In Another Pickle

Nov 29, 2024

So how did that go?

That’s what my pickleball pal, Rick Reilly, says to me as I walk off the courts, back toward the parking lot - after yet another confrontation - of the Trules persuasion.

Rick Reilly is Jewish, believe it or not, although his name has no “berg” or “witz” at the end of it. So naturally… I call him “O’Reilly”… just to rub in the insult to injury of his naming.

That being said, the “confrontation” has nothing to do with O’Reilly, or my, being Jewish.

Or… maybe it does?

But let me get to that - in a bit.

All I know as I walk off the court is that I have a bitter taste in my mouth from O’Reilly’s glib and sarcastic question,

So how did that go?

How did WHAT go? you ask.

Well… it was completely innocent - at first. I had just finished playing pickleball on Veteran’s Day, Monday, November 11th. Colder and more bitter than usual, even though it’s still early November here in northern New Mexico. I wore long johns under my fleece-lined turquoise blue ski pants and a matching dark blue ski cap. Ever the natty and fashionable pickleball player. That’s me.

I’m walking over the charming old wooden bridge at Fort Marcy in Santa Fe, to the parking lot. Whereas I usually get there around 10:30 in the morning, later than most, on this holiday Monday I get there a little earlier, thinking that the courts will be crowded.

They are, but I get in some good games, winning a majority, losing a few. Par for the course. The problem, as always, is that “The Club” (the official Santa Fe Pickleball Club with over 700 members) has claimed four of the six courts for a particular Club-exclusive event called “The Ladder”. Between 12 - 2 p.m. Twice a week. You have to sign up to play, online, in advance, to try to get your name into one of the 16 slots. No sign-up, no Ladder. Me? I can’t figure out how to use the “Court Serve” online signup app, so I never compete in the friggin’ Ladder. Besides, I’m an old-school, countercultural artiste; I don’t like to compete under any circumstances. And… these are public courts; anyone and everyone should be able to play on them.

I see Derek in the parking lot. He’s a white dude, fast and athletic, about twenty years younger than I am. We’re a sociable and friendly group, both Club and non-Club members.

Derek greets me.

Hey, man, howse it going? Any good games today?
Not bad, I say. A little nippy, but now there are only two courts open to play on if you’re not in the Ladder.
God dammit! Derek explodes. They can’t do that! It’s in the Club’s contract with the City. They can only use 50% of the courts at any one time.
Really? I say, quite surprised by his hot-headed vitriol, having myself been thrown off the Club-claimed courts many times before, exactly at 12 noon.
Yeah, man, it’s in the contract!

Now I have to admit, it’s not hard to get my goat. I’m a volatile guy who taught improvisation at a university for over 30 years. “First thought, best thought.” That’s been my modus operandi ever since I broke out of my repressed adolescent shell.

Listen, man, I say to Derek, I don’t like it either. If you want, I’ll come down there with you and try to straighten things out. You just give them your information, ok?
Really? Derek says surprised.
Absolutely, I say. Let’s go….

Clearly, my worst decision of the day.

Thanks for reading Santa Fe Substack! This post is public so feel free to share it.

I tramp back over the old wooden bridge with Derek a step behind me. We open the chain link fence door; we’re a two-man team of self-righteous protest.

Or so I think.

I walk straight over to the first of the four Ladder courts. There’s Gina and Beth, two of the Club’s short-haired, great-playing Board members, fiercely playing “doubles”, against each other on opposite sides of the court.

I wait for the point to be over and then “have at it”.

Sorry to interrupt your game, I say to Beth, closest to me. She’s a great “dinker” (dropping the ball short into “the kitchen”, a highly practiced skill). But Derek just told me that the Club’s contract with the City only allows The Club to use three of the six courts at any one time. Did you know that?
No, I didn’t, Beth says, clearly upset. Besides, I’m not on the Board anymore; I have nothing to do with any of that stuff anymore, thank God.
But you seem to be in charge of The Ladder, and I heard you specifically say “We need four courts today.”
Yeah, well, I said it, but you need to bring it up with the Board, not me.
I will, I say raising my voice (as I tend to do when I feel antagonized or misunderstood), but right now there are about twenty people waiting to play on two courts. It’s not right.
Bring it up with the Board, Beth persists.

Just then, Gina storms to the net from the far side of the court.

I’m on the Board. What’s the problem?

I proceed to repeat myself and tell Gina the same thing I’ve just told Beth.

