suck it, pickleball

I have really been enjoying getting back into tennis, but something has been bothering me and tonight nearly pushed me over the edge. Allow me to don my (K)erin persona for a few minutes and rant the town red:

Chooch and I went to our local tennis courts after work today because we had TO DRIVE OURSELVES and I didn’t want to drive to my beloved Settlers Cabin courts on my own because you have to get on the parkway, etc blah blah. I don’t have the patience for that. So we went down the street to Moore Park, which has three courts. One of the courts was occupied by pickleballers, which was pretty annoying because there are actual pickleball courts there but OH NO they were full. I dunno, maybe you could just….wait for one of those to open up?

Whatever. I figured I could deal with it because there was an empty court between us. But then three BROS arrived with big ass “everyone needs to hear our hilarious banter” voices, brandishing their bullshit PICKLEBALL equipment, and claimed the court in the middle. I almost left within 5 minutes of their arrival after their stupid ass wiffle ball rolled onto our court while we were in the middle of a rally.

But we barely got to play last night before it started raining, and I truly didn’t feel like tooling around in the car looking for a new court, so I sucked it up and we kept on playing our real sport while the douchebag next door was whining loudly about how “the net is too high!” and “the blocks are too wide!” BRO, BECAUSE YOU ARE PLAYING ON A TENNIS COURT. LITERALLY NAMED AS SUCH BECAUSE IT’S A COURT MEANT FOR TENNIS.

I kept picturing the ringleader as Johnny Bananas from the Real World / The Challenge fame. Just a total LOOK AT ME I’M THE BEST d-bag.

The saddest part is that two people came with their tennis rackets and kind of hung around for a bit, waiting for a court to open up, but then they finally gave up and left. I would have been so pissed off if I rolled up to a tennis court, ready to blow off some work steam, and it was full of pickleball squatters. I feel like I would be too mad to leave, and I would have to do that thing I do where I smile really big and act like I’m ASKING NICELY but really I am SCREAMING LIKE I HAVE A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL ABOUT TO SHOOT OUT FROM MOUTH. It’s Henry and Chooch’s favorite version of me.

I mean, I was diagnosed with explosive anger disorder once upon a time.

Look, I’m all for people wanting to have a fun activity to do together and while I will never consider it a sport, pickle on, Dillbert. But do it on your own designated court. And if all the pickleball courts are taken at the location of your choosing, don’t usurp a tennis court. Go to a fucking old age home and see if they have a court you can use, you know? Or maybe give shuffleboard a spin. If you’re pickling around on a tennis court, you might as well just roll out a blanket and have a picnic on it, because you’re just wasting it. Go play in a fucking driveway.

OR BETTER YET, TRAFFIC.

Meanwhile, the people who were there before us were still there when we left after an hour (you know, because you’re only allowed to use the courts for an hour) and not a single one of them were even slightly sparkling with sweat. BECAUSE IT IS NOT A REAL SPORT!! Chooch and I get so drenched in sweat when we play, that our shirts always end up looking like they’re gradient.

Sorry. I’m trying to be open-minded about this but so far, every pickleballer encounter I’ve had has been aggravating at best.