Pickleball . . . More like Clique-el-ball

Let's bask in the beauty of the title of this post for a moment because the rest of this experience will probably be a letdown . . . after all, no one wants to hear about another bald-goateed-fifty-something's pickleball exploits, but this is my blog and my life, and now that I've finally purchased a used car, I'm using the used car . . . 

so yesterday my buddy Jesse-- an EB grad who seems to play pickleball three hours a day, got me an invite to an impromptu tournament run by Ming's pickleball TeamReach group, a highly organized, tightly run group of quality players-- a dynasty of pickleball, if you will-- that mainly plays in Fords . . . and in this ten team tourney, you got. partner randomly assigned to you-- but they tried to make the teams fair-- so I was paired with this dude Kyle, a tall athletic 30-year-old bartender who was a little hungover and operating on three hours of sleep-- they knew I was a solid player but perhaps thought I wasn't as spry and athletic as some of the other folks because I'm on the older side (and not as slim as many of these pickleball guys) but if you pair me with a tall athlete, even if he's a little rough around the edges, there's going to be trouble-- so we went undefeated in group play, winning five or six and row, and ensuring top seed and then we had a close game in the semi-final-- one of the players was excellent, but we had beaten them once in group play and knew how to target the other guy-- and then we won the final game 11-1 . . . same deal, one excellent player and one mediocre player and then Kyle and I were awarded a first place medal and I was given the official invite to the group-- the secret password to the TeamReach account-- so I'm glad to be a part of that crew and will get to play some excellent pickleball with them . . .

then this morning, I was given the OK to return to my brother's elite 4.5 group that plays sometimes on Saturday morning-- I played with them a few weeks ago and I did well, so I was invited back-- but this is a weird world-- so when I was playing this morning I saw this guy Don I had played with a few times with my brother in the past when I was down at Veteran's Park and Don and I recently decided we were going to play a tournament together-- at the 4.0 level . . . I've never played in an official tournament (and I've only played in one unofficial tournament, which I won) and then he was like "I'm trying to sneak into this group because I didn't get an invite, even though I've played with these guys!" and I was like WTF, now I'm involved in some cliquey bullshit-- but I got him into a few games because I said we were going to play a tournament together . . . still, I was kind of amazed at the weird insularity of these pickleball groups-- Don is an excellent player but maybe he doesn't have a 4.5 rating, I don't know-- because I have no rating because I haven't played in any official tournaments, I was just lucky to have my brother vouching for me but Don and I played quite well against some great players so maybe I helped him get into this group or maybe I've doomed myself because I stirred the pot and got out of my lane and all those metaphors, and I'll never be asked back again . . . if you ask my wife, I'm the guy who always invites everyone, I hate excluding people-- especially the one black guy, and Don is the one black guy . . . not that this is a lily-white crew by any means, Indian guys and Turkish guys and Asian guys, so don't get me wrong, there's no racism going on here, pickleball is very inclusive of social class, ethnicity, race, etcetera . . . more so than perhaps any other sport-- because with pick-up basketball you can get some reverse-racism--  but I digress, and I guess the moral here is if you want really good pickleball games you've got to have some organizer like Ming or whoever organizes my brother's group and they need to be a bit exclusionary . . . so once again we return full circle to my fucking brilliant title of this post.

Friday Pickleball Plus

A long week was lengthened to epic proportions by a pickleball match, the longest, most epic pickleball match I've ever played . . . instead of heading straight to happy hour, Catherine and I drove over to Castleton Park yesterday afternoon and played some fun games with some of the youngsters that are now playing there, but then Ryan Cheng and his girlfriend shows up-- Ryan played tennis for Yale and he's 24 and his girlfriend is also a tennis player and she's 22 and they are both obsessed with pickleball now, so I played one last match with them and Vanessa-- another college athlete, a basketball player-- and it was 7-7 for twenty minutes or so, and the game must have taken forty minutes-- Hanna and I lost to a couple of rocket-speed overheads from Ryan but it was a really fun game and pickleball is a wonderful sport because old people can actually compete with young people and then Catherine and I couldn't really get back to Highland Park, because unbeknownst to us, it was homecoming and the traffic was all fucked up, so it was easier to go through New Brunswick-- we stopped at Tavern-on-George and it was getting cold outside so we were relegated to the newly renovated basement because there was some alumni party upstairs, where we ate some sliders and had some beers . . . and I definitely smelled bad but no one seemed to notice down there and the other thing to remember about homecoming is that people from all over the state come into town, driving their giant fucking pick-up-trucks and SUVs and Suburbans and Yukons and Expeditions and these behemoths don't fit in parking garages or city parking spaces-- these cars should be outlawed in urban zones-- we saw several parking atrocities in the deck, including a giant white pickup wedging itself between two cars, scraping the side of the car on the passenger side-- mayhem.

