We were going to cover the NC gubernatorial race in this edition, because that clown car is just chock full o’ nuts, to mix a metaphor and steal a trademark. But the race is not quite ripe yet, with the intramural squabbling only at a low murmur. Another month closer to the primary will almost certainly bring some fresh amusement.
Instead, let’s talk about pickleball.
Yes, pickleball.
Pickleball is a deceptively simple game, once you digest a set of fairly oddball rules, such as how to announce the score (3 numbers, the last of which is always 1 or 2) and why you cannot stand in the kitchen and the role of your belly button when serving. At a more advanced level, you will learn how to both Bert and Ernie, as well as the tried-and-true Nasty Nelson.
If you are one of the two or three people left on the planet who is unfamiliar with the activity, it is played on a hard tennis-like court (only smaller) with a ball full of holes and made of plastic (slightly larger than a tennis ball). You strike the ball with a solid paddle, similar to a table tennis paddle (only bigger).
Keys to success at pickleball include patience, stamina, good hand-eye coordination, and a willingness to shell out two or three hundred dollars for a paddle made of space-aged fibers hand-crafted by “Pickleball Professionals.”
Most cities of any decent size these days are catering to their pickleballers by handing over the old tennis courts. Not surprisingly, this has not set well with the middle-aged tennis players who use those courts. Middle-aged, because when they were young they learned tennis and it’s what they do. Mid-life tennis players perceive pickleball as a game for people who are past their tennis prime. Middle age is the sweet spot for tennis. Young people like pickleball because it’s fast and exciting and new, not to mention a good way to hook up. Boomers like p-ball because it’s easier on the knees. Town meetings on the topic have become highly-charged affairs.
The result of this practice – sharing tennis courts with pickleball players – is often a lose-lose proposition. The tennis players feel shoved aside and neighbors to the courts are annoyed by the noise pickleballs make – there’s a loud “TOCK” every time a player hits the ball. The pickleball net is slightly lower than a tennis net, so nets are frequently adjusted to the wrong height. This annoys players in both camps. More aggravating, for the dedicated pickler, is that the damned TENNIS lines run parallel to the PICKLEBALL lines, leading to missed shots and mistaken calls.
The alternative to these shared courts are dedicated public pickleball courts, which, as soon as they open, are crowded to the rafters with players waiting for a turn. Or private courts and clubs, which often have the added advantage of being stupidly expensive.
Sigh. Pickleball is hard.
Actually, pickleball IS hard. As mentioned, deceptively so. A modestly able tennis player or any vaguely athletic person is going to experience a very steep learning curve. It only takes a few lessons to understand the game, and not long to play at a level that leads to over-confidence.
Yours truly was feeling pretty good about his game even though my coach keep telling me that I was way too slow. I decided to disprove that criticism by joining a ladder competition that was just a little bit above my skill level.
I came in dead last. I came in with a lower total score than people who quit in the first round. Not only am I slow, I’m slow to accept that I’m slow.
There are solutions at hand. A new paddle! Maybe some new shoes! $30-a-pop clinics with a Pickleball Professional! There’s no problem in pickleball that you can’t solve by spreading around some cash. That, or by winning an occasional game. Winning a smattering of games at random by mere chance is exactly how the Vegas moguls hook the slot machine junkies. This is known as the variable-ratio schedule of reinforcement. Psychology grad students are particularly susceptible to this schedule, which is why their advisors occasionally throw them a “well done,” followed almost immediately by “of course, you could have done this other better thing. . .”. I hated grad school. Sorry. Off topic.
Results for you may vary. You won’t know until you try. Eventually you’ll win – and that’s when the trouble begins. Good luck.
Coming in 2024: The Los Angeles Pickleball Riots.
I was pretty good at tennis when I was in my youth (or, as Vinnie Gambini would say, "yout'"). Now, being well above the "middle-age" bracket, I have no interest in this pickleball thing; the first paragraph's explanation made me recoil in shockness!
Nope, it is couch-sitting for me these days. My knees thank me (after having been abused recently by 12 years of pushing the 30-pound clutch on a commercial motor vehicle far too many times), and so do my self-respect and image.
God, I’m glad I missed this craze. Golf was my speed and I loved being out with my husband once he figured out that I had already paid a teaching pro, if you catch my drift here. We traveled all over the country including Alaska, Canada, Quebec and the Atlantic Provinces playing golf and meeting all sorts of people along the way. So the “kids” can have pickleball. More power to them. Fun read by the way.