Not much new ground covered here. Simply poking fun at the latest craze. Don't expect super heroes, filthy rich people, or a nearly impossible revenge in this story. Yes I realize I'm letting down my blood-thirsty followers. It's almost like I don't care.
Kostas Lazarides; James House: "Once there was this spider in my bed. I got caught up in her web of love and lies. She spun her chains around my heart and soul never to let go. Oh, but I survived."
= = = =
When our kids flew the coup I thought things might settle down. Silly me. Annette, my wife of twenty-two years, took up pickleball. As a former high-school volleyball and tennis player she thought she'd zip right up to the elite status. Silly her. Watching her play I realized why her sports career ended in high school.
Early on things weren't going well and a person needs something to blame. So, she now has a collection of paddles in 'time-out' as they apparently aren't cooperating.
My name is Kristoff and when Annette started playing I was of little or no use to her when it came to improving her game. My game is golf. I have golf clubs in my garage that are also in 'time-out' for transgressions obviously not of my making. I'm somewhat athletic but paddle and racquet sports were never really my thing. My hand-eye coordination is really good as I juggle golf balls when things get backed-up on the golf course. I ran cross country in middle school. Walking a round of golf seems to keep my weight off. I'll occasionally do a 5K charity event.
To improve her game Annette has taken clinics, lessons, read internet self-help articles, and spent hours watching videos of good players playing. These good players happen to be about a foot taller, much younger, and faster than snot. I am smart enough to not mention that none of what she is doing will help her in any of those departments. Hope springs eternal however.
Annette mostly plays with the ladies. She's done some co-ed play but contends that the guys are a bunch of macho assholes constantly making suggestive remarks. And this surprises her why? In my estimation men haven't changed in ages. You might not be able to say and do these things in the workplace but that ain't true on a pickleball court.
After about a year, Annette and her favorite female partner, Lauren, entered a forty and up, under three-five tournament. Apparently that means nobody younger than forty and basically the aspiring players category. Good players are rated above four, better above five, and televised above six. There's some kind of rating system, but if you're not rated you can self-rate to enter these events. Well, what could possible go wrong with that?
Of course, if you're going to play in a tournament, you have to have matching outfits. Duh! Unfortunately I didn't have a golf tournament that weekend so I had to play the part of the supporting husband. It was interesting but I knew my eardrums would swell later from Annette whining about getting slaughtered in a couple of games. This tournament also had events with no restrictions for age or ratings happening simultaneously. Picture Annette's side like watching kids riding tri-cycles on a sandy beach while the unrestricted side was like watching a dirt bike Motocross competition. There will never be a time when Annette and Lauren get anywhere close to that level of play. Never.
You have to start somewhere. A few of those self-rated teams, you know the ones in the championship game, were easily above the other under three-five teams. Getting meaningless achievement medals means more to some than integrity. At least this tournament was a 'rating event' meaning that Annette and Lauren would finally be rated. Sadly for my eardrums I might add. Her rating coming in at just above three-oh was an injustice of historic proportions.
More lessons, more equipment, better shoes, and hubby now hitting balls to her so she can practice her drops, dinks, and lobs. Oh yeah, and being supportive. Time marches on. The lessons were kind of a waste of money. They could have also been teaching her how to dunk a basketball for all the good it was doing. Sharing hints about what works for a five-oh player doesn't really help a low-three player. They string you along with compliments until your wallet dries up.
My pickleball game was improving only because I was playing something called skinny-singles with Annette. It helps you hit your shots where you want instead of closing your eyes and swinging the paddle. Not that I'll ever mention or do it, but I could beat Annette. I'd probably never get sex again. Trade-off doesn't seem worth it. She really lacks a killer instinct and is slow to react.
+ + + +
This passion for pickleball is about to enter year three. A few more tournaments and more reality checks. Matching earrings and hair scrunchies now. Apparently I know nothing so I no longer give helpful hints, like encouraging her to develop a killer instinct. Annette and Lauren have started playing in leagues as well. Most of those are fund-raisers for the recreation departments that host them. At least they were dishing out the routs about as often as they were getting routed. Myself, I have only ever played against Annette. She doesn't want to be embarrassed by being my partner, and I'm smart enough to let her enjoy her sport.
Annette and Lauren have even joined some pickleball chat groups. These groups schedule restricted and all-comer's events. That means that they've been playing with a wide assortment of male and female talent. Has it helped? Probably. Both Annette and Lauren are very competitive. I've even gotten to meet Lauren's husband Mark. Nice enough guy with absolutely zero interest in sports. Very difficult to hold a conversation with him. He's into video games and Donkey Kong is about the last one I can remember playing.
So while I'm out playing golf most Saturdays, Annette is now playing pickleball after work three nights a week, an early morning before work session, and both weekend days. Tournament wardrobe now includes matching shoes.
Then one tournament the unthinkable happened. Annette and Lauren won bronze. The sex was awesome that night. Annette was pumped up big time. Of course that meant the search was on for the next tournament and the ones after that.
Alas, tragedy struck. Lauren fell and broke her wrist playing pickleball. Panic set in. All of these other ladies, whose faults I'd heard about again and again, were being pestered to play with her in leagues and tournaments. The pickleball gods smiled on Annette as a damn fine player had recently moved into the area. Annette adopted her as quickly as she could. Although Darcy, said new player, was unrated she was clearly better than either Lauren or Annette. The best thing was that Peter, Darcy's husband, was also a golfer and we could talk sports. We'd chat while pretending to care about the lady's matches. After all, our opinions were neither welcomed nor mattered.
