I’m 65 now, which means that, according to federal law, I have to start playing pickleball.
But I don’t want to play pickleball. I hate pickleball.
I’m fine with AARPers all over America loving pickleball. Great. Play until your arch supports melt. But why do you have to constantly tell me about it? Why do you insist I start playing with you? I get it. You moved less than 18 inches in each direction for two hours, hit a greenish ball a lot and beat Ed and Nancy Finkler in three games. SportsCenter will be right over.
Look, I tried it. I didn’t like it. Not as fun as ping-pong. Not as elegant as tennis. Not as pretty as golf. It was a lot of people who hadn’t played a sport in 30 years suddenly thinking they’re athletes. “Man, three hours of pickleball today,” my buddy will say. “It was epic.”
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