For too long, millions of people naively thought pickleball was a relaxing, fun, social game. Little did they know just how dangerous a sport it really is… until now.
Fellow pickleball players, it’s time somebody lulled all of you out of your collective coma and revealed the news that the mainstream media refuses to report: Pickleball is trying to kill you. Now hear me out. Yes, pickleball – that sport you shifted over to a couple years ago because you found tennis too strenuous.
Oh sure, the game looks innocent enough. Heck, even I was fooled and regularly played the sport three or four days a week before I discovered the terrifying truth. But I’ve done some research about the health risks of playing pickleball. Prepare to be shocked. If you think playing pickleball is not hazardous to your health, then you might as well take up smoking crack cocaine. At least with crack you’re probably not going to tear your Achilles Tendon.
Pickleball might be sweeping the nation as our fastest growing sport. But make no mistake, it’s not just a game. It’s a potential death trap waiting to suck you into its treacherous evil clutches. Let’s talk about the numbers, people. If the following statistics don’t terrify you and make you throw your paddle into a nearby volcano, then you’re living in denial – either that or you must not live near a volcano.
In 2023 alone, here in the United States of America, pickleball injuries clocked in at a staggering 66,750 emergency room visits. We’re talking about twisted ankles, broken wrists, sprained backs, and the occasional heart attack from the sheer shock of realizing that you finally won a game against Trevor, who is a 4.0 player, and you’ve never beaten Trevor.
But it doesn’t stop there. The pickleball plague reaches deep into our healthcare system, sending over 366,000 Americans to outpatient visits annually. That’s over a third of a million individuals who, after engaging in what was supposed to be a pleasant recreational activity, found themselves begging for immediate medical attention and needing anything from stitches to hip surgery to a heart transplant (admittedly, the likelihood of needing a heart transplant after a pickleball injury is probably remote).
I wonder if there’s a support group for the survivors of pickleball. If not, there should be. The meetings would probably have a 50% no-show rate because, well, half of those people would still be recovering in traction. Statistics show that men are significantly more likely to be hospitalized after a pickleball injury than women, with a ratio of ratio of 2.3 to 1. The medical explanation for this discrepancy is that men are wimps.
Still think pickleball is a safe sport and that you’ll somehow skate by unscathed? Good luck with that, buddy. Did you know that in 2023 alone there were 4,700 hospitalizations and just under 9,000 surgeries in the USA caused by pickleball? All those hospitalized victims had to endure the trauma of anxiously wondering whether they would make it through the surgery alive – or at the very least wondering if that gorgeous intern would be coming come back soon to check on them. Man, they’re cute! (That’s what that red button is for next to your hospital bed.)
As if all this wasn’t enough to make you rethink your life choices, let’s turn to the financial horror show that pickleball has unleashed upon the world. The cost of this bloodsport? $377 million in healthcare expenditures in the USA alone in 2023. Yes, you read that right – nearly $400 million spent on treating people who decided that hitting a plastic ball over a net was a good way to spend an afternoon. Let that dink in, I mean sink in.
I can think of a lot of better things I could have spent that $377 million on – like buy a desolate country (I hear Greenland is for sale, but that’s a topic for another time). Or perhaps you could stay at home, park yourself on the couch, and binge-watch all five seasons of Breaking Bad, like you’ve always been meaning to (because your spouse wouldn’t let you watch it when it first came out).
At this point, you may be thinking, “But Tim, I just wanted to get some light exercise. I’ve found it to be a good social activity. I’m just trying to have fun!” Well, fun is what they call it right before you’re sprawled on the court, clutching your ankle while the EMT’s prepare to load you into the back of the ambulance.
This is a typical way too many pickleball matches end – with someone ending up in the hospital, in need of medical attention. This man is distraught – mainly because the doctor told him to rest for four days before heading back out onto the court. “Four days, doc? That’s an eternity! I can’t wait that long!”
Oh sure, the social appeal of the game is undeniable. Nothing brings people together quite like a shared experience of trauma and profound worry over whether you’ll ever walk again. On the bright side, you just might meet some interesting new people in the waiting room of the ER. But honestly, was it really worth a trip to the ER when you hurled your body headlong into the concrete court just so you could make the game-winning shot? I think we both know the answer to that question: Yes. Yes, it was. But that’s beside the point.
I for one can no longer stand idly by and watch as pickleball claims more innocent victims. If you’re playing right now, it’s time to stop. Take up shuffleboard, join a knitting circle, or maybe get into competitive bird-watching – anything but pickleball.
After writing the previous paragraph, I did a little more research. If none of the above suggestions for an alternative to pickleball appeals to you, then you could always try skydiving. I just Googled it, and apparently there has not been a single reported incident of anyone dying while skydiving in years – unless you count the 486 people who died between 2000 and 2021 due to parachutes failing to open. But what are the odds that would ever happen to you?
Okay, so did a little more Googling. It turns out that, technically, there has never been a report of anyone actually dying from playing pickleball. But for God’s sake, why take any chances?
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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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.
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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.
Pickleball is the fastest growing sport in the country. Why? Personally, my theory is because it’s easy to learn and requires minimal skill or physical exertion – and if you fall, there are three people who can drive you to the hospital.