Note to Self: Take a Break

At the start of this week, I played 6:30 AM pickleball Monday morning-- a healthy and vigorous start to the week-- and then the weather turned balmy . . . what was once known as "Indian Summer," a term with ambiguous origins that the historian Daniel Boorstin believes originates from the "raids on European colonies by Indian war parties that usually ended in autumn”-- but because of the genocide perpetrated on the indigenous tribes of North America by the European settlers, there is no worry of raiding parties taking advantage of warm weather and scalping me and my family, so it's quite safe to play pickleball late at night at Donaldson Park, where the Lenni Lenape once roamed-- so I played Tuesday night with my adult friends (and my wife) and then figured I would rest my knees and ankles, but Wednesday I got a text from my young pickleball friends-- these 23-year-old pharma and med kids who switched from high-level tennis to pickleball, so I went out and played with them for a couple of hours Wednesday night-- I played until 9 PM! . . . which is pretty much midnight for me-- and then the weather got even warmer so I played again Thursday night-- the first time I've ever played pickleball four days in a row, and by the end of Thursday, I pretty much couldn't move-- my ankles hurt, my hips hurt, my knees hurt-- so even though the weather is beautiful today and everyone (including my wife) are down on the courts, I'm drinking some beer and taking it easy, because my game really deteriotates once I can't hustle.

Tennis vs. Pickleball

I played some pickleball this afternoon at Castleton Park with seven guys I know quite well from playing there for the last three years and I am certain a good time was had by all-- lots of exciting play, some sun, not too much wind, plenty of jokes (especially about Kevin's anger at having his pop-up pickleball stool stolen-- he left it behind Monday night in Highland Park and when he came back it was gone-- and he pronounced all of humanity "scumbags" and "thieves" . . . so sad, but also kind of funny) and plenty of socializing while waiting to play; meanwhile, on the adjacent tennis court, a dour guy with a hopper of balls was diligently practicing his serve-- alone-- and his serve looked pretty good, he was getting into trophy position, with a nice knee bend, and some good whip to the racket-- and if you want to be good at tennis, that's what you have to do, practice your serve for hours, alone (or in a lesson) but if you want to get better at pickleball, you just meet some friends and play (although I guess you could drill alone for hours, but you're not going to get the some benefits as practicing your serve in tennis-- there's no one dominant shot to practice in pickleball-- the serve isn't that much of a weapon and you're going to hit every kind of shot every time you play-- and a bunch you never thought existed too).

Three Cold Incidents

Three things happened today that were only interesting because it's winter:

1) my wife insists she heard people playing pickleball at the park this morning-- at 5:30 AM-- which is very weird but not impossible because the courts do have lights-- but it was 18 degrees!-- so those players were some real diehards . . . I did NOT hear the cold-weather pickleball players because I was downstairs and you can only hear the pickleball courts from our bedroom window, which faces the park, and only when it is very quiet and there are no leaves on the trees;

2) I was dealing with my own cold weather dilemma-- Ian came home at midnight last night and our dog Lola wanted to go outside, so he let her out and then he did not close the glass sliding door when she came back in and then Ian went to bed, so when I went downstairs in the morning it was butt-cold, freezing cold-- the thermostat read 54 degrees-- so I had to turn on the space heater to make things bearable;

