Pickleball Journal

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PICKLEBALL JOURNAL - ENTRY 1

A word for Sunday-night pickleball: intense—some of the best games I’ve played (feeling light and loose) and some of the most aggressive attacks I’ve faced. The gigantic warehouse had rooms partitioned, a smooth floor with clear markings, and a “dead” spot or two; on contact the ball would not bounce. The temperature was just right, the lighting perfect, the ceiling high, and there was ample space between courts. The short distance from the baseline to the wall made serving difficult for everyone. The ladies and one gentleman I played with arrived eager and energized, ready to scrap. And that’s just what they did.  During long rallies the girls came at me with two-handed cross-court shots and overheads and forehands; the guy joined in with spinning balls—which weren’t difficult for me to handle—and lobs; he sprayed balls all over—even at my head! Fast play did not allow for dinking or slowing down, though damn it I tried changing tempo from time to time. Nobody wanted to do anything but speed up right away, even when that strategy failed and failed. Too bad. The matches were quick and smooth, though, and for two hours everyone kept rotating and having new partners.  A few of the players had above-average power, their balls coming at me as if shot from a cannon. At times my counter-attacks were a little off and my footwork was lacking. When I saw openings, angles, or readable patterns, I tried to make good shots. Funny: My wife wanted my head on a plate and, at least twice, got it! I think one of her mid-court rips got me in the neck, bringing out the laughs.

          Best part of the night: nobody telling me how to play or playing the part of know-it-all, no unkind words, no disputed calls, no dirty looks or grumbling because of unforced errors or sloppy side-outs or lame serves or returns. There was no shortage of mess-ups, I myself committing several.  Support, encouragement, and good humor filled the hours and drew from all of us our very best.   Everyone had in common respect and appreciation for the game. We had fun playing and were ready for the next meetup. Yes! That’s the purpose of recreational pickleball, right?

PICKLEBALL  JOURNAL - ENTRY 2

Dozens of us crazies gathered indoors in a large gymnasium for three hours of nonstop play. Match point was seven, after which players rotated from court to court, playing with new people, having to fit well with a new teammate or not at all, having to be swift and keep up, with little or no rest between matches. Everybody was having so much fun that it didn’t matter; all were polite and friendly and keeping the overall atmosphere at that level. Despite overall good vibes, I had to stand my ground once or twice when a couple of players tried telling me when to go to the net. As before in such situations, I chose not to follow their orders and concentrated on my own strategy, an effective one given the circumstances. Their plans, no surprise, failed them again and again. Besides, I understood the fundamentals of the game and when challenged throughout the course of the evening proved my competence. When it comes to serving, professional player Riley Newman’s advice for both the serving and receiving teams—“serve and stay, return and run”—came in handy. I was prepared to repeat those words if pushed, but play continued without confrontation.

A few of the men seemed to spike the ball every time their paddle touched it, using no strategy or other shots or techniques at all. Many such rips landed far over the baseline or struck the back wall. I saw it more as showing off than as teamwork and smart play. In fact, I, an average recreational player, blocked/deflected some of the smashes and redirected the ball, winning points here and there. I even reset to dinking once or twice and won points by soft placement and finding angles, preventing the high-power put-away.

Between games, while waiting to be called to fill a spot, I observed the games on the three courts. Don’t misunderstand me, everybody there played well, there were no beginners. However, I couldn’t help noticing the utter absence of dinking, of defense, of teammates working together and covering court. Full disclosure: I’ve watched many professional MLP and PPA tournaments. Watching players at that level compete has influenced my judgments, shaped my opinions, and deepened my appreciation for good, fundamental pickleball. And even though I follow the sport and enjoy playing for fun, sometimes I get disheartened by the posing and posturing and strutting in recreational pickleball, especially by those whose playing I perceive as far below professional pickleball standards. Many are not cocky, but some are—and for no justifiable reason. And when my eye catches this kind of person in action, I realize, with a quiet laugh and silent satisfaction, that such a player would be set straight—embarrassed, even—on a pro court.

PICKLEBALL JOURNAL - ENTRY 3

Always fun to play with members of my original group.  Four of us this time, a fall day, the weather warm for the season. The good weather and everyone’s upbeat mood did nothing to help my abysmal game. I couldn’t seem to find a groove. Not only that, I kept making the same mistakes without being able to correct myself and find my best. Not that my best is anything impressive! Still, though, I wanted to find something within me and make a respectable showing so as not to destroy the momentum of the group, all of whom were going full bore. They wouldn’t complain, have never complained. Even though that is the right attitude, I was determined to wake up my paddle from a long slumber.