The new duo entered their first tournament together. Darcy didn't like the color of the previous uniform so it was a completely new wardrobe including matching backpacks and wrist sweatbands as well. What's next, bras and panties? Probably.
Dust off a spot on the mantle. In their first tournament together Annette and Darcy took gold. Lauren who? Since they were playing in an under three-five rated event, Darcy's initial rating was still below three-five. She was easily the best player out there. So much for an equitable rating system. Didn't stop them from strutting around. And apparently, since I didn't get a medal for winning the summer-long match play golf event, I needed to think about upping my game. My my aren't we getting an attitude.
Annette's next tournament was still restricted and they earned another gold medal. Time for the big leagues, well asterick asterick asterick. They entered a tournament where the winners earned a spot in an event in Mesa Arizona to see if they could qualify for Nationals. Wonderful! Until they re-rated Darcy I had no doubt that they'd win. As long as you're only beating up on under three-five players, your rating is not going up. More new outfits and expensive paddles. I'm a bit baffled by this paddle fixation. Does she really think that if she swapped her crappy paddle with one of the gold-plated diamond studded ones used by a top-rated lady pro seen on TV, and then they played against each other that somehow she'd even score against that pro? It's who's in the shoes not what's in your hand.
The big day came, and my attendance was required. Nerves of steel? Get real. Even with a few early glitches they stayed alive in the winner's bracket until there were only two left. They lost but it was close. That sent them into the loser's bracket where they beat the loser's bracket winner. Now they needed to win back to back matches to move on. The first match was close for a while but Annette and Darcy prevailed. The other team seemed sluggish as the heat was catching up to them. When the crucial final match started the other team disputed some close line calls and came unglued when the calls when against them. Just like that I was on the hook for a trip to Mesa.
(Un?) fortunately I was scheduled to be in London the week of the tournament. Didn't matter. I was an after-thought. New outfits again. I left on Sunday morning for London and Annette left later that morning for Mesa.
She and Darcy registered and played in some casual (yeah right!) games. We talked that night. Doubt was creeping into her mind as some of these players were really good. And Darcy isn't? Whereas Annette returns hard hit shots, Darcy has a killer instinct and hits them back just as hard. I could be wrong but I see Annette getting picked on.
I was able to follow the results of pool play online for the Monday and Tuesday games. Annette explained that they were only for seeding into the actual tournament and I shouldn't read too much into their split of the first twelve games. She whined about all the hard shots being hit at her but insisted that she was having a good time. As for me work was work, and the food was, well, British.
Wednesday came and boom, first bracket game sends them into the loser's bracket. It wasn't even close. Oops. Winner's bracket games are played in the cool of the morning followed by loser's bracket games in the mid-day heat. They won once before their tournament run ended. My phone call was met with a side of Annette I'd not encountered. Anger and frustration and no matter what I said, it was taken wrong. I was glad the call finally ended. Dreams die hard.
My copy of her itinerary showed Annette flying home Friday. I wondered if she'd try to leave on Thursday but I wasn't going to bring it up. She obviously needs her space.
+ + + +
I left London on the Thursday afternoon flight which would get me back into the states before sunset. Have to love getting those lost hours back. Since Annette had only responded to my texts I guess I wasn't surprised that there were no messages from her when I landed. It's not my fault that they lost.
The house was quiet upon my arrival. I tried calling Annette but it went to messages so I left one. She called back around 9 Pm.
"Hey there, saw you called earlier. How was your flight?"
"Uneventful. What's going on with you?"
"Watched the championships. Went shopping. Killing time. Are you going to pick me up at the airport?"
"Sure, remind me again when that is."
"Around two tomorrow. I gave you my itinerary" had a little snipe to it.
"Okay. Well I've been up forever so I'm headed to bed. Love you. Goodnight."
"Love you too" and beep she ended the call.
Since I had Friday off I slept in then treated myself to a real American breakfast, including pancakes. England just doesn't do it for me when it comes to breakfast.
Annette did confirm via text that her flight was boarding. At the appropriate time I waited in the designated parking lot. Next text was 'Waiting for luggage'. Apparently her ability to actually call had been damaged in Mesa? After thirty minutes I sent a '???' text which got a 'mine hasn't arrived.'
With my eyes closed London caught up to me and I dozed off. Not sure when I fell asleep but Annette finally remembered how to make calls as her ringtone roused me out of my slumber.
"Why haven't you been responding to my texts?" from an agitated wife.
"I was sleeping."
"Sleeping? You're supposed to be picking me up. Where the hell are you?"
Well fuck this shit. I ended the call. What the hell is wrong with her? A minute later another call.
"Don't you dare hang up on me" and I did just that again.
When another call didn't arrive within a few minutes I left the airport. Get a ride-share bitch.
Instead of going home I stopped off at the sports bar and fed myself. I'm not liking how this tournament attitude is playing out. My cell was on vibrate and vibrate it did. I listened to the messages and read the texts. Apparently I have an attitude that is unacceptable. Look in the mirror honey.
Lacking a desire to head home I nursed another beer and watched the golf highlights. A charming working girl wondered if I'd buy her a drink. She was shapely and cute, but I get hit on all the time and it's always been easy to deflect. At least she was cordial when I declined, something about 'Let me know if you change your mind Sugar.'