3) at 4 PM-- right in the middle of writing this sentence-- Ian called and said he had just finished work and the van was dead-- he was over on the other side of town, at the chocolate factory-- so I drove over there and we tried to jump the van with the Mazda, to no avail-- we got the engine running twice but then the van quickly died-- and the battery was so dead you couldn't even shift it into neutral-- so then after a very long phone call with roadside assistance-- they really want a lot of information!-- a tow truck was dispatched towards my location, so I walked up and down the street to keep warm while I waited, and then the tow truck arrived, put the chains on, pulled the van onto the bed, and we drove to Edison Automotive and I filled out the little envelope and hopefully Mike will be able to resuscitate the van tomorrow-- and because I missed going to the gym, I walked home from the auto shop- briskly, becauss it was so cold-- and when I got home, Ian was cooking dinner (because Catherine was upstairs working) and so I had a hot meal waiting for me-- which makes sense because if things come in threes, then the cold pickleball and the cold ground floor and the cold wait for the tow truck satisfied that superstition and so the hot meal was a perfect ending to a day filled with cold incidents.

End of the School Year Sporting Potpourri

I finished off a full week of athletics with a stellar performance-- if I don't say so myself-- at 6:30 AM basketball this morning . . . sometimes it pays off to be a minute late, as I ended up on a dream team with all the elements-- youth, athleticism, basketball savvy, and the ability to shoot from outside-- and when you're on a good team, you often get good passes and open shots, which I converted like crazy today-- unusual when I play early in the morning-- it's too bad this is not the end of the line, there's another game Monday morning, where I'm sure I'll return to my usual shooting form (chucking that shit up from anywhere, waiting to get hot, cursing the russet clad early morn) but I can't complain-- starting from last Friday, it was cornhole, pickleball, singles tennis, basketball with college kids, badminton, lifting,  bike ride to Castleton and pickleball last night, and then hoops this morning-- and I'm still upright and walking, an impressive week of screwing around in various arenas- and there's still a cornhole tournament tomorrow and father's day pickleball on Sunday and one last day of early morning basketball on Juneteenth.

Our Hero: Pickleball

A priest, a bunch of med students, some frat guys, the requisite old dudes and ladies of various races and ethnicities, and a guy with a mullet walk onto a pickleball court . . . and everyone gets along and plays pickleball-- this sport may just save America from polarization, tribalism, fake news, misinformation, income inequality, obesity, and reality TV.

Dave Survives a Normal Amount of Weekend Events

Four social events in one weekend, which is not my style, especially after. along week of school and parent/teacher conferences . . . too many social interactions and too much stimulus and not enough napping and reading time can sometimes make me cranky-- but I guess keeping busy is good right now (otherwise I might get sucked up in all the election bullshit) and so Friday night, my wife and I attended the Jimi Hendrix/Pink Floyd tribute band show at Pino's . . . the Hendrix cover band was comprised of some locals in their early twenties and they put on a great show-- but they were certainly the opening act, as the Pink Floyd show was absurdly good---- ten of the best musicians in the area squeezed onto the little stage in the back of the liquor store/bar/club, including a chick whose only job was to do the wild operatic back-up vocals during "The Great Gig in the Sky" and several keyboard players to reproduce all the sci-fi sounds and they served up several hours of all flavors of Floyd, songs from Dark Side and Animals and The Wall, and they even played some Pipers at the Gates of Dawn-- at one point a guy turned to me and said, "This shouldn't be free" but these guys do it for the love-- and hopefully the bar gives them a cut because the place was packed . . . then I played in a pickleball tournament down in Trenton (Mercer Bucks) where my partner and I got banged up-- rough draw-- but the competition was fun and the place was hopping and I never got to see young five plus players play-- the open even was wild, those guys get really low-- and there were phenomenal women players as well-- so a good experience-- and then I headed straight to my brother's house from there, for a birthday poker tournament-- and while I lost at pickleball, I got incredible cards at poker-- knocked my brother out-- we had two exciting all-in scenarios-- and ended up chopping the pot even though I was well ahead, so a nice ending to the night, and then I slept over at my brothr's house, drove home in the morning, went to the gym with my wife, then played some more pickleball, and later today we are headed to my parent's with the kids to celebrate Marc's birthday with them, before they head to Florida . . . and then I have to go to work tomorrow?