Too many lousy serves, I couldn’t land on court. After a few in a row I just looked up at the sky and laughed hard, as if such a release might help.  Then, moments later, I screwed up other shots and even swung the paddle and missed the ball at least twice.   I also missed two easy shots at the net—a back-hand flick and an overhead—that had me realizing how hard it must be for any player to remain consistent and keep errors to a minimum, even though in my case making them helps me laugh at myself.  The best play I made was running down a ball that had landed over the sideline and was moving farther away. Just as it was being called out, channeling the greatness of Ben Johns, James Johnson, and others (yeah, right!), I back-handed it across court and over the net, with pace, and had a clean winner. But it didn’t count! The matches were fun anyway and I’m glad I played with people whose company I enjoy and whose skills I appreciate. 

PICKLEBALL JOURNAL – ENTRY 4

Three courts with adequate space between them. Players rotated four at a time, match point seven.  Some familiar faces along with new ones. As far as trying new techniques and doing them right was concerned I played some good games. For the most part I defended spiked balls and handled long rallies, winning some too! I was stunned—and happy—that dinking got worked into play here and there, though not for long. A few longish points were a pleasure to play, incorporating more finesse than in previous games. About three of my teammates were grumpy and unfriendly, wearing permanent frowns. I would say hi and introduce myself, the looks they gave reminding me of the pre-fight face a boxer would have staring down an opponent before the bell rings. Venomous replies often followed my attempts at conversation and common courtesy.

Again I had a teammate telling me how to play and where to stand when serving. I’ll never know where these people get the audacity to instruct someone else while their own game is ridden with imperfections.  One of my teammates went after almost every ball, getting in my way most of the time, hitting the ball into the net, hitting a side-out or losing the point; then, when down in points, moaning and complaining about our deficit.  Ha! To clarify, I don’t mind having a partner take shots from me or cut me off if certain of the put-away. Go ahead, I say, you have my full support, I am easygoing and never temperamental in the heat of battle. If you’ve got the confidence and skill of Anna Leigh Waters or Ben Johns or other pro players, take over the court and win it for us. I’ll watch with respect, awe, and admiration. The harsh reality is—none of them do!  They just take control and then drop their heads as their plans fall apart, the scoreboard a reminder of poor choices.

Two girls I played against did no spiking at all.  What fun we had! During the “good match” tapping of paddles at the end I made sure to tell the gals I appreciated their game and how thrilling it was for me to use a different style. “Thank you,” one of them replied, “a little more finesse sometimes.” A nice moment for sure, one I hope to have again. So far in recreational play I have yet to see, or perform myself, an ATP, an Erne, a tweener, a Bert, a shake and bake, a poach (I love watching Anna Leigh do it! Nobody does it better!). I look forward to the next event.

PICKLEBALL JOURNAL – ENTRY 5

Not as crowded as the last session, everyone more lighthearted and relaxed.  The first match was my best; funny because I hadn’t played in weeks and was out of practice. For the first time in a while nobody told me how to play.  No unsolicited instruction, no arguing about a call, no huffing because of errors. What a refreshing change! Owing to fewer people, players had very short breaks between matches, steady gaming seeming to keep everyone in a groove. I saw some excellent defensive plays and made sure to shout encouragement when I did.  Once or twice I spotted dinking and wished for it to last longer, but, as always, the speed-up came in a flash.  I got body-bagged once and laughed my ass off, after which my attacker apologized but I insisted that she not feel bad as getting hit is part of the game.  Here and there strategy and finesse dominated hard hitting—a nice change. For the fun of it I gave some thought to how beneficial pickleball must be to reflexes.  Long-lasting firefights probably do wonders for reaction time and hand-eye coordination.  Strange what comes to mind when a plastic ball is being ripped at your head! 

A good many fabulous saves, players getting to balls that I thought were impossible to cut off and keep in play.  One woman scored a point with a backhand, leaving her opponent frozen in awe of the angle.  Over time I’ve come to believe that recreational players often make their best shots when not trying too hard or thinking too much; a combination of instinct, natural talent, and pure luck seem to produce magic sometimes.  A wonderful evening it was, all involved happier and smiling and adrenalized as the event ended.

PICKLEBALL JOURNAL – ENTRY 6

It was a warm day in December, just the four of us playing outside for about an hour. We played well, joked a lot, laughed a lot, and enjoyed several intense firefights. Being relaxed and loose helped us play better; at least I could see a difference between these matches and others we had played with larger, more serious groups, where kind words, compliments, and encouragement were scarce. Some players never smile or say hello on court or even exchange pleasantries, which is why today was especially nice. There’s a feeling you get when the mood is set, the body becomes liquid and the mind flexible and nimble, prepared for anything and everything. That energy, when present, is unmistakable, you drink it in and the players use it to their advantage. After all, it’s pickleball, not surgery, so why can’t people lighten up and take pleasure in the game, in good vibes, in good company? 