Gina barks,

Well, look, today’s a holiday, and I don’t know the rules for today. I’ll bring it up at the next Board meeting. I’m sorry so many people are waiting, but we’re playing pickleball here.

She turns her back on me to resume her game.

I’m pissed at being shut down. I turn my head, for the first time, looking for my backup, Derek. He’s been nowhere near the courts. In fact, he’s chatting with the other players, now all over at the benches, waiting passively to get on one of the two available courts.

I say, Thanks for backing me up, man! Tell ‘em what you told me.

Derek shrugs sheepishly, and… I move away from the courts, away from the confrontation. Naturally, everyone there is staring at me in my fashionable blue ski pants and matching, darker blue, wool cap.

I feel like a jerk.

Again.

Why is it that I’m always the one left holding the bag? Me and my big New Yawk mouth?

To add insult to injury, this is exactly when O’Reilly, sitting near the door as I’m making my tail-hanging exit back to the parking lot, from where I never should have returned, glibly says to me,

Well, how did that go?

We both laugh, me bitterly, thinking,

Well, let’s see. Let’s just see.

In case you didn’t know, pickleball is now “the fastest-growing sport in the world.” That’s right, not just here in the States, with all of us aging seniors appreciating the smaller courts, thereby having to cover less real estate with our various limps and gouts. Even former tennis pros like Andre Agassi and John McEnroe are playing pickleball.

And naturally, McEnroe is still arguing and complaining.

I spend the rest of the day, miserably reviewing my behavior.

Goddammit, Trules, here you are again, pissing everyone you know off with your thin skin and your argumentative, New York/Jewish bellicosity. (Yeah, that’s the way I talk to myself.) Why don’t you just figure out how to sign up for the goddam Ladder so you can keep playing at 12 o’clock? Why the hell did you listen to Derek and go back down there without checking out the City contract yourself? You’re a short-fused fool, Trules!

By sunset, having suffered and guilted enough, I try to make amends by writing an email to both the injured parties.

Dear Gina and Beth,
I'm sorry about the argument on the courts today. Blah blah blah about what happened from parking lot to blow up.
I shouldn’t have interrupted your game, but waited instead to speak to you both afterward. My bad. Gina said something about today being a Holiday, about which I know nothing. BUT I’m definitely interested in finding out the facts of the City contract to know if Derek is right about the Club only being entitled to use 50% of available courts.
I'd like you to know that this isn't a "personal" matter, but only a "pickleball rule" matter, and that it is hard on the non-Club participants to be relegated to 2 courts, especially when there are so many of us waiting to play, holiday or otherwise. I'd also like you both to know that I like you both individually very much, and I hope you won't hold this against me. I'm just a confrontational New York kinda guy, and I always try to stand up for what I think is right and fair.
I'd appreciate your understanding and reply.

I sign it. Humble and apologetic, right?

I hear back from both of them, almost immediately.

Dear Trules,
Thanks for your email. I will definitely forward your message to Liam, our President. I’ll also ask that this concern be included on the agenda of our next Santa Fe Pickleball Club board meeting. Your points are well taken, and we need some clarification on the 3 courts or 4 courts being used in the afternoons for club events.
Thanks for your feedback.
Gina (and Beth)
PS. There is no “Derek”. Your contract-quoting friend’s name is Pete.

Oh boy!

But ok! What do you think about that O’Reilly?

Over the last few weeks, Liam, our President, has clarified that yes, indeed, the Club’s contract with the City does, in fact, allow them to use as many courts as they want. Even all six if that’s what they decide.

Nice going, Derek! And nicer going, Trules, for not checking out the contract first!

But then again… there will, indeed, be a December Board meeting, during which my impetuous, hard-headed, but worthy issues… will be discussed.

However, in all probability at that point, the construction of the six brand new pickleball courts, abutting the same property where we all now congestedly play… will most likely, be complete.

Allowing twice as many warriors to play at any one time - hopefully by next spring.

A just resolve, don’t you think, for “the most popular growing sport in the world”?

And simultaneously, fair warning for Trules, that’s me, dammit, to keep my big mouth shut, and my scrawny ass out of — another PICKLE.

Contentiously yours.

Trules

Gobble Gobble!!!

Hope you had a HAPPY TURKEY DAY! (Thanksgiving Day) Be grateful.

Personally, I would like to thank each and every one of my readers and subscribers for joining me here on Substack. Each post you read and each comment you leave - “makes my day”.

And for you, non-American Pilgrims, BE THANKFUL for what you can be!

In Another Pickle

Discussion about this post