I Feel Like Pip in Daytona

This morning I went to the gym and I did some rowing and some upper-body lifting; then, on the way home, I stopped at the pickleball courts and there were people there so I figured I play a bit and then head over to the girl's soccer game-- but after I played a few games, I walked to my van and I couldn't find my keys anywhere-- so I assumed that I locked them inside the van; I called my wife, told her I needed her to come over and unlock the van, and then went back to playing pickleball . . . and it took my wife a while to get to me because she didn't have a van key and Ian did and he had slept over a friend's house and she had to track him down-- so by the time she got to me, I had played a lot more pickleball and when I was finished, my back started to hurt-- my lower back-- which never happens to me and then my wife arrived and I opened the van and my keys were NOT inside the van . . . so we searched the premises-- the courts and the path and the parking lot and the grass, and this nice Indian dude foudn them for me-- huge-- but by this time my back was really starting to hurt, and by the time I got home it was in full spasm-- I took a nap, but it didn't loosen up-- so no sports for me tomorrow (and I also doubt I'll climb the ladder with the electric chainsaw and cut down those limbs infested with lantern flies . . . I think I need to be in prime condition to do that stupid job).

Right Knee Stuff, Part Two

One of the many incredibly essential things I do on this blog is keep track of all my athletic ailments-- so that when I injure myself (or reinjure myself) I have some idea of when I last fucked up this particular body part and how long it took to heal and what exercises I did and all that . . . so yesterday I played some indoor pickleball and my right knee started hurting but I was playing so well that I couldn't stop-- I'm using a new technique with my two-handed backhand, instead of trying to get both hands on the short paddle handle, I'm just slapping my left hand on the back of the paddle, two or three fingers splayed on the surface, and this works wonders-- and I've also added a backhand flick, a backhand roll, a deceptive speed-up, and a decent lob to my arsenal of pickleball weapons-- and the important thing to remember is that pickleball is NOT tennis . . . I started out playing mini-tennis but now I've adapted to the peculiarities of this game (and if you want to see a really peculiar game, check out Padel . . . you can run out the door!) but one of the things I'm doing is hitting the return of serve on the run forward, so I can get to the kitchen line immediately, but I guess that's a lot fo starting and stopping and so my right knee is killing me, hopefully due to "patellofemoral pain syndrome/chondromalacia patella"-- which is what Dr. Morton diagnosed me with back in the summer of 2021, which just means that my kneecap doesn't always stay in the groove and sometimes rubs on the bone and causes arthritis and swelling-- but I'm proud to say that I'm headed to the doctor this morning to get this checked out, instead of reading WebMD for a few days and self-medicating . . . although I did make the mistake of searching "when do you need a knee replacement?" and I definitely check a few of those boxes-- but I'm going to go to the doctor and see what he has to say before I make any big decisions (also, I am NOT a doctor, so there are no decisions for me to make, aside from what stupid thing I'm going to search next on the internet).

In Thirty Years, I Should Run For President?

Last week, I made a triumphant return to indoor soccer and I was able to play for 50 minutes before I felt a twinge in my calf--but I must confess, I also felt fat and out of shape on the soccer pitch, I've been going to the gym and playing pickleball and while pickleball may require some burst of speed and plenty of shuffling in a squat stance, it's not really stop-and-go aerobic exercise; this week, I was able to play for a little over an hour-- I got my 10,000 steps and then stopped before I hurt anything-- and wow, was I winded-- and I still felt fat and slow and without good touch, but I did score a nice left-footed goal on the volley, off a looping cross . . . so I am cautiously optimistic about athletics in 2024-- and my wife and I are trying to eat fewer carbs and more protein, so maybe we'll lose some weight this week, which I am assuming will really help my fitness in sports like soccer and basketball (I was annoyed last week, I didn't drink all week-- until Friday and Saturday, or eat dessert after dinner, and I still don't think I lost a pound . . . as I approach age 54 my metabolism has really slowed down-- when I was in my forties if I quit beer and dessert for a week, I'd lose five pounds).

Both Are Better Than Badminton

High school tennis season has begun and I hadn't hit any balls since my son Ian got injured last summer-- it's been all pickleball since then-- and I forgot how enjoyable it is to hit a tennis ball, especially three particular shots: a topspin forehand, a low driving slice backhand, and an overhead smash-- while I love the frenetic nature of pickleball, I also love the grace, style, and thwack of a good tennis stroke.

