There is a difference between a team that dominates because the others are weak and a team that wins because it is, structurally, capable of growing under pressure.

During 26 years of being unbeaten, China piled up titles with relative ease. In London 2026, for the first time in decades, China was forced to find out what it is made of when the comfortable scenario disappears.

The answer was the clearest demonstration of antifragility that team table tennis has ever seen.

They did not survive the chaos. They needed it.

Now I want to hear from you: what did you think of this final? Would you have bet on China to win the title after the group stage defeats? What did you think of Liang Jingkun? And of Wang Hao’s talks during the timeouts? Tell me everything in the comments, I’ll love reading it!

There Are Many Places to Go (Literally or Not)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 16:43:00 -0300

“If you don’t know where you are going, any road will take you there.”

That quote from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland dates back to 1865 (!!!), and unfortunately it is heavily used by today’s famous so-called modern-thinking gurus, sellers of courses on how to sell courses, and everyone below them. And yes, also unfortunately, they are everywhere. They do try to lay out different goals, but in the end they generally converge on pointing to a “fascinating glory” or an “intoxicating happiness”. And look, there is nothing wrong with actually seeking any of that, OK? But what you define as your destination may not only make no sense at all, it can make your road miserable, and in the worst case, even start making you hate your passion.

First of all, I won’t run the risk of being just one more of the “geniuses” I mentioned above: I have no science or formula to bring to anyone. Most of what is here (and whatever I may bring at any time) has to do with what happened to ME, from the experience of one more of the majority of you, amateurs who practice this sport with all their heart to the point that it fuses with their personality. And when it didn’t happen to ME, it comes from experiences with countless people (from beginners to professionals) who have crossed my path and suffered from these questions and restlessness. It doesn’t mean there is anything wrong (or right) if these things have never crossed your mind. But it may happen at some point, and if it doesn’t, even better!

TL;DR: the risk of tying your identity to the result is that you never control your opponent, and nobody is a result: they are only in one. Between “professional” and “recreational” there are plenty of people in the middle, and that is why club, coach and partners don’t always give you what you want. More useful than asking where to get to is asking what you enjoy doing along the way, demanding less from your club and partners and remembering that you have the right to be happy with the sport.

The danger of results

Obviously, every sport is about winning or losing, and even more obviously, everybody plays to win. The effect of that, seen in a healthy and controlled way, is essential in sport, in life and in society. So far, so good.

The problem is that there is an enormous risk in tying your identity in the sport to results. It is nice (and once again, even healthy) to set yourself the goal of beating A or B, winning C or D, and that can, in fact, drive you to improve. But who will you be when you lose? Notice: I am not talking about sportsmanship here, because that has to do with who you are toward the world. But what about toward yourself? Regardless of frustration (a topic for another occasion, and probably with content that would stray from what you believe would be the standard), how would it affect your image in the sport and vice versa? You can be at your best form and on your best day and still not win. There is someone on the other side of the table who is a whole other universe, and making your identity depend on something so externally influenced is Russian roulette, and one where you don’t even know how many bullets the gun is carrying.

I have had and still have many privileges in my journey with this sport, but perhaps the greatest of them was realizing very early on (and by myself, certainly more luck than anything else) that I would have minimal chances of achieving even the tiniest thing in it in terms of results. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have my own little crises about it, and at times they took some of the shine off the whole thing.

In other words, the most important thing is to understand that, in terms of results and achievements (or the lack of them), nobody IS anything. They just ARE in it. No matter how big or small, whatever you achieve leaves merits and memories, but it does not DEFINE anyone. Over many years in this sport, I have seen people defeated by their own ego or, worse, even quitting the sport, haunted by it for lack of what they judged to be a relevant result, which in itself is already a treacherous definition.

The danger of extremes

If everything is polarized, rest assured that thinking is first in line. Of course, not everything is deliberate or ill-intentioned, but it is very common for people to see basically two approaches to the sport: professional and recreational. Yet while we worry about labels, a lot happens between the two ends of that ruler, which is where the absolute majority of us are.

