I Don’t Hate Pickleball. I Just Fear Its Power.

A completely fair and unbiased investigation into the sport slowly taking over America

A Brief Disclaimer Before the Pickleball People Come for Me

The following article was written a long time ago and has been sitting quietly in my drafts ever since. Every few months, I open it, read it again, wonder if I should publish it, and then laugh just enough to keep it around.

In the time since I wrote it, my own brother has taken up pickleball. Through him, I have learned that some of what follows may not actually qualify as satire. He has encountered some very nice people.

He has also encountered some... intense people.

So, before we continue, the management of Grit & Wit would like to make the following statement:

No pickleball players were harmed in the writing of this article. Grit & Wit does not recommend approaching an agitated pickleball player, questioning a line call, entering the kitchen without proper authorization, touching another person’s paddle, or suggesting that pickleball is simply oversized ping pong.

The author assumes no responsibility for angry emails, aggressive fist pumps, unsolicited explanations of DUPR ratings, or invitations to “just come play one time and you’ll understand.”

This article is intended for entertainment purposes only. If you recognize yourself in any of the following paragraphs, please consult your spouse, your doubles partner, or the group text you absolutely have for pickleball.

And if you’re offended, please remember: I wrote this before my brother started playing.

So technically, this is his fault.

Now then...

Do you want to know if someone plays pickleball?

Don’t worry—they’ll tell you.

Usually within the first 90 seconds of a conversation. It’s like CrossFit, but with more wristbands and fewer injuries that need ice packs.

Pickleball is the epidemic sweeping the nation, one repurposed tennis court at a time. It’s the sport for people who want to play tennis, but not all that tennis-y stuff like running, sweating, or covering ground larger than a modest living room rug. If you enjoy destroying relationships but don’t enjoy cardio, pickleball might be for you.

Want to passive-aggressively scream at your spouse in public under the guise of "doubles strategy"? Welcome to the kitchen. (That’s what they call the no-volley zone. Because of course they do.)

I wonder if they call it the kitchen because that’s where the most fights happen.

I haven’t seen a "0.0 I Don’t Run" bumper sticker with a pickleball paddle yet, but we all know it’s coming. There’s a disturbing inevitability to the way pickleball players evangelize. It’s less a sport and more of a paddle-wielding pyramid scheme. They get you to play, and then you have to get two friends to play, and suddenly there are eight people standing in line at 6 a.m. arguing over paddle rotation rules like it’s Olympic qualifying.

The outfits are their own saga. You can spot a true pickleball disciple by their moisture-wicking gear, custom paddle bag, and the steely-eyed focus of someone who once played high school sports and still hasn’t let it go. These are former athletes who need an outlet, but aren’t ready to take up running because...knees. And yet after a win, they react like they just hit a walk-off homer in Game 7 of the World Series. The high-fives are aggressive. The trash talk is oddly intense. There's usually a fist pump involved.

And the conversations? My goodness. Pickleball players work their sport into any conversation with the same energy as someone trying to sell essential oils.

“Oh you’re tired? You should try pickleball.”

“You’re going through a breakup? Honestly, pickleball got me through a hard time.”

“You’re hungry?” “Do you know where I grabbed a snack after pickleball yesterday?”

Deep down, I think they know. They know it’s weird. They know it’s basically ping pong, tennis, and cage fighting had a baby raised by suburban dads with joint pain. But they can’t stop. Because pickleball doesn’t just fill your schedule, and then…it takes over your soul. It's the opposite of Highlander: there cannot be only one. Once one couple plays, every other couple in the friend group gets sucked in or ostracized for not playing. And just like that, couples who used to argue over where to eat are now arguing over line calls and foot faults. Is it love? Or is it a paddle-related rage spiral?

I don’t hate pickleball. I just fear its power.

Which is also why I have never played.

People keep telling me I need to try it. Absolutely not. I know myself too well. From everything I’ve heard, pickleball has been specifically engineered to bring out the worst parts of my competitive personality.

There would be no casual Saturday morning game. I wouldn’t be out there “just having fun.” Within two weeks, I’d own three paddles, have strong opinions about footwear, and be researching leagues within a 30-mile radius. Karen would ask what we’re doing Friday night, and I’d have to explain that we can’t go anywhere because I’ve got a grudge match against a 62-year-old accountant named Gary who questioned one of my line calls.

And I would need to destroy Gary and make him sell every paddle he has. In typical Ivan Drago fashion, I would break him.

So I stay away.

Not because I think I’m better than pickleball players.

Because deep down, I know I might be one of them.

Because one day, you’re mocking it from the sidelines. And the next day, you’ve got a paddle named “Big Dink Energy” and a group text called “Smash Bros.” And you can’t stop talking about how “surprisingly intense” it is. Because it is. And because it’s too late.

Just like a cucumber in a jar with the lid tightly closed…you’ve been pickled.