The Most Malodorous Game

Before I left to play pickleball yesterday afternoon, I got a whiff of something stale and sweaty and I had to play a most malodorous game: what on my person was exuding a bad smell? my socks? nope, the knee brace on my right knee? nope, the knee brace on my left knee? nope, how about my shirt or my shorts?-- sometimes the laundry smells weird because it didn't fully dry . . . nope, my breath? nope, my pullover, which gets several wears before I wash it because I always take it off after three points of play? nope, my shoes? nope . . . with most of the sports I play-- basketball, soccer, and tennis-- I'm so old that I can't play them two days in a row, so most of my stuff is clean before I play again, but I can play pickleball two or three days in a row before my knees and feet give out, so sometimes my stuff starts to smell-- but I went through everything and couldn't find the odor . . . except . . . the brim of my hat? the call is coming from inside the hat! yuck . . . so I switched hats and washed the offender and next time I will check my hat first, as it is the closest thing to my nose and so if it smells, then it's going to seem like everything smells.

Three Better be the Magic Number

Hopefully, the proverb "bad things come in threes" is accurate-- because we had three bad things happen in rapid-fire succession today-- in a twenty minute span-- and now I hope we're in the clear . . .

Bad Thing #1: I pulled my calf muscle playing pickleball today-- totally stupid because my calf has been really tight, some kind of spasm or cramp, and despite this, I played a bunch of basketball with my son earlier in the week, which didn't help, but then I rolled it and rested it and stretched it properly and all that and it felt good today-- too good-- so I stopped taking it easy and played hard and mid-jump something snapped, so I'll be out of commission for a while;

Bad Thing #2: Cat texted her principal something that was meant for her co-teacher and NOT meant for her principal (in fact, it was about her principal) and so she had to do some back-pedaling and apologizing-- this was a movie-like bad thing where you're like "WTF?" . . . than happened?

Bad Thing 3#: while we were playing pickleball, our dog Lola did a bad thing-- when Cat walked up the hill to get the car (because I could NOT manage to walk up the hill with a pulled calf muscle) she found our kitchen and living room all amess with plastic wrappers and powdered sugar . . . Lola got up on the counter and ate an entire bag of pita bread AND a bunch of pizzelle star cookies coated in powdered sugar . . . so her stomach is eventually going to be a mess and I can't even walk her.

Wood!

It's been a lovely Fathers Day (or Father's Day, whichever you prefer) and I haven't even had a beer yet-- early this morning I noticed that the dome lights were on in the van, but despite Ian's idiocy, the battery still worked-- so good thing I noticed early-- then I played some morning pickleball with Alec, Ann, and Ashley-- just the four of us so we really tried out a lot of new strategies and shots . . . I am gradually learning that pickleball is NOT tennis-- and then I went over to the pool and swam a few laps-- the water was still cold, but that actually helped my sore knees and calf-- like a lizard, I had to lie in full sun to warm up-- and then I ate a lemongrass and beef ban mi sandwich-- thanks to my wife-- and received some Father's Day loot: a new hat, giant beer pong, some swim goggles that actually fit, a couple t-shirts, and my younger son Ian gave me this nifty little wooden guitar-- which splits in two (and reseals magnetically) and has wooden picks inside-- and I had never played guitar with a wooden pick but I really like it-- especially because plastic picks always slip out of my fingers, but these wooden picks really have a grip to them-- and now we're about to head to my parents to see the rest of the gang-- and super-bonus-- I have off from school tomorrow because of Eid.

 

Wind . . . What is it Good For?

The wind is the most annoying element in sports (except when it becomes a tornado-- then it's one of the most deadly elements) and while I love pickleball, the ball is highly susceptible to the wind-- and yesterday was the first time I ever played pickleball in a low wind speed situation and it was awesome . . . you can lob and you can really hit the ball hard (I haven't played indoors yet . . . or not since 1988 in gym class at NBTHS).

