Money can't buy community
Originally written in Chinese. Translated with AI, reviewed by Gary. Read the Chinese original →
A couple of years ago, a few close friends of mine saw the pickleball trend, took over an old factory together and turned it into pickleball courts. Because we're very close, I've heard bits and pieces about how they've been doing over these two years.
Honestly, they've done well.
In the Klang Valley, theirs is one of the pickleball venues with pretty good traffic. Chatting with them recently, my friend mentioned something interesting. Because they're running well, some nearby pickleball venues that can't keep going have come to ask whether they'd like to take over, or partner.
That shows pickleball courts have reached an awkward stage.
At first, everyone saw the trend and thought it was hot: open a court and people will come. So lots of investment deals appeared in the market, some putting in five or seven million at a time. Find an empty plot, build courts, fit it out, then start calculating ROI: payback in three years, payback in five years.
Sounds sexy.
The problem is that many people saw the buzz, not the substance.
I'm an outsider myself. I used to look at pickleball only for the buzz too. Lots of people playing, courts heavily booked, it looked easy money. But looking more closely lately, I realised the truly hard part of this business isn't the courts. It's the people.
I asked my friend: why do others struggle while you're doing better?
He said: because they have community.
They don't just rent out a court. They have hosts, they have events, they have regulars who come to play, people who bring new friends, people who help organise games. Over time, the place stops being just a venue and becomes a circle.
I think that's the key.
When people invest in sports businesses, they think about assets, fit-out, revenue per square foot and payback period. But what really holds the business up is usually none of those. It's whether a community has grown.
Tokyo's runner stations
Recently I also came across something else that's very interesting: Japan's runner stations.
A friend first recommended I look at them. Near the Imperial Palace in Tokyo there's a kind of service called a runner station. Simply put, after work, office workers can go there to change, store their things, even rent running clothes and shoes, then run a loop around the Imperial Palace, about five kilometres. Afterwards they come back, shower, change, and go for dinner or head home.
I was actually a bit surprised when I saw it.
Because what it solves isn't a big problem. It's a very small, very fine friction of everyday life.
You want to run, but where do you leave your bag? You didn't bring shoes, so what now? You're sweaty after running, so where do you shower? Office workers can't ride the train home in running gear, so what do they do?
What's impressive about the Japanese is that they can turn such a small need into a complete service.
It works out to around RM40 to RM50 a visit. By Japanese prices, that's about a bowl of ramen. You pay that, and you buy a very smooth exercise experience.
This isn't a windfall business.
Unlike some projects, it can't explode overnight, raise money overnight and copy itself into many branches overnight. It still depends on location, service, cleanliness, management, membership and long-term trust.
What's more interesting is that runner stations aren't a trend from the last few years either.
After the Tokyo Marathon began around 2007, Japan's recreational running culture matured, more and more people ran around the Imperial Palace, and runner stations gradually became a long-running type of business. Today they're nothing new. They're part of city life.
That made me rethink so-called "sports trends".
Often, when we see a trend rising, we assume it's a wave to ride. Then investors come in, founders come in, and everyone starts calculating market size, payback periods and how many outlets to open.
But sport isn't entirely a trend business.
It's more a business of living habits.
Whether a sport fades isn't about how hot it is now, but whether it has become a way of life for a group of people.
What they sell is belonging
Pickleball is the same.
If it's only a craze, where people play twice, take a few photos and post on social media, it will fade fast. But if it slowly becomes a fixed social activity, with games every week, competitions every month, hosts, beginners, strong players, friends bringing friends, then it's not a short-term trend. It's a life scene that can be run for the long term.
If someone only thinks, I'll put in five million, get it back in three years and exit in five, it may be very hard going. Because this kind of business isn't built by piling up money. Money can build your courts, buy equipment and pay for the fit-out, but money can't buy real community.
The people who last are usually the ones who are genuinely into the thing.
He loves running, so he knows what runners really want. He loves pickleball, so he understands why beginners stay. He's really part of the circle, so he knows who can host, which events people will come to, and what price people are willing to pay.
None of this can be calculated in a spreadsheet.
Of course, the business still has to add up. Rent, staff, utilities, maintenance, return on investment: all of it has to be worked out. But if from the start you treat it only as an "asset investment project", it's easy to read it wrong.
Because this kind of business doesn't sell space.
It sells belonging.
Runner stations don't sell lockers and showers either. They sell: I can easily go for a run after work.
A pickleball venue doesn't sell an hour of court rental. It sells: every week I can play with a group of people, sweat together and meet new friends.
Many sports booms are now about to hit a dividing line.
The first wave of people sees the trend and rushes in. The second wave sees others making money and rushes in too. Then the market gets oversupplied, prices get messy, and the poorly run ones start to exit.
Those left standing won't necessarily be the best decorated or the biggest investments, but the ones who truly understand users, community and long-term operation.
Crazes pass, but ways of life remain.
If pickleball ends up only a craze, it will slowly cool. If it becomes a way of socialising, it will stay. If running is only a weight-loss tool, it's easy to stop. But if running becomes the rhythm of someone's life, runner stations have a reason to exist.
Japan's runner stations gave me a big insight.
Some businesses don't need to chase explosive growth from the start. What they need is density, habit, service and time.
You run it slowly, gather people slowly, and slowly let a place become part of people's lives.
This kind of business won't be especially sexy, and it may not suit telling big stories. But done well, it can be very stable and last a long time.
The condition is that the person running it can't only see money.
He has to genuinely love the thing.
Because only if you really love it will you be willing to deal with all the fine, annoying, unglamorous stuff: are the courts clean, do beginners have someone to guide them, are regulars looked after, do events have a rhythm, do people feel this place is their own when they come.
These things are the real moat of a community business.