The perimeter of the court was slippery. I chased down a ball and almost went into a split.  At times I was cautious when going after easy-to-defend shots that bounced off court.  At least twice I tried doing things I’ve noticed in pro pickleball. Not that I could ever hope to do them as well as they do, but well enough in my own way. One shot that did go all right was a disguised shot at the net, showing that I wanted to rip a put-away but went for an angle using a soft touch.  After winning the point, I laughed at myself knowing that I probably couldn’t do it again. Time moved fast but it was time well spent.

PICKLEBALL JOURNAL – ENTRY 7

Pickleball moved well today, a three-hour session.  I met new players, saw familiar faces.  As usual, a lot of spiking was being done on every court. Not much dinking or strategic play.  In one match or two I slowed down points, did mid-court resets, and transitioned to dinking, though speed-ups came before longish rallies could develop. Some of my partners were a pleasure to work with, at times making our rhythm feel as though we were in a groove and following a plan. Those same players covered me during lobs or overheads or tough put-aways and I did the same for them. In additional to smashing, lobs were everywhere today, happening left and right. I started to laugh at the frequency and bad placement of the shots: most of the balls dropped into the kitchen, bouncing high and becoming attackable. So many players were still trying very hard to spin. A large number of these shots never cleared the tape or got slapped into the net.  Believe it or not, the players continued using that technique even when it caused errors, slowed down the game, or prevented rallies from starting and lasting long.  It seems to me that players of all ages become drawn to a specific kind of shot or technique and use it despite repeated errors, side-outs, and losing streaks. I spoke to a woman who told me that most of the people she has played with also slam their way through matches and hardly ever use finesse or have patience enough to wait for a different advantage. I brought up that I watch professional matches and respect and admire the “complete” games they play. She chuckled, agreed, but admitted that the level of play we appreciate most is hard to find in recreational competition.  During a firefight I did manage to deflect, take another hit, and then make a cross-court drop in the corner for a score. (I got lucky on that one.)  Switching from defense to offense in mid-rally, I like doing that.  My teammate appreciated that move.  I wanted to say, if we could work together we would do much better. No good just whaling away for yourself while ignoring your teammate. The hours sped past.

PICKLEBALL JOURNAL - ENTRY 8

How encouraging it is to talk about the best pickleball meetup I’ve had just because in a couple of matches my fellow players and I did much more dinking—slamming almost absent from our matches. What a refreshing change for me (and, I could tell, for the other players) to play a game that incorporated more strategy and finesse.  In my years as a recreational player smashing has taken over, even though many such shots end up in the net or being overhit and going out, footwork, balance, and contact points being inadequate in many cases.

Lobs have become a popular shot also, often done at the worst possible times, setting me and other players up for what I like to call missile defense—balls landing at the net, giving the opposing team ample time and room to set a stance, wind up and fire a hard, fast missile. All I or my partner can do is stand there and take it or run for cover or, with lots of luck, make a good dig and reset, missiles being difficult to defend. 

I had to put up with two more people telling me how to play.  Uncalled for, to say the least, from people whose games were full of imperfections and miscalculations, not to mention a loose grasp of the sport as a whole—a reality more often than not. Watch a top-level MLP-PPA pro match, then think about those who badger and demean others, who instruct without being asked to, who roll their eyes and shake their heads, and notice how their skills do not match their swagger and overconfidence.  Besides, I would never even think about going on court and telling another player how to play, what to do, in match after match.  Yet time and again in recreational play some have had this grievance. I’m not the only one.  The same impossible-to-please players grumble when you make the tiniest mistake. When they lose they take it hard, mope off court, sometimes even strike the wall with their paddle in frustration or, when defeat shrivels them up from inside, whip the paddle on the floor. Or worse, hammer the floor until the expensive paddle breaks. I saw that here and there. Infantile. (Maybe the winter weather was bringing this on!) I always thought that recreational play was supposed to be fun—intense and competitive, but fun! Ladies and gentlemen, don’t let anyone or anything strip away that fun. Professional players—who play for money, rank, sponsorship, and under pressures and demands—almost never behave like recreational players, which is why I’ve always enjoyed watching them compete, improve, and advance. True, not all pros behave on court as they should, but for the most part I’ve been a happy viewer/analyzer of world-class pickleball.

Once or twice I felt that my teammate and I were working together and not just whipping through balls as a show of power and strength or whatever one would call it. One person in particular was perfect. Or close to it. We communicated well, trying to set up the other to make quality shots, encouraging each other, complimenting effective plays, giving a boost when we were losing and trying to come back, and even saying “good try, play the next point” when we made mistakes. Now that’s pickleball!

PICKLEBALL JOURNAL – ENTRY 9

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.