Recently I competed in a pickleball tournament. That’s me on the far right. As you can plainly see, I WON A MEDAL. Admittedly, mine was for 25th place, but my wife doesn’t need to know that. If she asks you, back up my story that I took FIRST PLACE.
Recently, I signed up for my very first pickleball tournament. Previous to that the last time I participated in a formal athletic competition of any kind, Richard Nixon was our nation’s Commander-in-Chief. In case you’re curious what that previous sporting event was, it was a high school swim meet. I did the backstroke. I came in fourth, barely missing establishing a new school record for fastest time in the 100-meter backstroke by a mere 57 seconds. That was fifty years ago.
I signed up for our local pickleball association’s Labor Day Pickleball Tournament. I decided to throw my hat into the ring in part because in the official promotion on the website I read that several winners would win a new CAR. It was only after I arrived at the tournament that on a closer re-read, I discovered that I had misread the part about “several players will win a new CAP.” I’m starting to think I might be slightly dyslexic, I’m not sure.
The entry fee was only $20 – an extremely reasonable price for the opportunity to spend three and a half hours being repeatedly reminded how much I suck at pickleball. The doubles tournament format was Round Robin, which means for each new game you’re paired with a different partner. This afforded me the chance to meet lots of new people, not to mention enjoy playing seven different matches against a wide variety of competitors who took turns demonstrating how far superior they were at this sport than I was. Thanks, everybody! You all taught me the greatest sports lesson of all – humility.
At first, I felt pretty good about my chances. I was returning almost every shot my opponents sent my way. But then I was informed that this was just the pre-game warm-up, when people were supposed to gently dink the ball over the net. Once the games officially got underway, I was caught off guard by how hard the other players routinely hit the ball at me. It was almost as if all my opponents deliberately wanted me to lose. That’s not very sportsmanlike, if you ask me.
This may come as a shock to some of my regular readers, but, as with most sports, I’m not that good at pickleball. Over time, I’ve concluded that my primary role in just about any match I play in any sport is to make my opponent feel much better about their own athletic prowess. I am very good at this. So, no, I didn’t win the tournament. My dreams of winning a cap, much less a car, vanished quickly.
In my defense, the only reason I did not don the King’s Crown – or Queen’s Crown (just trying to avoid accusations of coming across as sexist) – as the tournament champion at the conclusion of the event was my relative lack of speed, power, accuracy, endurance, or any semblance of a strategy. Personally, I feel I more than made up for my severe athletic deficiencies with my above-average penmanship, good posture, and noteworthy personal hygiene. But apparently the judges didn’t take any of these into consideration in awarding the crown. So unfair.
In retrospect, I’m confident I would have fared better in the final rankings had I only remembered to stop at the bank beforehand to take out cash to bribe the judges. I believe I could have swayed at least a couple of them to alter the results had I just slipped a couple of crisp Andrew Jackson’s into their pockets.
This is me during one of the seven matches I played in this round robin doubles event. I remember that at this moment I was thinking, “I sure hope they serve ice cream at this event.” My partner was probably thinking, “How did I get paired with this loser?”
I’m pleased to report that in this tourney, everyone was a winner. Even me! Every participant was awarded a medal. In my case, I believe mine must have been for “perfect attendance.” That’s the only plausible explanation I can come up with for how I earned a medal. Of course, when I got home, and my wife saw the medal around my neck, I may have slightly exaggerated when I told her my medal was for First Place. For the first time in a long time, she was actually proud of me. Please don’t tell her I lied, okay? I’d hate to disappoint her.
“Then does this mean you won the new car you told me about in the brochure?” she asked excitedly. I didn’t have the heart to deflate her enthusiasm by explaining that I had misread the word “cap” as “car.” So, I told her, “Yes, that’s right, honey. It should arrive in four to six weeks.” By then I’m sure she will have forgotten all about it. Problem avoided.
I learned several valuable lessons from my first official sport competition since I began shaving back in 1973. First, it’s not just about winning. It’s about showing up and participating. Second, if I ever enter another pickleball tournament, I probably should take a few lessons to improve my game. And third, I should know better than to insult the judges by trying to pay them off with $20 bills. I’ll need to step up my game and offer them a few Benjamin’s instead. Those judges aren’t cheap.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
Check out this photo of Bert and Margaret Elsinger. They used to be such nice people. Then they got sucked into a dark, mysterious cult – the cult of Pickleball. Sadly, once elderly people join this cult, they rarely escape.
