The first match started off with negative energy. My teammate demanded that I move up to the net before the serve. I said no, thank you, don’t worry about me, I know what I’m doing. His orders and comments didn’t stop there. “Yours,” “Mine,” “Go,” “Get it,” “Your serve,” “My serve,” on and on. Next I thought he was going to tell me when to drink water and when to go to the bathroom! It just kept coming from the self-appointed King of the court. I ignored everything he said and continued playing my own game as best I could. Not easy with an arrogant, uninspiring partner. Some pickleball players really believe they are the best in the room, in a position to give orders and be respected above others, while they themselves are always disrespectful. The King’s oversized ego didn’t enhance his overall performance—he played a mediocre game. A few more times throughout the evening I had partners who questioned my position when receiving. I just don’t understand why anybody would care about how I or anybody else plays. My style does not in any way affect others’ games or cause weaknesses for our team. So… why the fuss? I’ve never—and would never—tell my partner what to do or how to play. If asked for advice I would only explain what I’ve seen the pros doing in matches, and make it clear that watching and listening to MLP-PPA players has been the foundation of my pickleball education. Come to think of it, I’ve not seen one recreational player whose game comes close to even a lower-ranked pro’s.
Lobs, lobs, lobs tonight. Everywhere a lob! Balls were airborne so often you would have thought the nets were on the ceiling. Lobbing is the trend; in this group it is! First, smashing was en vogue. It still is, though running close to or right behind lobbing, at least in recent sessions. All I can do is watch and laugh and wonder what might be next. Yes, lobs—both offensive and defensive—are an important part of the game. But in recreational play among amateurs who haven’t seen professionals in action who know how and when it’s done, it often becomes a problematic shot at the wrong time and in the wrong place and with poor contact and execution. Good or bad lob, I would never say anything to those who do it. I point out the frequency of lobs as a way of laughing at it. To me it’s funny. Much like the humor I find in proud smashers who cannot dink and have no command of other fundamentals.
I think I noticed some paddle-shifting on the floor, the order being changed to favor a group playing together. Observing from afar, as I do, one notices things that would leave anyone puzzled by what recreational pickleball has become. In my view, people here are passionate about playing—addicted, some might say—and willing to do almost anything to feed that addiction and get what they want from it, no matter who it hurts or turns away. I often steer my gaze around the room in search of smiling faces, laughter, pats on the back, appreciative paddle taps, good jokes, fun, harmless trash-talking, anything to keep the mood and atmosphere light and unserious. Too bad I’ve seen things that are detrimental to the sport and to the overall atmosphere. But because I find it a pleasure to play pickleball when my schedule allows, which isn’t often, I will let nothing (or no one) ruin it for me. After all, there are no medals to be won, no prize money to be claimed, no status to be gained. Go easy.
This book tells the story of the 1999 Providence College Friars baseball team, the last season that the sport was played at the institution. Baseball was set to be eliminated after that season in order for the school to comply with Title IX regulatio
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This book tells the story of the 1999 Providence College Friars baseball team, the last season that the sport was played at the institution. Baseball was set to be eliminated after that season in order for the school to comply with Title IX regulatio
PICKLEBALL JOURNAL – ENTRY 9
