Lame Sports

Pickleball, Son!

By Billy Reamer

Well, I was pecker slapped back to reality once again. Here I was, under the impression that those left turnin’ rednecks were at the forefront of America’s fastest growing sport. I was wrong. And it never felt so right.

According to USAPA (United States of America Pickleball Association), Pickleball is indeed the fastest growing sport in these great states of ours. This came as bittersweet news to me, as I was something of a Pickleball prodigy on the hardwood of high school gym class. A career record of 25-0 speaks for itself. On the one hand, it’s a great source of pride seeing the sport I once loved getting the recognition it deserves. On the other hand, I can’t help but wonder what might have been.

A bit of history for those unfamiliar with this American institution:

‘The mini-tennis game called Pickleball was created during the summer of 1965 on Bainbridge Island- a short ferryboat ride from Seattle, WA. The original purpose of the game was to provide a sport for the entire family, according to co-inventors U.S. Congressman Joel Pritchard, William Bell, and Barney McCallum. How did Pickleball get its name? Pickles was the family dog that would chase after errant balls and then hide in the bushes, thus Pickle’s ball which was shortened to the namesake of Pickleball. Initially, families played Pickleball in their backyards on a hard surface, on driveways, and on residential dead-end streets in the 1970’s. Since, the mid-1970’s, Pickleball has grown and expanded from a family activity game to a net court sport with formalized rules.’

Formalized to say the least. I once had to be pulled off my playing partner to keep from curbing him on the bleachers, American History X style, after he blemished a perfect game by venturing into the non volley zone. Amateur acted like he’d never seen a dink shot before. I digress. Point being, if there’s anything in this life more beautiful than a fake overhead slam to drop shot volley for game point, I’ve yet to experience it.

Pickleball’s current resurgence is being spear headed by retirement communities across the country, proving that no matter where we ship them off to die; those tenacious blue hairs find a way to live. Granted, a healthy alternative to slinging prescription pills for gambling money is nice, but I’d like to think it’s more than just grandma and grandpa becoming less of a financial burden on their families. Maybe I’m just a dreamer, but I like to believe it’s their way of giving back to a game that gave them so much joy in youth, but got lost somewhere along the way. The circle of life.

Dodgeball gets the ink, floor hockey gets the females, but Pickleball, like herpes, just keeps on giving. A rare blend of strategy, athleticism, determination and intensity not seen since long division in special ed. Class. When it all comes together, it’s sweeter than yoo-hoo. When it doesn’t, it’s flailing arms, spittle, and tears. You show me someone who’s stepped onto a Pickleball court and didn’t fall in love once that 90 degree sweat tinged gymnasium air hit their lungs, and I’ll show you a goddamn liar.

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