It has come to my attention that a pickleball player by the name of “Roddy Turner” has recently written a letter to Gant News, disputing the claims I made last fall in my column, “The Cult of Pickles.” Moreover, Mr. Turner (is that his real name?) labeled me as an elitist snob.
I debated responding to this attempt at journalism. Back in my high school days, I was the Sports Editor of the “Red and White,” at Bellefonte High School. I once got into it with the editorial staff at the “Maroon and Gray,” at State College High.
Me: “They called us a bunch of farmers. I replied that they were an ‘inferior publication’.” This did not sit well with my faculty advisor, who threatened to toss me from the staff. So, I have learned to pick my battles.
I pick this one.
I do wonder why it took so long for Mr. Turner to reply (ADHD, maybe?). Nonetheless, I did find his letter to be mildly amusing and somewhat sarcastic, which is what “The Mike Drop” is all about.. As Oscar Wilde put it, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” So, thank you for that.
As far as being a “tennis snob,” allow me to elaborate. I can give you a list of “non-snob” reasons longer than a Clearfield High honor roll list. I started playing at a park in my hometown. Through the ‘70s and ‘80s, there was a
vibrant tennis scene on those two, gritty asphalt courts. No instruction, just grab your racquet and go, which I did on my bike, until I was allowed to drive the second family car. We showed up every day, and it was a tennis version of pickup basketball. The coming of winter would shut us down, but more than a few times, we would shovel snow off the courts in early spring to be able to play.
(Note to pickleballers: When you have shoveled snow off a court to be able to play, then we might be on equal footing.)
It was the tennis version of the baseball movie “Sandlot.” Fortunately, there was no dog nearby to scarf up errant tennis balls. Though, the sandlot kids did a pool raid in the movie. As for us, we would walk a hundred feet from the courts to the community pool, and we figured out that if you stood in the right spot near the entrance, you could see a lot from the reflection from the water on the floor of the women’s changing room.
I’m sure that this is not a pickleball thing today.
Eventually, this morphed into a high school tennis team at Bellefonte. The AD/football coach, Bill Luther (there’s a name for you football people), asked me to coach the team that first year, 1975, my senior year in college.
We did OK for a first-year, ragtag team, and we did have a lot of fun. Out of the five singles players on that team, three eventually became high school coaches themselves. One of them (my younger brother) recently won three state championships in Virginia.
I read the mention of beer. We held an annual summer tournament on those two courts at the park. It was half tennis, half consumption, but full-on play. I can think of a number of players back then who would put any pickleball-drinking crowd to shame. My regular doubles partner had served two deployments in Vietnam, and was an Army Ranger. I waited until I was done for the day to have a cold one. He would have a beer or two between matches.
So, Mr. Turner, you got anyone like that on your side?
Nonetheless, I do not have a problem with pickleball, other than the smug attitude I’ve gotten from a few pickleballers I’ve met. Sadly, they have done nothing to advance the sport. A few of those people act as if they have invented the best thing since sliced bread.
So, go ahead and play. I’m just not ready to try. I’d rather play tennis on a couple of clay courts that a friend has built and offered to my group of players. It does make getting out of bed the next day easier; fewer aches and pains. You pickleballers keep playing on a hard surface for a few more years, and then tell me how you feel about it.
I wrote last fall about visiting Arthur Ashe’s gravesite. He won the US Open in 1968, and Wimbledon in 1975. I can name the US Open winners from Ashe’s victory through the ‘70s and ‘80s, to today. Can you do the same with the Pickleball Open?
Oh, yeah. Pickleball didn’t exist then.
Though, do go on playing pickleball. Please enjoy the exercise, and do have fun. Just don’t think that you’re running with the big dogs.
