Courting a New Passion

            Last week, I wrote about pizza in all its varieties and about the proliferation of pizza purveyors. Today I will be musing about another passion … the popular pickle.

            What you have just read is, in writing parlance, called a hook. It is designed to perk the reader’s curiosity to continue reading what comes next. I confess I will not be writing about pickles. Instead, I will be musing about pickleball.

            To those of you who were excited about reading my thoughts on pickles and are disappointed, I apologize. I will not be offended if you chose to move on to the important news of the week, but unless you have been away on safari in some remote plain in Africa, pickleball has become a popular topic of conversation these days.

            A few weeks ago, in an attempt at humor I suggested that pickleball has usurped baseball as America’s pastime. Apparently, that may be true. According to the Sports and Fitness Industry Association, it has become the fastest-growing sport in our vast land.

            To my surprise, nearly 5,000,000 people played the game in 2022, up 40% from 2020. There are about 35,000 courts in the United States. It is so popular that there are pickleball country clubs, pickleball leagues, pickleball camps and even pickleball clothing. To the dismay of tennis players, the sport has taken over many of their venues. There is even pickleball elbow!

            There are professional pickleball players, a national governing body called USA Pickleball, which establishes rules, promotes the sport and keeps player rankings. Who knew? There is even a pickleball channel on YouTube.

            As with any new activity, where there is pickleball there is controversy. Starting with the game’s origins. It is not new. It was invented in 1965 by three fathers who wanted to keep their kids busy in the summer. They used ping pong paddles to hit a plastic golf ball over a badminton net, and so the game was born.

            As you might have guessed, the name has nothing to do with pickles, but even that is controversial. Some say it was named after something called a pickle boat, others claim that one of the originators’ wives named it after her dog “Pickles.” I bet the dog probably chased the ball.

            If you live near a pickleball court, you know that it is noisy. The wooden paddle hitting the plastic, wiffleball-like sphere generates a sharp “thump, thump, thump” that is so annoying that it is driving some people to actually participate in town government. Imagine that. In Wellesley, frustrated residents have taken their noise complaints to their local Recreation Commission seeking quiet.

            According to The Wall Street Journal, there will be no pickleball playing in Falmouth, at least for a while. Some residents have filed a lawsuit, claiming the game violates the local zoning bylaw which limits sound levels, and an injunction has been issued prohibiting its play. According to one published report, a complainant sold their house and moved away. Wonder if they told the buyer why they moved.

            To alleviate the unneighborly noise problem, many entrepreneurs are moving the sport indoors. Even here in our own hotbed of sports, the Knights of Columbus organization has begun to rent their meeting hall, the very place where once as a boy I served clams and tripe (Ugh! I hate tripe) at their annual clambake, as a pickleball venue. Thus, creating a consistent source of income for the organization and avoiding any possible complaints by neighbors about noise.

            The popularity of the game has piqued my interest. I used to be a pretty good tennis player so maybe I’ll try it out sometime. But first I’m going grab a tasty sour dill to munch on and spend the afternoon watching the pros on YouTube. Care to join me?

            Editor’s note: Mattapoisett resident Dick Morgado is an artist and retired newspaper columnist whose musings are, after some years, back in The Wanderer under the subtitle “Thoughts on ….” Morgado’s opinions have also appeared for many years in daily newspapers around Boston.

By Dick Morgado