In a Pickle

On Sunday, Mr. B. and I played pickleball for the first time. For those of you who don't know, in a nutshell pickleball is played on a badminton-sized court, often sharing space with either a basketball court in a gym, or a tennis court outside. It can be played by 2-4 people, with 1-2 people per side.

Every Sunday afternoon, the Sanibel Rec Center has pick-up pickleball. Mr. B. and I have wanted to try playing for a while, but were intimidated by our lack of experience. We'd get down to the Rec Center, walk into the gym, and see all these players whacking and volleying the ball, and everyone seemed to know what they were doing. We felt out of place and couldn't work up the courage to throw our hat into the ring, so to speak. Until this Sunday, that is, when we finally managed to be brave enough to step out onto the court. The pick-up games start at 1:00, so we waited until 2:00 to get there, figuring most people would be tired out by then, and maybe we'd be able to get a court to ourselves. We wanted a chance to get to practice playing before inflicting our newness on anyone else. Our plan seemed to be a good one. We walked in, and the middle court was free. So we were heading that way when we were stopped by a woman with short gray hair, a paddle in her hand, and a wild look in her eye. "Are you here to play?" she asked? Well... that should have been obvious, given the rackets in our hands. Anyway, I guess it was a fair question, since we probably looked pretty hesitant.

"Yessss...," I said, "But we've never played before."
"That's no problem. We just need to get another player," she said. She looked around the gym, trying to catch someone's eye to get another player to join us. Her search went on for a few minutes, and I was really hoping she'd fail, and Mr. B. and I would get to use the empty court to play by ourselves. No such luck. One of the other games wrapped up, and an older gentleman walked over to the woman and said he'd play. So, we all walked over to the empty court, and made our introductions. The gray-haired woman was Pat, the older gentleman was Van. Pat and Mr. B. took their places on one side, and Van and I went to the other side. Van explained the basics of the game to me, while Pat filled Mr. B. in on the rules over on their side. It's a pretty simple game, kind of a mix between tennis, badminton, and ping pong. Before long, we were immersed in hitting the ball back and forth, practicing volleying before launching into the game.

"Keep your eye on the ball," Van kept reminding me every time I swung and missed. "Just repeat that to yourself." Okay, okay, I thought. I can do that.

After a few minutes of attempted volleying, Pat and Van were chomping at the bit to get started playing, and so we began. They let me serve first, and Van instructed me on the fine art of announcing the score. "You say Zero Zero One," he said. I repeated that, calling it out loudly so Pat and Mr. B. could hear me on their side of the court. And then I served the ball. It took me a couple of tries, but I got the hang of it pretty quickly, and we were off and running... for about two volleys, and then I missed the ball. "Keep your eye on the ball," Van reminded me. "Keep telling yourself that." Yeah, yeah. I know. It's just easier said than done, I thought. I nodded and apologized for missing. Van waved off my apology and smiled. "You're doing fine," he said. "Just keep your eye on the ball."

Van served next. "Zero Zero Two," he said, and sent the ball over the net. Pat smacked it back after letting it bounce, and Van hit it back to her after letting it bounce, and we managed to volley maybe two times before I missed the ball again. "I've got to keep my eye on the ball," I said, shaking my head in dismay, before Van could give me that advice again. It's not that I'm a slow learner, it's just that I get caught up in running to get the ball, and forget to keep my eyes on it.

We sent the ball over to Mr. B. and Pat for them to serve. Pat started. "Zero Zero One," she said, and sent it over to me. I got to it and kept my eyes on that ball and connected. Boy did that feel good. "No good," said Pat and Van at the same time. "You forgot to let it bounce." Sigh. Okay, another to thing to keep in mind -- let the ball bounce when it's first served over, before you hit it back. Pat served again, and this time I let it bounce before connecting with it, and she missed my return. So the serve went to Mr. B. Pat instructed him on the proper calling out of the score before serving. "Say One Zero Two," she said. So he announced the score and served, and Van returned the serve, and after a couple of volleys, Mr. B. missed the ball and it was back on our side to serve.

Just as we were about to serve, someone came up to Van and told him his wife wasn't feeling well, so he had to leave. Luckily, Richard, the guy delivering the news, agreed to take Van's place. Picture Ernest Borgnine in a knee brace. Richard proceeded to coach me on the fine art of where to stand while he served, and where to stand when the other team was serving. It took me quite a while, but I finally figured out the right to place to be. He wasn't quite as patient a teacher as Van, and I was kind of intimidated by him. I could sense his dismay every time I missed the ball and we lost the serve. I think he tired of hearing me say "I'm sorry." I know I got tired of saying it. I needed Van back to remind me to "keep my eye on the ball" so I wouldn't have to say "I'm sorry" so much.

It also took me quite a while to get the hang of announcing the score. Van had told me to say "Zero Zero One," when I was starting to serve, so I figured I was server #1, since the score was 0-0. So I was confused when Richard served and announced himself as server #1. I didn't want to correct him, so I started referring to myself as server #2 every time it was my turn to serve. We played three games with Richard before his knee gave out (at least that's what he claimed -- I think he was tired of hearing me apologize for missing the ball so much). Pat was ready to go hit the ball against the wall and offered to leave the court for Mr. B. and me to play a game of singles. We were about to take her up on that offer when another player walked onto the court, and Pat asked him if he wanted to play. Yep, he sure did. So a very tired Mr. B. and I played another three games with Pat and Ted, the new guy on the scene. Ted was about 20 years younger than Richard, and he and I made a good team against Pat and Mr. B. By then I had gotten the hang of keeping my eye on the ball and managed to volley quite a few times before missing. During the course of playing with Ted, I learned my final bit of important information about pickleball -- I found out I was not always server #1. The use of #1 or #2 refers to whether you are the first person serving or the second when it's our turn to serve. So I guess everyone was sparing me the embarrassment of correcting me when I referred to myself as server #1, even though I was the second server sometimes. It's surprising that Van didn't correct me -- he had no problem reminding me to "keep my eye on the ball."

We look forward to playing again this Saturday, and I guarantee I will remember to "keep my eye on the ball," and pay attention to whether I'm server #1 or #2.