[Author’s Note: As a nationally recognized expert on mental health and the proud owner of a doctor’s white medical jacket costume I bought on Amazon.com for a Halloween party a few years ago, I periodically share emails I receive from some of my patients in hopes it may shed light on an issue others may be grappling with. This is one of those letters. – TEJ ]
Dear Doctor Tim:
I hope you can help me. I’m extremely worried about my elderly parents. They’re both in their mid-seventies. Until six months ago, they seemed to lead normal, albeit boring, lives. My mom, Margaret, spent most of her days sewing dresses for her grandchildren and reading romance novels. My father, Bert, liked to go fishing and do the daily word Jumble in the newspaper.
But something’s changed lately, and I’m worried about them. I think they may have joined a cult. I know it sounds crazy but hear me out. They’ve both totally given up their normal hobbies and appear to have compiled a completely new group of friends – strangers I’ve never seen nor heard about before. No, they haven’t shaved their heads and thankfully, they’re not speaking in tongues or anything like that. But they’ve definitely changed.
The other day I saw them holding these paddles and swinging them at each other wildly. Do you think they might have joined some freaky S & M cult that gets off on spanking? I really don’t know what they’re up to, but I think I need them to get a mental health evaluation. They disappear in the middle of the day for hours at a time, several days a week. And when they head off, they never tell me where they’re going. One of them usually shouts something creepy like, “I’m going to spank your mom again!” What the heck is happening, Dr. Tim?
Lately I’ve noticed that they’re using words I’ve never heard them utter in the past. Words like “Fake dink” and “doing an Erne” and talking about some guy called “Nasty Nelson.” Sounds like a bad dude. Honestly, it’s like they’re speaking in code or something. And just this morning, they got into a heated argument when my mom seemed to be getting on my dad’s case shouting, “You’re always in the kitchen, Bert!” Dr. Tim, I’ve known my father for fifty years, and one thing I know is he’s NEVER in the kitchen. He feels cooking is a wife’s job. (I know. Don’t get me started.) Do you think this might be a sign of early stage dementia?
They used to watch BritBox murder mysteries every evening, but now they sit in front of the computer and watch YouTube videos about how to make pickles or something. Obsessively. I mean, seriously, Dr. Tim, how many ways are there to pickle something? I think they’re losing it. I worry they might be in some bizarre cult. But why now? Aren’t they too old to join a cult?
Dr. Tim, is there anything I can do to pull them out of this dark mysterious sect they appear to have been sucked into before it’s too late? – Signed, Concerned in Camano
Dear Concerned,
I appreciate your sharing your understandable concern about your parents. I won’t sugarcoat this. Your suspicions are correct. Your elderly parents, Margaret and Bert, have in fact entered into a cult. The cult of Pickleball. The good news is, as far as I can tell from my research, it’s a relatively innocuous, non-violent cult, except for Nasty Nelson. But I must warn you, they can be aggressive in their recruitment tactics, sending out legions of their members to indoctrinate unsuspecting folks like your parents. Tragically, in recent years, I’ve seen several close friends get swept up into their strange, obsessed world.
“Pickleballers” as the cult members weirdly refer to themselves, often appear at first glance to be positive, friendly, and engaging people. But be careful. This is how they lure you in. They’ll tell naïve senior citizens things like “it’s a great physical activity for your age” or “it’s a fun way to meet new people.” What they don’t tell you is that all those new people you’ll meet are…. PICKLEBALLERS! And they can be insufferable, rambling on about their current DUPR rating (don’t ask – you don’t want to know, trust me), or they’ll compare pickleball paddles for no apparent reason.
Check out this couple, Elsie and Art Claxton, proudly wearing their 1st place medals for their age group. Sadly, ever since a “friend” recruited them into this cult, it’s all they ever talk about. Ask Elsie about the weather and she’ll answer by explaining why you “can’t stand in the kitchen” – whatever that means. Their adult children are worried sick about them. Such a sad story.
I’ve lost some close friends to this enigmatic sect. Good people, normal people, who once they picked up that paddle somehow could no longer talk about anything else.
It’s extremely difficult to de-program someone once they’ve become indoctrinated into this bewitched world. Some families have tried to help their elderly parents withdraw from the sport by introducing them to shuffleboard or lawn bowling or darts, sort of the way medical professionals try to wean addicts off of heroin by substituting methadone. But in most cases, the septuagenarians just can’t handle the cold turkey withdrawal from this sport they desperately crave. And before you know it, they quickly lapse back into the cult, cheerfully saying odd expressions like “I’ll dink to that!”
Trust me. I know how alluring this game can be. Because I’m a victim, too. I was recently invited to play a pickup game. I had no idea what I was getting into. And before long, I was hooked. I wish you luck in getting your parents back. The odds are not in your favor, I have to tell you. Just ask my kids.