By now, unless you’re living in a cave somewhere in the steppes of Mongolia, you’ve no doubt heard about the fastest growing sport in North America: Pickleball. And if by some odd circumstance you ARE living in a cave in the steppes of Mongolia, how in the heck did this article reach you? Just curious.
As for the rest of us non-Mongolian-steppes-cave dwellers, it seems that everybody is taking up the sport of pickleball – including me. So, here is a quick primer on what you’re missing and what you need to know in case you were curious what all the buzz was about.
Even though few people had ever heard of this sport until three years ago, it’s actually been around a fairly long time: Invented in 1965 by three people from Bainbridge Island, WA, it was named after the dog of one of the three inventors. The dog’s name was “Ball.” I meant to say “Pickles.” I’m just glad his owner gave his dog a normal name like Pickles instead of their original naming idea: Lord Chesterton of Belvedere. Otherwise we’d all be talking about LordChestertonofBelvedereBall.
The first thing you should know about LordChestertonofBelvedereBall, l mean Pickleball, is that you MUST BE OLD in order to play. In most states, the legal minimum is 60 years old. But check the applicable age restrictions in your region. (In North Dakota, you must be 85 – I have no idea why.) The penalty for underage pickleballing is being forced to watch old people play pickleball. Personally, that strikes me as cruel and unusual punishment.
This sport has become wildly popular all throughout America. According to one study, pickleball surged by nearly 40% between 2019 and 2021 to 4.8 million active players. Compare that to the Mayan sport of Pitz, a team sport popular in ancient Mesoamerica which involves a heavy rubber ball that teams try to get through a hoop on the wall. That sport’s popularity has declined markedly to the point that you almost never hear the results of a Pitz match on ESPN anymore. Experts theorize that its dramatic decline in popularity was because it’s a very difficult game to play – and because the losing team’s players had to be sacrificed to the gods.
In stark contrast, in pickleball, losing players are almost never sacrificed to the gods. At worst, they may have to buy a round of beer for their winning opponents at the neighborhood pub. Why is this sport so popular? The answer is that it’s easy to learn, takes only nominal skill to enjoy (a definite plus for me), and does not require much moving around. Perfect for seniors or anyone who is chronically lazy.
The box closest to the net is the KITCHEN. Don’t even think of standing here. If If you’re caught volleying while in the kitchen, you’ll be shunned from all future pickleball matches and pelted with wiffle balls. Pickleballers are a tough crowd.
And thanks to COVID, the sport took off in the past two years, as people looked for a safe way to interact with others that did not require them to be indoors or talk about whether they’ve been vaccinated.
Increasingly, longtime tennis and racquetball players have started transitioning to pickleball. This is because they’re getting older and slower, and their younger, faster former tennis / racquetball partners have hinted to them, “Have you ever considered switching to pickleball, buddy?”
Pickleball blends aspects of ping pong, tennis, racquetball, and Pitz – but mostly just the first three aforementioned sports – to create a game that moves quickly and gives players a false sense that they are actually getting a lot of vigorous exercise. They are not.
The game can be played as a singles game between two players or doubles with four. In rare instances, there have been groups of up to 20 players on the court at once, but that’s mostly just when Ms. Warner’s kindergarten class at Beaverton Elementary School storms the pickleball court in in an attempt to create chaos. Kindergarteners are notoriously bad at following the rules of pickleball – or for that matter any other rule Ms. Warner asks them to obey.
To play the game, all you need are a net (slightly lower in height than a tennis court net), a paddle, a wiffle ball, and the ability to count to 11. Skill is not a pre-requisite to play this sport, as evidenced by the fact that several people familiar with my lack of athletic ability have invited me to play.
The rules of pickleball are simple:
The ball must land inbounds.
Serving must be done at the baseline.
The ball must bounce once per side the first two times over the net.
The serve must land beyond the back line of the kitchen.
Games are played to 11 (win by 2).
If you’re a senior looking for a new sport, and pickleball is not your thing, there are many other sports you can consider. This amazing 78-year-old woman even tried her luck at javelin. Unfortunately, she was facing the wrong direction and almost impaled her Yorkie, Daisy. I’m happy to report Daisy was shaken but otherwise unharmed.
At this point, you may be asking, “Tim, what is the kitchen?” Glad to see you’re paying attention and didn’t bail after you read the part about Mongolian steppes cave dwellers. Well, the kitchen is an area next to the net where players are not allowed to volley.
“Why is it called the kitchen, Tim?” Because calling it the “laundry room” just sounded silly.
“But Tim, why can’t you volley in the kitchen?” I have no idea why, okay? I didn’t make up this sport. No more questions, please! You’re starting to get annoying.
Pickleball is often played on tennis courts. They paint the pickleball court lines in a different color to help avoid confusion with the tennis boundaries. This is irritating to tennis players. But this is just a short-term problem because within five years, there will be nobody left who still plays tennis. Such a pity.
So, if you’re over 60 and you’re looking for a way to become more active and meet lots of interesting people, my advice is this: Try golf or basketball or kayaking or aerobic water jazzercise. But if none of those sounds like your cup of tea, then definitely give pickleball a try. But if that still sounds like too much effort, then maybe shuffleboard is more your style. I hear it’s making a comeback.
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.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