This usually becomes obvious when there are several people in the same space, in a training group, for example. There are, indeed, people who leave home just to “play around”, but that doesn’t mean none of them is interested in learning anything. There are others who treat it as a kind of “performance routine”, but that doesn’t mean they are chasing an Olympic medal either. And along this road, there are people everywhere in between, and at some point, their interests will potentially collide, basically because of three factors at play:

The places where we practice usually have a reasonably defined direction, but we are a sport that cannot afford to dedicate such specific resources to many different interests individually, since even that space is probably struggling to keep what it has just as it is;
Coaches, regardless of the effort they are willing to put in, often (usually, in fact) have a very heterogeneous group and the mission of not only trying to do the best for each of those interests, but of not losing anyone along the way (and there is no need to say how hard that is);
Not always (rarely, to be honest) do the practitioners themselves have much clarity about what they expect from their own practice.

Path, destination, mirror and window

Yes, someone can try to teach you how to serve, receive and strike, but not to discover what is inside you and what moves you. I would like to say it can, but well… it is that hard. On the other hand, one thing is quite simple and spares you a lifetime of frustration: no destination will make you happy if you don’t enjoy the road. Lots of people would like to be champion of A, know how to do B, be the best at Y, but the truth is that none of that matters if you are not willing to travel the road to get there. So it makes far more sense to ask yourself what you like or would like to do than to imagine what you would like to achieve. And the one has nothing to do with the other.

The good news is that it is much truer to deal with the “process”, which we carry out often, than with the “goal”, which we may never reach. You will always have an answer while you are doing it, so things start to make more sense. While doing / learning, you will have frequent opportunities to stand in front of the mirror and assess the meaning that this has for you, the good it does for your life, and so on. If the only thing that makes sense to you is what you see looking out the window, you may find that the road to get there was not really what you wanted for yourself. And unfortunately, all of this is further amplified when you see, in that window, incredible videos lasting seconds as if they were the ordinary and not the exceptional.

It is not simple, it may take a while, but the fact is that if you can’t have happy moments along the way, you will hardly reach whatever you define as your destination. And whatever it is, it won’t make you happy for long. And more than that: still based on what you saw looking out the window, was it really you who chose your road and your destination? Is someone thinking for you, or worse, do you just want what you saw? Believe me: although there is nothing brilliant about it, that answer and what you do with it can change your relationship with the sport for the much better.

Buying a car at the butcher’s

Although I can’t remember right now who I heard it from in order to give proper credit, wise was the person who once said that “table tennis is the most collective individual sport there is”. And all of that starts right on the other side of the net. It’s no use knowing exactly what you want if your training partner isn’t at least minimally willing to help. But a warning: even though both wanting to travel the same road is the perfect alignment and the best of all worlds, the almost inevitable lack of it is no excuse for every frustration. It is a topic for a symposium, which won’t happen here, but not everything, and probably much less than you imagine, is your partner’s fault.

Anyway, with that in mind, it makes no sense to look for something where there is nothing to offer. In many years in this, I have seen and lived frustrations in every direction. But many of them (including any conflicts arising from them) could be avoided with the simple maturity of understanding what you can expect. Sometimes the club doesn’t have the direction you would like, sometimes the coach, sometimes the group, sometimes the facilities, sometimes a bit of all of it, but in the end it is up to you to choose where you want to look for what you want. And considering that we are a small sport (and I’m not talking only about Brazil), you will most likely not find everything you are looking for in one place or with one set of partners, so flexibility is called for, along with setting its limit. But important: have you ever asked yourself how much YOU are offering (and money here is the least important thing) in the middle of all this?

Be good to yourself

It is incredibly easy to be unhappy with what supposedly makes you happy. Often, as I said above, because you accepted a road that belonged to someone else, a mold that doesn’t fit you. And often, the problem lies precisely in treating all of this as “screw heads”, that is, there is a limited number of pre-established kinds of them, and it is up to you to have the right wrench to handle them, or to get one if you don’t have it.