Let me know how it goes. I have to wrap this up. I can’t be late for my 1pm pickleball match. It’s a round robin. Many of my new best friends will be there. And one of them, a great guy named Bert, just bought a new ONIX Z5 graphite carbon fiber pickleball paddle that’s USA Pickleball Approved. I confess, I’m really jealous.
– Dr. Tim
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
Author’s Introduction: Everywhere in the news I’ve been reading about how Artificial Intelligence (AI) and programs like ChatGPT will be eliminating thousands of jobs in countless industries. Thanks to recent advances in AI, fashion magazines can create images of fashion models that are so realistic, there may soon be no need for human models. Writers and actors are on strike right now in part because of very real fears that artificial intelligence will make their jobs obsolete. Why pay a few hundred background actors thousands of dollars when movie producers now can just create digital fakes to accomplish the same thing? Why hire writers when ChatGPT can write a complex script in minutes?
It got me to thinking. Is MY job as a humor writer at risk? You tell me. The other day, I asked ChatGPT to “write a satirical humor article about being an American man married to a Canadian woman in the style of Tim Jones’s View From the Bleachers humor website.”(My wife is Canadian.) … and this is what it came up with:
Title: “Oh, Canada! A Puckishly American Man’s Misadventures in Maple Leaf Matrimony”
Greetings, hockey fans and puck heads alike! Today, I’d like to share my unique experience as a proud American man married to a delightful Canadian woman, affectionately known as my “maple syrup sweetheart.” Strap on your helmets and get ready for a journey through the quirks and charms of cross-border romance.
Firstly, let me confess that I thought I was marrying just any other woman. Little did I know, I was committing myself to a lifetime of bilingual conversations and excessive apologies. Yes, you heard me right, folks–Canadians apologize for everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if they say “sorry” for breathing. But hey, as an American, I’ve got thick skin and a whole lot of misunderstanding to embrace.
Let’s talk about the cultural differences, shall we? I thought I was up to date with Canadian customs, what with my ice hockey obsession and my newfound love for maple syrup. But apparently, I was as clueless as a Zamboni driver on roller skates.
For starters, there’s the language barrier. No, we don’t speak entirely different languages, but it’s close enough. She’d ask me if I want to grab a double-double at Tim Hortons, and I’d wonder if she wanted me to join her for an espresso and some multiplication tables. Turns out, it’s just coffee with double cream and double sugar. Simple, eh?
Oh, and the food! Canadians have some bizarre concoctions that defy logic. Poutine is a greasy dish of fries smothered in cheese curds and gravy–because heart attacks should be delicious, right? And don’t even get me started on ketchup chips. Seriously, I never knew tomatoes and potatoes were such a match made in heaven.
Speaking of heaven, I’ve learned that Canadian winters are practically a pilgrimage for any self-respecting Canuck. They bundle up in parkas that make them look like walking igloos and carry enough hot chocolate to keep an army warm. Meanwhile, I’m shivering like a Chihuahua caught in a snowstorm, wondering why they don’t just move somewhere sensible–like Florida.
Now, let’s talk sports. I’ve always been a die-hard American football fan, but my Canadian wife has successfully converted me into a hockey enthusiast. I must admit, watching grown men chase a tiny black puck on ice is oddly entertaining. Plus, there’s the bonus of watching players’ teeth fly out like confetti during a fight. It’s like an episode of “American Ninja Warrior” but with blades on their feet.
Of course, every country has its politics, and the Great White North is no exception. The Canadian political landscape is like watching a sitcom on steroids. I can’t tell if their politicians are genuinely nice or just putting on a show. But hey, they’re so polite that even when they criticize someone, it sounds like they’re reading a bedtime story.
On a more serious note, though, I have to give Canada credit for its healthcare system. My wife brags about not having to sell our house if she breaks a nail. Meanwhile, I’m stuck navigating the labyrinthine maze of American insurance claims just to get an Advil.
Despite our humorous cultural misunderstandings and occasional icy banters, being married to a Canadian woman is a truly eye-opening experience. She’s taught me the beauty of poutine, the joys of apologizing incessantly, and that love knows no borders.
So, if you’re an American man considering walking down the aisle with a Canadian beauty, remember, you’ll need to embrace their unique charm, adapt to their lingo, and learn to love hockey. But hey, it’s all worth it for the joy of sharing your life with someone who can make you laugh, even when you’re stuck in a polar vortex.
Eh?
