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A Pickleball Poem by Ruth Whitfield

A Pickleball Journey

Sure; it’s a fun game to play, if you’re any good or not,  That’s the shiny lure I blame for this fever I caught! It wasn’t long before this game had imprisoned my thoughts, And now I’m forever infected by a ball with hollow dots!

It will subtly enticed you, and catch you unaware But the challenge bug has caught you, and now you’re in its lair. You’ll struggle to be free of it, but you’re tempted by its dare; Why can’t you get this little ball into that giant square?

At journey’s first step, you can’t decide; is this a blessing or a curse? You’re just sure you’re a lousy player, and no one could be worse. And then one day you’ll play so well, your pickled heart will burst! This game has quenched your life with Joy; like water to morning thirst.

Now RUN to the line, and don’t you dare trot, And ready your paddle for that put away shot! Hit at their feet, or hit where they’re not. These words will invade your nightly thoughts!

With high hopes or low goals to govern your game, The fun of the game is always the same. We play for the rallies and foot shot aims, And learn a point won, is not always a gain.

And in years down the road, as age takes it’s toll, And the rush to the net is now a limping stroll You’re glad for the lessons which tempered your soul To learn PLACEMENT over power is the master’s role.