The best pickleball session I’ve had, one I will remember: nonstop laughter and fun, long rallies, so long in fact that I often forgot the score and had to ask. Fewer players, no waiting in line, everyone playing one match after another, hours of keeping that inner fire raging. I found a groove at once and never lost it—a groove of feeling and savoring the pleasures and rewards of fun exercise with people who longed for and appreciated the same things. I had chemistry with my teammates, two in particular. Ideal players, they lifted up others by showing in every move, every shot, and every comment their own respect for—and enjoyment of—the game, their energy never dropping off no matter who they had as partners or who as opponents, even shouting compliments and encouragement when mistakes were made. Players like that draw the right kind of attention to the sport, reminding us all that pickleball can be competitive and intense and volcanic but—most important of all—fun. The whole point, right?
Few smashers. And good thing! I could tell their absence wasn’t a letdown. Nothing wrong with that aspect of the game, mind you, hard hitting and hard-earned dominance are part of this wild sport. However, players who swing with fury and do nothing else but strut and chirp sometimes affect the dynamic of a group who incorporate other skills and techniques. I saw dinking on all the courts, and I myself had the pleasure of participating in several such rallies, trying a move here, another there, seeing how the execution of different shots and ideas would feel. And, well, they felt fantastic, though they weren’t skillful by any means. Even when I messed up and lost a point or a match, the joy never fizzled. Besides, screwing up in these situations forces me to laugh at myself, which, to my mind, is one of several benefits of knocking the ball around in the first place. Look, I know I’m not an advanced player, nor am I striving to be one, so why twist myself into knots and develop a foul attitude and spoil the integrity of the game? When I want to see a higher level (the highest level) of pickleball, I’ll watch the pros.
One of the girls had—has always had—a nice touch, putting the ball in the right places, using placement over power, driving the spikers nuts with her drop volleys and causing them to stumble and grumble and glower and hiss, their strutting morphing into pouting. Haha! How easy it is to dismantle a pure power game when it’s the only one on which players rely; that is, no other shots or strategies or deeper knowledge of pickleball, just driving every ball full power until their arm snaps off like a twig, their evening spent icing, rubbing, and reattaching.
All night I kept imagining how much fun pickleball would be if every session, here and everywhere, were as entertaining as this one. I wish I could bottle up the atmosphere and have everyone drink from it before gametime. What a tonic it would be. Put on the market, it would sell out, stores wouldn’t be able to restock fast enough. And knock-offs would be inferior!
"HOMEGROWN: The Making of the 1972-73 Providence College Friars" is a retrospective of that remarkable season as well as a history of the school's basketball program, which was responsible for drawing the local talent that propelled that team to succ
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
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 11:
