Everything they told you about pickleball is a lie

Someone has to say it

My advice is to be wary of the guys in the floppy, jungle hats.

Also the women with the tailored tennis skirts.

They’re sharks.

If you are alive and paying attention in America you know about pickleball. Pickleball is incredibly popular. It is overtaking tennis — much to the indignation of the stuffy tennis purists. There are cute commercials about little old ladies beating a couple of young bros.

It’s everywhere.

And you have probably seen videos of folks cheerfully batting a ball back and forth.

Dee-doop, dee-doop.

Looks simple enough.

Yeah. That’s a good one.

I began to pickle recently. At a certain age it almost seems required. “And dad has started to play pickleball, so . . .”

I went to a local court that promised beginners were welcome. They even said they provide a paddle if you don’t have one.

There were a lot of people there and not only were the courts full, there were players waiting. You put your paddle in a slot on a stand. When a court cleared, four players at a time pick up their paddles from the line and go play.

When your paddle comes up, you’re on, very likely with three strangers. It did, I was and they were.

Putting modesty aside, I have lived a reasonably athletic life. I played basketball well into my 30s. In my youth I ran four marathons. I golf weekly, walking the course. I take a three-mile walk most days.

How hard could it be?

I don’t think I have ever been so athletically embarrassed in my life.

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When the first serve came in, ballooning up invitingly, I swung and completely missed. Honestly, I didn’t think that was even possible. The paddle is literally six inches from your hand.

But apparently it was possible, because I also whiffed on an overhead and a shortie that I couldn’t reach.

Mind you, my partner, a slim guy probably in his 70s, could not have been nicer. There was a steady stream of “No worries. We’ve all been there” or “Tough chance.”

He was a smooth, graceful player and luckily he managed to get us some points. Although I didn’t know it at the time, if your team gets completely skunked, 11-0, you have been “pickled.” Embarrassing.

Luckily, as I stood outside the courts, processing that little life experience, a woman walked up.

She was also a beginner, she said, and she’d just heard of a nearby court that is offering “beginner hours,” with volunteer instructors. It was happening right now and she was going over. Maybe I should drive over too and take the class?

Much better.

There was a fair group of beginners and we started with rallies back and forth, got a quick course on the rules and then actually played some games with a score.

Since the beginner sessions have regular hours, I’ve been going for the last few weeks. I’m starting to feel more comfortable and have played some games with long, enjoyable back-and-forth points.

But let’s don’t kid ourselves. It ain’t easy.

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There’s a lot of movement, more than I am used to. Early on I broke into what I like to refer to as a “sprint” as I went down for a ball and just kept going down, finishing with a barrel roll on the concrete. Everybody went silent. Old guy falling on the cement could be a real pickleball downer.

I was fine, but someone gave me some great advice.

“I have fallen twice,” he said. “I’m not doing it again. If you can’t reach ‘em, forget ‘em.”

Frankly, there are more women than men at the sessions. And don’t pretend that you didn’t immediately start to think of hit-and-giggle flirting.

It ain’t happening. One of the true virtues of pickleball is that men and women can play competitively and equally. No accommodation needed. And none given.

There is a certain level of seriousness that you must have if you’re actually going to play this. People go out of their way to be nice, compliment good shots and smile at small jokes. But we are keeping score here.

I was on a team with one of the volunteer coaches, a really knowledgeable and helpful woman, who was giving me a lot of good tips. Her tennis skirt implied she was a former player.

Standing near the net (at the kitchen, but no, we’re not going over the rules) I glanced over at her before a serve. I was kind of pleased with myself because I’d finally gotten her hints — “Move up! Move up!” — and this time had done it on my own. She looked back at me

“Get your paddle up!” she said.

Yes ma’am.

It also has to be said that you can enjoy playing at a lower level, but you find out pretty quickly that there are higher levels. Even intermediate picklers blast line drives at each other. And even more amazing, their opponents often blast them right back. You can learn to do it.

But when you’re still trying to keep your paddle-face square, it can be dispiriting to be out-classed.

At one of our beginner sessions, an intermediate player volunteered to stick around and “help.” I should have known the moment I saw the floppy hat.

It seems like part of the uniform for a certain kind of guy. He doesn’t “play more than three times a week” and has a carbon fiber paddle. This one kept his in a zippered, black, fur-lined cover. The hat just completes the look. Makes him more “pickle-ish.”

He ended up on the team across from me. And he was helpful, mostly.

But he threw in his spinner serve, which hit the court in front of me and then veered off like a Logan Webb slider. I couldn’t have touched it with a canoe paddle.

Swell. Very nice. Thanks for showing that to me.

He had some dink shots and some lobs. And finally, when I lobbed one into his wheelhouse, he unloaded a lazer that hit my hand as I tried to make a return — or more truthfully, protect myself. My knuckle is still a little black and blue.

“You OK?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said.

But what I probably should have said was, “Dude, I’m just trying to learn this game, which is a little harder than I expected. I am getting the hang of some of it, but at this point I’m just trying to get the ball over the net.”

And that’s a pretty fair statement of where we are. Pickleball, no matter how many cute features you see on the nightly news, is not easy.

It is, however, accessable. And with a little effort and practice, you can learn to play it.

And it’s worth it. It is an active sport, fast-paced and engaging. And the people go out of their way to be friendly and supportive.

That’s important. Because one thing that is hard about pickleball, that I didn’t expect, is that it is kind of scary to walk into a group of strangers and ask if you can play. Kinda first-day-of-school vibes.

I’m getting over that as I meet people. I’m getting better at playing, which at the same time realizing that there is a long way to go to be able to jump in and hold my own in a group of pretty good picklers.

But I’m enjoying it and nudging myself to go back. At this point I’m keeping my goals simple.

I’m just trying not to get pickled.

Contact C.W. Nevius at cwnevius@gmail.com. Twitter and Threads: @cwnevius