A String of Pearls

It was the first warm Saturday in February. We’d been waiting. We’d been hitting a wiffle ball around in the racquetball court, trying to get a feel for the pickleball paddles and the ball. We didn’t have a pickleball, but they’re similar enough to wiffle balls. We were anxious to try it out on an actual pickleball court with a net.

When we showed up though, on that first warm Saturday afternoon in February, the courts were full. Doubles were being played on all four courts at Lincoln Park. And several other players – twenty, perhaps – were standing on the sidelines waiting to play.

I immediately sensed a party atmosphere. I felt we should enter the gates, stride on in, and introduce ourselves.

But we didn’t. Jim and I leaned on the fence, fine with just watching to see how the game worked. After a few minutes, a tall, long-legged woman, wearing jeans and a long sleeve cotton t-shirt came over. Long, thick hair, blonde, oozed out from beneath the navy blue cap on her head.

She was, hmm, I’d guess about 60.

“You see that guy there?” She nodded toward an older guy on the court closest to us. “He’s 80.”

I watched him play for a few seconds. He was agile, smiling, obviously having a wonderful time.

“And his partner?” she continued, giving us time to notice him. “He’s 87.” When I glanced at him, he was running into the kitchen – the area closest to the net – trying to get a dink. He got it.

She asked us if we played and we explained that we were just starting, just learning.

“Careful,” she warned, “it’s addicting.”

A game ended on one of the courts and all four players went over to the group of bystanders and asked who wanted to play next. Everywhere I looked it seemed like everyone was having a great time, whether playing or just watching and waiting for a court to open.

The blonde woman came back over and said, “You know, I’ve seen beginners use those kid-size tennis courts over there, when the courts are full. You could do that, if you’re just wanting to hit the ball around.”

Were we ever just wanting to hit the ball around!

We spent a good hour hitting the ball back and forth to each other, making up some rules since we only knew the basics. It was glorious being outside enjoying a beautiful late February day.

We returned about a week later, this time on a Monday after I got done teaching. The courts were empty except for a friendly player named Larry. He seemed to be waiting, hoping that someone would show up. He gladly taught us the rules. We played our first real games. He was probably close to 70 and, yes, he beat us, the both of us against just him. He had to leave around 6:00. Jim and I stayed, excited to play singles now that we knew most of the rules.

We played till past dark, melancholy when we could no longer see. I noticed the big lights above the courts and wondered when the park would start turning them on and how late they’d leave them on.

The next day I got an email from the pickleball group (I’m on their mailing list) and I replied with a question: Does anyone know when the city will start turning the lights on at the court?

The reply: You turn them on yourself. There is a small box on the southeast corner of the court.

What? Wow! That meant we could play anytime. And that was going to be important with how popular pickleball is getting.

We were back again two days later, this time a bit later in the evening. Now that we knew about the lights, I didn’t feel like I had to rush over there the minute I was done teaching.

The last time we played we had to quit when the sun went down. This time, we just kept playing, and playing, and playing. Like the blonde woman said, “It’s addicting.”

This past Sunday, we went to the courts at 1:00. It was a beautiful day and the same scene – about 30 people there, all interacting, all willing to play with whomever and, likewise, all willing to sit out for a bit to let someone else play.

Jim and I looked at each other with the same thought. It’s time to jump in, time to figure out how to join games, time to figure out the rules and where we were going to fit in.

We played several different doubles games, including a few that were competitive. The reason I call them competitive is because a guy called out to us, “Hey, do you two want to play competitive?” It was getting late in the afternoon, you see, and most of the other players had gone home. These two guys were serving it hard and spiking it over the net.

We did alright.

Two hours later, I was done. Tired. And behind on my list of everything else I needed to get done that afternoon.

Like she said, it’s addicting.

Pickleball. Have you heard of it?

Makes me think of charades. Two words. First word. Sounds like tickle. Pickle. Second word. Sounds like wall. Ball. Pickle, ball. Pickleball.