Author’s Closing Note: This entire piece (except for my intro and this closing paragraph) was written by ChatGPT. Scary, isn’t it? That said, I would know in a heartbeat I didn’t write this piece as I would NEVER in a million years recommend someone “move somewhere sensible – like Florida.“ Now, I already hear your internal gears working. So let me stop you, okay? Please don’t post a snarky comment about how “THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU’VE WRITTEN IN AGES!” Sigh…
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m …. Out of a job.
ARI MELBER: Good evening and welcome to “The Beat.” Our top story tonight continues to be former President Donald Trump’s federal indictment over his handling of government documents. There’s so much about the government’s case against the former president that is still unknown, so we’ve assembled a panel of crack legal experts to help us shed light on the many questions surrounding it. Foremost among those questions, of course, is whether the case will actually go all the way to trial or whether Trump will seek a plea bargain. Let me therefore put that very question to former U.S. Attorney and MSNBC legal analyst Chuck Rosenberg. Chuck, what’s your sense about those two possibilities?
CHUCK ROSENBERG: Well, first of all, Ari, you’re absolutely right about that being the big question. It’s impossible to know whether the former president’s lawyers would be able to persuade him to plead guilty to some or all of the charges, though any responsible defense lawyer would certainly propose that. Nor can we know whether the Justice Department and Special Prosecutor Jack Smith’s team would be willing to accept a plea deal, unless it included terms such as a prison sentence, which Trump likely wouldn’t accept.
MELBER: You say “likely,” but of course…
ROSENBERG: …we don’t know.
MELBER: Because we can’t know for sure what’s going on inside Trump’s head.
ROSENBERG: Right. Or the Justice Department’s head… or, rather, heads… for that matter.
MELBER: It’s definitely a key question, though.
ROSENBERG: Yes, it certainly is.
MELBER: Okay, let’s turn now to former U.S. attorney and MSNBC legal analyst Joyce Vance. Joyce, Donald Trump isn’t the only one indicted in this case. His personal aide Walt Nauta has also been charged. What would you say are the chances that he’d be willing to flip and become a cooperating witness for the prosecution?
JOYCE VANCE: Well, considering the potential severe penalties that he’d be facing in the event of a conviction on the charges against him, he’d certainly be wise to consider it. But at the same time, he’s reportedly extremely loyal to President Trump, so it really remains an open question.
MELBER: He could turn state’s evidence.
VANCE: He definitely could. Or not.
MELBER: Interesting. Thanks, Joyce. We’re now joined by former U.S. Attorney and MSNBC legal analyst Barbara McQuade. Barbara, where do things stand with regard to the judge in the case, Aileen Cannon, who was appointed by President Trump and was criticized for her initial handling of the government’s investigation? Will the prosecution seek to have her recuse herself?
MCQUADE: Time will tell, Ari. While it would be risky for the prosecution to do so at an early stage, if things go wrong and they wait too long it could significantly delay the case, which is something they don’t want either.
MELBER: So, hard to say.
MCQUADE: Yes, we’ll have to wait and see.
MELBER: Care to hazard a guess?
MCQUADE: My sense is that it could go either way.
ROSENBERG: Can I jump in with a comment, Ari?
MELBER: Sure, Chuck. Go ahead.
ROSENBERG: I just want to say that I totally agree with Barbara.
VANCE: So do I. Anything is possible.
MELBER: Fascinating. Thanks, Joyce and Barbara and Chuck. When we come back from the break, we’ll be joined by former U.S. Attorney and MSNBC legal analyst Carol Lam as well as by former federal prosecutor and MSNBC legal analyst Jill Wine-Banks for a deep dive into what we don’t yet know about the details of the government’s case, including any surprising evidence the prosecution may — or may not — have against the former president. Stay tuned.
by Steve Fisher
This week’s post was guest-written by former U.S. Attorney and VTFB legal analyst Steve Fisher. Steve notes, “They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. If you despise Donald Trump, then MSNBC”s non-stop coverage of his various indictments is a smorgasbord of schadenfreude, an all-you-can-eat karma buffet, with a large helping of comeuppance for your just desserts.”
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
Research shows that eating cheese every day is an effective way to fight against depression. However, eating too much cheese may cause you to become euphoric, with an uncontrollable impulse to take off all your clothes and shave your head.
Not to brag, but I consider myself an expert in the field of mental health. That’s because I’ve spent two decades attempting (usually in vain) to decipher the complex inner workings of the minds of children – specifically mine. Over their first 18 years of life, I conducted in-depth field research at soccer games, birthday parties, and trips to the mall, in an effort to unlock the mysteries of adolescent behavior. I closely studied my daughters’ elaborate machinations to slowly, carefully drive their father insane. My wife tells me their schemes were wildly successful.
