Friday, June 9, 2017 (No playing)

June (and some of May) has been a lot of traveling. I flew to Anaheim and with work, there was no time for games. Still, I had a moment that brought a brief smile to my face. This was it…

Funny. A simple ball brings up happy thoughts!

I wrote the following about the kitchen on my plane flight from Orange County (John Wayne) airport to Portland airport today.

Advancing to the Kitchen

People have kept telling me, over and over, “get to the kitchen”. Don’t stay back, it’s imperative, get to the kitchen.
So, I more aggressively advanced to kitchen. And sometimes had the ball slammed back at my feet for a winner.

What the heck? What was going on? Were they just making great shots?

Sometimes things don’t truly make sense until you have context. Then it clicks.

Often, in pickleball, winners aren’t earned through herculean effort, they are gifted by the opposing team. They hit bad shots that provide winning opportunities. Winners are just taking advantage of the gift. A dink that’s too high. A lob that’s too short. Opportunities.

So what was happening in my case?

I was doing one of two things. Either driving the ball at the opponent already at the net or I was failing to execute a proper third shot drop. Both of these provide opportunities to return the ball right at my feet.

So how to avoid providing these winner opportunities? Aside from better shot selection and better technical execution, it’s using expectation and observation after the shot has left my paddle. Don’t blindly charge the net. Be wily. If the opportunity is provided to the opponents to catch you in a disadvantaged location on the court, don’t be in that location! Stay back. Wait. Earn your way to the net. Be patient. Yes, get to the kitchen, but be smart about it!

Portland

I was in Vancouver, Washington for four days for extended family activities—a memorial service (inurnment for my nephew Peter who passed away almost 7 years ago and was receiving a final resting spot) and two graduating nieces. Between obligations, I was trying to find a workable time and place to play. I wrote to an ambassador in the area a few days before I arrived, but I got no reply. After a couple of days, I gave up and wrote an ambassador across the river in Portland and got a quick reply with three additional people carbon-copied on the message. Unfortunately, it was a rainy weekend—as if that is unusual for that region!—and one of the common indoor courts at a school were unavailable due to graduations. There turned out to be a slim window where I could have driven about 30 minutes to unconfirmed court times but I’d have to take the only available car belonging to my parents (who drove up from Santa Cruz) and being late would mean missing a family event. Alas, I wouldn’t get my first indoor playing experience on this trip.

TSA

I did get stopped in the Anaheim airport by security and pulled aside for an inspection of my backpack. The young agent pulled out my pickleball paddle and held it up in the air. “What’s this?” “It’s my pickleball paddle.” “Please wait.” He walked off and returned with who I surmised to be his supervisor. The agent waved the paddle in the supervisor’s direction and asked about it. He got a very quick unconcerned nod and approval and if I’m right, a slight grin as well!

Number of days on a court: 34 (still)
Number of total hours: 97.5 (still)