You can have fun doing what the rest of the people think is just a price to pay for the fun. And that’s fine. You don’t have to compete if you have no real motivation for it. And that’s all right. If you do compete, you don’t have to expect any result, and especially, you owe no explanation about them to anyone other than yourself or whoever has actually invested in your journey (use sparingly in both cases). And that’s great. In short, (although many people seem to want to take it away from us almost systematically) you have the RIGHT to be happy with table tennis, and if you don’t make a living from it, it is almost an OBLIGATION to yourself. So don’t be afraid to choose your roads, nor to create your own road, if need be.

Choose between cure and disease

Anyway, if you don’t understand what makes you happy, table tennis can be one more source of frustration. As if we needed one in the age of anxiety. And it doesn’t mean that something so deep has to be obvious, and indeed it isn’t. But opting out of that understanding can bring frustrations that lead you to a distorted sense of yourself. So how about dedicating a little reflection to keeping frustrations strictly in the realm of the serve you missed at 9-9 or the shot you hit on the edge of a medium ball?

Choose your limits and own the consequences. And never forget the reasons why the sport is in your life.

Now I want to hear from you: have you ever felt that table tennis has put more weight than support on your shoulders? Share your experience in the comments.

Cover image credit: ittfeducation.com

2026: Burn Your Ships and Destroy the Fear of Playing

Thu, 01 Jan 2026 22:32:00 -0300

Welcome to the first day of 2026.

Today, most people are making lists. Promises that they will train more, improve their backhand, raise their rating. But I don’t want you to make promises today. Promises are fragile. Promises depend on willpower, and willpower fades.

Today, I want to invite you to do something far more dangerous and effective: I want you to burn your ships.

The logic of “no way back”

The story goes that an ancient commander, landing with his soldiers on enemy land for an impossible battle, gave an insane order: “Burn all our ships.”

While the fleet burned, he looked at his men and said: “Now there is no road back home. The only way we get out of here alive is by moving forward and winning.”

Do you know what happened? They fought with a ferocity the enemy had never seen. Why? Because when you eliminate the option to retreat, your brain stops looking for exits and focuses 100% on winning.

Your “ship” is the shrunken arm

In table tennis, your “escape ship” is that cowardly thought that shows up at 9-9:

“I’ll just push this ball to the other side so I don’t miss.”
“I’ll wait for him to attack first.”
“If I lose this set, I’ll make it up in the next one.”

That is your brain trying to protect you. It says: “Play it safe.” But listen carefully: playing with a “shrunken arm” is the only certainty of defeat.

“Plan B” is a trap. When you step up to the table thinking there is an acceptable excuse for losing, you have already burned your chance of winning. A top athlete doesn’t play not to lose. A top athlete plays to win the point.

The 2026 manifesto

From today, January 1st, forget “resolutions”. Adopt No-Way-Back Mode:

1. Doubt is the enemy, not error

If the ball came up and your instinct said “attack”, ATTACK. If you miss, you missed while trying to do the right thing. That is evolution. Missing because you got scared and just tried to push the ball? That is regression. In 2026, forgive your technical mistakes, but don’t tolerate your cowardice.

2. Burn “safety”

You know that “bread and butter” game, just to be sure? Forget it. The world of table tennis rewards those who take the initiative. At the decisive moment, luck protects those who have courage. Stop waiting for your opponent’s error; force it.

3. Enter the war zone

Imagine there is an abyss behind your table. There are no stands, no wall, no tomorrow. There is only you, the racket and the next ball. When you remove the option to retreat, fear turns into absolute focus.

Here at 360TT, this is the mindset we breathe. We provide the elite equipment so that you have technical confidence, but the courage to use that weapon… that has to come from you. We are the HQ, but you are the one going into battle.

Your mission now

Don’t save energy for the way back, because there is no way back. Leave everything on the table. Sweat, shouting, intensity.

Loosen that arm. Face the game.

Don’t promise anything, but deliver everything in 2026.

The final challenge

Don’t close this page without sealing your deal. Whoever only reads, forgets. Whoever commits, delivers.

I want to know: what is the “ship” you are going to burn today?

Is it the fear of losing rating? Is it the shame of missing an attack in front of others? Is it the habit of complaining about your racket when you are losing?

Write here in the comments what you are leaving behind. Type: “In 2026, I burn the ship of [YOUR BIGGEST FEAR]”.

Let’s see who has the courage to play loose this year. See you in the comments.