Pickleball is Church

Back in the day, I was a high school varsity tennis player. I played first doubles with my bff, Carin. We weren’t great (we weren’t horrible, either), but we had a blast. When I think of playing tennis, I think of Carin, laughing ’til I cry, and listening to the song, “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman, which we played on repeat on our way to the courts.

Fast forward 30+ years …

“Fast Car” has been remade by a country singer named Luke Combs, and I’ve traded in my tennis racquet for a pickleball paddle. I also have a new partner — my husband, Stan. (Sorry, Carin!)

According to this hysterical and very accurate Holderness video (linked below), there are five stages of pickleball: judgement, curiosity, reluctance, commitment, and obsession.

Admittedly, I was judgmental at first (shocker!), and then curious — but not curious enough to research it like my husband. In typical Stan fashion, he watched a few YouTube videos (and ESPN-televised matches) to learn the rules and the terminology before we got on the court.

I did not.

In fact, I refuse to learn the rules (the only one I know is that you have to serve underhanded) or play within the court lines. My only goal is to have fun and keep a rally going as long as possible — even if that means hitting a return on a second bounce or when it’s technically out.

My disinterest for the rules and propriety of the game is probably why we only play singles, not doubles like everyone else. That, and the fact that I’m not very social (I’m too introverted and anxiety-ridden to play with others). But I’m okay with that. I like playing with just my husband. In fact, I prefer it. It’s kind of the whole reason we started playing in the first place. To connect and have fun together.

Despite our singles status, according to the Holderness scale, I’d say we’re at stage 4: commitment. That first week, it was definitely reluctance, but four weeks in and we’re committed. So much so that we’ve scheduled our weekly play day on the family calendar so we don’t miss it.

In a way, pickleball has become our new church. Before you scoff, hear me out:

1. We get up super early on Sunday morning to play at our local park — kind of like mass, but more fun. [SIDE NOTE: We do this to ensure that we won’t have to wait for a court or get rushed off for the next set of players. (Patience is not my virtue and neither is being told what to do.) Surprisingly, getting Stan to wake at dawn hasn’t been too hard of a sell, but I’m guessing that has to do somewhat with the “extra incentive” I give him.]
2. There’s a community of followers and devotees, and even some fanatics — just like church/religion. (We may have drunk the Kool-Aid, but we’re not quite there, FYI.)
3. The games delivers a sermon on life each time we play — also like mass, but less preachy and way more subtle.

I know it’s corny, but I’m at a point in life where I can see lessons in everything. Here’s what pickleball has taught me — or, more accurately, has reminded me:

• You don’t always have to follow the rules, but if you don’t, know that you may be on your own (which isn’t always a bad thing).
• It’s okay to be a beginner. We all have to start somewhere.
• Skills are often transferable, but not exact. Learn to make adjustments, not excuses.
• Don’t be too rigid. Learn to be flexible and agile so you’re less prone to getting hurt.
• You don’t always have to move up. Lateral moves are good, too.
• Don’t take it too seriously. Laugh and have fun.
• The early bird gets the worm — and the good pickleball court.
• Sex makes husbands more amenable to just about anything.

Playing pickleball at 51 is definitely not the same as playing tennis at 17. We don’t have a theme song or matching outfits (although I’m working on it), and we move much, much slower. But one thing is the same, and it’s the most important part: we still laugh A LOT. Now, I just pee a little when I do. (#midlifeproblems)

— LJDT