Thanks to my kids, I’ve gained a wealth of insights into what can trigger negative emotions in young people – and their parents. From anger to anxiety to depression to rage to fear to – did I mention anger and depression? I’ve determined that everyone at one time or another struggles with depression, anxiety, or other mental wellness challenge.
If that describes you, take a step back from the ledge. I’m here to help. People battling chronic depression or anxiety typically try a variety of coping strategies. Some turn to psychotherapy. But let’s face it. That can be a long, expensive journey, often taking months or even years to show meaningful results. Others turn to prescription medications. But these often come with serious side effects and worse, the risk of addiction. Still others try to work through their dark feelings by embarking on an arduous, vigorous exercise program like running or swimming. Sadly, this approach comes with one obvious downside, by which I mean having to endure an arduous, vigorous exercise program like running or swimming.
As a nationally admired mental health expert (if you don’t ask my wife), trust me when I tell you that therapy, drugs, and exercise are a waste of time if you wish to overcome your emotional demons. I’ve discovered a much simpler way to find happiness – one that doesn’t require months of working through with a counselor your childhood trauma caused by the time you accidentally killed your pet hamster Bubbles when your tricycle backed over him. No, my solution requires none of that and no sit-ups or treadmill workouts either. My solution? Two words: EAT CHEESE.
Harvard scientists have discovered that the human brain reacts to cheese by releasing a feeling of euphoria. A chemical compound found in dairy called casein, when consumed, triggers the feeling that you’ve been rewarded, boosting your happiness hormone levels.
Mice are very smart. They’ve known for ages that cheese makes them much happier – with the notable exception of when it comes attached to a mousetrap.
Further research has found that the country whose citizens consume the greatest quantity of cheese per year is France. C’est vrai, mon ami! The typical French citizen consumes on average 55 pounds of fromage a year – more than any other country – even more than is consumed by the residents of Gorgonzola, Italy or Cheddar, Great Britain combined. (Yes, both are actual places.)
Despite all their cheese consumption Рor maybe because of it Рthe current life expectancy of a French person is 82 years Рroughly a decade longer than the global average. So, if you want to live a long, healthy life, my recommendation is to start now, with a healthy serving of French Onion soup Рwith an extra helping of Gruy̬re cheese.
And check this out. Cheese even has the added bonus that it strengthens your teeth and bones, in part thanks to all that calcium. It also helps you get a better night’s sleep. And we all know how grouchy you get when you haven’t had a good night’s sleep. Now, just stuff a few slices of Muenster in your pie hole before bedtime and you’ll sleep like a bear. Of course, this same article that proclaimed the many benefits of cheese also went on to list five health benefits of drinking gin each day. So, perhaps take the above advice with a grain of salt – or better yet, with a slice of Provolone.
Another great thing about eating cheese to ward off depression is that it comes in so many different varieties. You can enjoy it with crackers, with a French baguette, on top of a burger, in a quesadilla, or, for the more adventurous palate, by downing a bottle of blue cheese-flavored soda. Hard to believe that’s a thing, I know.
While generally it’s recommended that you eat unprocessed cheese for maximum mental health improvement, in a pinch, if you’ve run out of cheese in your fridge, go ahead and scarf down that family size bag of Cheetos. It pairs nicely with a liter of Mountain Dew Code Red.
If you find yourself packing on a few unwanted pounds, don’t cut back on your cheese consumption. Eat more. That’s because cheese, like turkey, is a great source of tryptophan. After a few slices of cheddar, you’ll be out like a light. And you won’t be fretting over your embarrassing weight gain – until you wake up tomorrow morning and look in the mirror.
Sadly, some people don’t quite understand how cheese works. It is most effectively applied by ingesting it into your mouth. These men have not yet figured out that cheese worn atop one’s head will never make them happy – especially now that Aaron Rodgers has been traded to the Jets.
Of course, as with any rigorous mental health regimen, there are a few minor potential risks from a diet consisting primarily of mac and cheese and chili cheese dogs – although at the moment none of those risks comes to mind. Oh right, ingesting too much cheese can lead to dangerously high cholesterol levels and high blood pressure, increasing one’s risk of cardiovascular disease and possible heart attack. Like I said, minor risks.
Reading about the health risks associated with eating too much cheese has made me terribly depressed and more than a little anxious. I’m noticing that my heart is starting to race from getting all stressed out. But wait. It occurs to me that the quickest way to overcome my sudden anxious, depressed mood and feel happier is to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich (using whole-wheat bread, the healthy choice).
Easy Cheesy! That was yummy. I feel much happier now!
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