It’s a game. Sort of a cross between badminton, tennis, and ping-pong. It is played on a badminton-sized court, which is about one-third the size of a tennis court, with paddles and a ball that is similar to a wiffle ball. The net is two inches lower than a net on a tennis court. The ball moves about one-third the speed of a tennis ball. It is supposedly easy to learn, but can develop into a quick, fast-paced game for experienced players.

I’ve been hearing about pickleball here and there. When the improvements were done at Lincoln Park last year, pickleball courts were built, complete with lights for playing at night.

I read that indoor pickleball happens at the Lincoln Park Barn during the winter months.

I also know that it’s a quickly growing sport, especially among the retiree set. Easy to learn. Fast-paced. Can be played out-of-doors, free-of-cost. Can be played at night under the lights. Can be played indoors during the winter. Is doable as singles or doubles.

I think I want to try this game.

I dabbled in tennis, as a kid, and then again in my twenties. I liked it, but it was obvious that I would never be that good at it because I’m not very fast on my feet and there is a lot of area to cover on a tennis court. Consequently, I got into racquetball, which is similar but has a smaller court. I do alright in racquetball, even without being a fast mover. I play racquetball three times a week, usually with my friend Jim.

Lucky Jim. I’m going to get him to try pickleball with me.

We’re not looking to replace our racquetball time with another sport. And we’re not of retiree age (yet). But I can totally see us riding our bikes to the courts on late summer evenings to play a little pickleball under the lights.

And maybe we’ll win the Pickleball National Championship 60+ age group if we start playing now.

Jim’s birthday is today. Lucky Jim. He’s getting a pickleball paddle and some wiffle balls for a gift. I got a little gift for myself, too–a pickleball paddle.

I did some quick research on paddles before buying them. Fortunately, Sports Authority had a few in stock. An employee there said they’ve been selling like crazy. They were out of official pickleball balls, but they are similar enough to wiffle balls so I bought a bag of three wiffle balls.

What I know about the paddles is that they come in wood or composite (graphite) material. I believe the composite paddle is slightly heavier, thereby requiring less strength to hit the ball as hard or as far as you might with a wooden paddle. There is only one size of paddle, but the handle size can vary. Larger hands do better with a wider handle. At Sports Authority, there were three different paddles to choose from. They all looked about the same to me. The one major difference was that one was “rimmed.” It had a raised edge. The others were rimless, “for increased maneuverability and faster play.”  I hadn’t read anything about that online, so I decided to get one of each type.

And here’s what else I know about pickleball paddles: they’re not cheap. I couldn’t believe that they cost more–two or three times more–than a basic racquetball racquet.

I guess that means that we WILL like this sport. It’s mandatory, now that I’ve invested in two paddles.

I looked through my Parks and Rec Activity Guide and was surprised to learn that there were no pickleball classes being offered. There was, however, a number listed for Grand Junction Pickleball. Grand Junction Pickleball? There’s a club? Now I know for sure the sport is taking off. I gave the number a try and talked with a nice man named Ken. He explained that Parks and Rec does not offer classes in the winter because there is not enough indoor playing space. I will look again in the next Activity Guide that comes out in the spring.

Until then, Jim and I will try to hit the wiffle ball back and forth. We can use the outdoor courts on nice weekend days or the basketball or racquetball courts at Gold’s Gym.

Tonight, while we were out to dinner, Jim opened his gift and we hit the ball back and forth a few times right there in the middle of the restaurant.

Oh, and about that name Pickleball. Legend has it that the creator of the game had a dog named Pickles. Every time the ball, which belonged to the dog, was mishit, Pickles would grab it and run and hide in the bushes. They named the game for their dog’s ball, Pickle’s Ball, which became Pickleball. That’s how the story goes.

The truth, however, according to Joan Pritchard, wife of the inventor of the game, Joel Pritchard, is that the game reminded her of the Pickle Boat in crew, where oarsmen were chosen from the leftovers of other boats. (Wikipedia)

Leftovers–a little tennis, a little badminton, a dog’s old wiffle ball, some make-shift paddles.

And some more truth: the Pritchards didn’t get their dog until a few years after they invented the sport. So, the dog was named after the sport.

I’ll let you know, as the months go on, if Pickleball is any fun. In the meantime, you might want to check out this short video.