Last night, it was business as usual at my “Advanced Intermediate to Advanced” pickleball league–until it wasn’t.
I was winning a doubles match 8-1.
I hit a wicked hard slice shot from just in front of the baseline.
The ball took a crazy turn and started to gravitate towards my opponent’s head. He just got his paddle up in time and hit a errant ball that sailed into the benches.
He wasn’t happy.
“Hey, I have to go to work tomorrow.”
“Never my intention to hurt anyone.”
We continued play, and I resorted to much softer tactics.
You can probably guess what happens next.
I lost the match 11-9.
On the drive home I was pissed at myself.
After almost two years of playing the sport, I still don’t know how to keep my pedal to the metal; I’m billing myself The Empathetic Pickleballer.
But that doesn’t show up in the box score.