By Clément Daube
Hello my dear reader. Hope you're doing fine. For me, I'm still French and still weirded out by some strange Americanisms : ranch dressing everywhere, lacrosse, presidents over 80, and most importantly today, pickleball.
By Jay Boss Rubin
“We’re about to get started,” I said. “So …” I didn’t have to add shuffle off to Buffalo for the Qigong-er to get the gist.
By Harrison Harb
Almost anyone who loves pickleball and religiously follows the sport has had one ofthose jaw-dropping, eye-popping moments watching Ben Johns dumbfound opponents to the point of puking with his “knuckleball” serve (clocked at a record speed last year of 53 km/hour), or experiencing Anna Waters-induced-vertigo from the impossibly backspun RPMs she puts on the ball.
By Logan Corcoran
HI❤️ im lil Addie ANderson and Theres this new game that i played today in PE class called pickle-ball and its so much fun 😻
By Tyler Pell
Last year, another 1.9 million people began playing tennis in the United States. That increase—a striking 8%—brings America’s total number of tennis players up to 25.7 million. That’s an incredible 46% jump from 2019 levels, proving that the sport’s post-pandemic growth is not just holding steady but accelerating.
By Tyler Pell
Lisa and Kevin Scott have lived in their relatively modest, Cape Cod-style home in Portland’s Irvington neighborhood home for over 45 years. Both retired, they spend the majority of their time there.
By Adam McDonald
My wife and I started playing tennis during the pandemic, while living in San Marcos, Texas. For my birthday, she purchased off of Amazon a “tennis starter kit,” which included two generic 110 square-inch racquets, a racquet bag, and two cans of balls, all for twenty-five bucks.
By Alex Haigh
You might think this is the wrong place to bring this up—I say, you gotta fish where the fish are. I bring my indictment of pickleball, a bastardized version of a real sport, to the people (fish?) who love it most, not to spark controversy, but to ask a favor: please do it somewhere else.
By Mariah Botkin
It’s a mid-summer day when Ed Osterman steps into Oregon State Correctional Institution (OSCI). He puts his gear through a metal detector—pickleball paddles and balls included—and signs a waiver that says, essentially, “if you get held hostage, we won’t come in and get you.”