Some Deets

Yesterday's sentence was vague, Yoda-esque, and boring-- so here's a bit more detail: yesterday, Ian and I took off for Hamilton, New Jersey at 6:50 AM so he could take the SAT at Trenton Catholic because there were no seats available for the test near us; I dropped him off at 7:35 AM and they admitted him into the testing facility; I then when and played pickleball with my brother at Veteran's Park-- which was only a few miles away-- and this was elite pickleball competition, in fact, they wanted me to "try-out" to play with them, but my brother vouched for me-- and then my brother and I beat nearly everyone there so there were no longer concerns about my skill level-- then I went to my brother's place and Amy made me a sandwich and gave me some watermelon- and then I headed over to the school to pick Ian up, and I parked in the lot, got out of the car, and wandered and stretched . . . and I put my tennis shoes and socks on the hood so they could dry out and not stink up the car . . . and there was no sign of the test ending, though it was supposed to be a 3 hour test with one fifteen minute break-- but now we were going on noon and they were supposed to start at eight AM so it should have been over but it went on and on . . . I reparked the car on the road in a shady spot, I got really annoyed with all the people sitting in their cars, idling, making me breathe all kinds of fumes while I wandered around, but they sat on their phones in the AC, burning fossil fuels, and the kids didn't get out until nearly 1 PM and Ian was starving, so we stopped at Wendy's and he got some ridiculous chicken sandwich with fried pickles and honey habanero and bacon and then I went over Stacey's house for Ed's birthday, ate BBQ, played cornhole and lawn darts-- lawn darts made for a very long and boring game to 7-- and I just think the SAT is not equitable, normal, or useful-- there should be some hour long test that every kid takes in school and that should be enough.

So Many Steps, So Many Racket Sports

Another successful GMC Tennis Tourney-- everyone advanced through the first round except Theo, who was exhausted from Passover fasting (that's what you get for properly worshipping the lord) and we also had some fun in between matches playing pickleball . . . and then when I got home I went down to the park and played some more pickleball and now-- 25,000 steps later-- I am very very tired.

Beers, Bars, and Stumps

This weekend was much mellower than last weekend, but Cat and I did manage to go out after the senior night game on Friday-- and though we were very tired, the scene at the bar at Mr. Pi's sushi place woke us up-- first we were chatted up by a very energetic lesbian couple-- Stacey and Nerissa-- and we found out that they were older than they looked (50 and 46 no kids will do that . . . and for Nerissa, black doesn't crack) and Nerissa played basketball at St. Peters back in the day and knew folks that my brother played with at North Brunswick-- Wayne Cruz and Daryl Banks and such-- and then it was more small world game, Nerissa runs the after school program at the school where my wife works, so they will run into each other again-- and there was also a book club happening and there were some younger soccer moms that we knew, and the Deatz family wandered in-- they were eating dinner on the restaurant side, and then Sleepy Dan ambled in to complete the bar scene . . . and the bartender was a trip-- she's planning all sorts of jazz and karoake and footabll specials-- and we talked to one of the chefs, a Japanese guy who was very hungover for the previous night's sake tasting; Saturday I actually went grocery shopping and succeeded in getting everything on the list and then we went to Flounder Brewing and the Bellemara distillery next door-- really the best beer and drinks around (but a little pricey) and Sunday morning Cat and I played pickleball and then I watched the Giants while she worked on curriculum for some program (and Ian worked, yardwork and he gave a tennis lesson) and we got sandwiches from Sapore Deli in Middlesex after pickleball-- this place is HIGHLY recommended-- I got a broccoli rabe, hot pepper and chicken cutlet sandwich, ridiculous amount of food for 13 bucks-- it's two meals-- and then I successfully killed and bagged a stump from a dead tree (see the trophy photo above).

Watch Your Step

Two teachers I know have fallen and broken limbs (both elbows, I think?) at school this year and I've heard these things come in threes so I'm watching my step (unlike Arvin and Josh, who hit the deck hard several times this morning during pickleball-- I'm of the mind that there's no reason to dive in pickleball unless you're going to hit a winner-- which rarely happens-- because the speed of play is so much faster than tennis . . . you're not going to have a chance to get back up and hit another shot, so why bother diving in the first place?)