When pickleball becomes a pickle

John Cantanknomo heard the popping sound before he rounded the corner of his street. The sound of wooden paddles slapping against a small yellow ball. It had been going on for the better part of a week, a steady, incessant beat that had become a part of the evening soundtrack in the quiet neighborhood of Eagle Glenwood Grove.

It was 8:30pm as he walked the long driveway of the Ryersons’ place with his Jack Russell terrier, Max, and John was tired. He was tired of the sound, the bright lights, the feeling of being constantly on edge. And so, with a deep breath, he stepped up to the pickleball court and confronted Bob Ryerson.

“Bob.” John began in an even tone, his voice betraying none of the emotion he felt.

Bob had been in mid-swing, and he stopped abruptly, his paddle still raised. He turned to look at John, his eyes slightly wide with surprise.

“John. Hi. What’s up?” Bob replied with a friendly smile, though his voice had a hint of apprehension.

John took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I’m here to talk to you about this pickleball court,” he said, gesturing to the court. “I’m sure you can understand how the noise and the lights are impacting the neighborhood. It’s been going on until late at night, and it’s really intrusive. I think we can come to a compromise here, Bob.”

Bob nodded thoughtfully. “I can see how it might be disruptive for some. But this was the only place on my property where I could put the court.” He gestured at the small yard, outlining the limited space that was available for a court of any kind.

John could feel his frustration bubbling up, but he reined it in. “I understand that. But surely there must be something you can do to make it less intrusive. Maybe you could limit the hours you play, or put up a sound barrier to dampen the noise?”

“Have you ever played the game?” Bob said.

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“Tell you what. Come over for a free lesson. If you don’t love it, I’ll tear down the whole thing.”

Easy, John thought. I’ll take the lesson and then tell him I hate it so he will have to take it all down to keep his word. “Deal!” John said and they shook hands.

The next day, John arrived at Bob’s house. Bob was already on the court, practicing his shots. He beckoned John over with a wave of his paddle. “Ready to learn?” Bob said with a grin. John nodded, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. He had never played pickleball before, but he was determined to give it a fair shot.

Bob took John through the basics of the game – the rules, the different shots, and how to move around the court. As they played, John began to feel a rush of adrenaline. It was an intense game, requiring both speed and strategy, and John found himself getting caught up in the thrill of it.

As the game went on, John forgot all about his grievances with the court. All he could focus on was the ball, the sound of the paddles hitting it, the sweat on his brow. When Bob suggested they take a break, John was surprised to see that it had been over an hour since they started. He loved it.

At the end of the session, Bob said, “Wow, you are good for a rookie. How did you like it?”

John hesitated because he was having so much fun. But he thought about his wife and new baby trying to get some much needed rest after a difficult pregnancy. And his boss was on his case for losing focus at work.

“It’s good excercise,” John said. “But I just didn’t have any fun. It’s too much like work. I wish you would take it down.”

“No problem,” Bob said. “It will be gone by Monday of next week.”

John and his growing family had even more difficulty sleeping the rest of that week. But on Monday the banging, sawing and hauling sounds were gone.

He looked out his window at the pickleball site.

Bob had taken it down.

And built a hockey rink instead. What the hell?

Two teams filed onto the court and began banging pucks into the boards, yelling, and cheering each other on. A loud siren went off to announce the start of the game. Most of the players went to their respective boxes while the starting lineups stayed on the ice. Hundreds of neighbors were in the stands. Men with big iceboxes slung over their shoulders sold beer and peanuts to the crowd.

His wife began crying and the baby started wailing from the noise. John stomped next door and yelled at Bob over the din.

“Bob, this is unacceptable! You can’t have a hockey rink next to a sleeping baby!”

“Have you ever played the game?” Bob said.

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“Tell you what. Come over for a free lesson. If you don’t love it, I’ll tear down the whole thing.”