Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
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On any given Sunday, the Lunenburg Community Centre is a place of worship for the world’s fastest-growing sport. This isn’t dodgeball, nor is it a sea of rippling muscles and pent-up angst. Well, maybe a little bit of angst. In this congregation, beer bellies outnumber six-pack abs and knee braces are de rigueur. Spirited competition, friendly banter and kindness are at play, because in the beginning was the word and the word was: pickleball.
Of course, pickling in Lunenburg, N.S., also happens outside of the Sunday time slot. There’s a Women’s session on Tuesdays and a 70-plus gang on Wednesdays. Everyone is also welcome Monday mornings, Tuesday evenings and Friday afternoons. Outside posted hours, you’ll also find players gathering for coffee – the second favourite pastime of the group’s natural leader – a local Minister who brings cheek, guidance, wisdom, athletic skill, Dad jokes and, dare I say, a “fatherly” component to the flock.
“He’s a Minister?” is often muttered by puzzled newcomers – victims of a wicked spin serve and hockey-worthy heckling from this man of the sweaty cloth. There’s irony in that devilish grin as he yells, “Go Habs!” after a lopsided game. He’s also the administrator of the group’s Facebook page, a patient teacher, a caring food (and hug) distributor and the first one to check in when someone’s missed a gameday or two.
Once viewed as a game for retirees and those deemed too old for tennis – pickleball is anyone and everyone’s game now. An estimated one-million Canadians are playing the ridiculously-named sport, described as a cross between tennis and ping pong. Once cynical naysayers – tennis players have seen the light. If you missed the ESPN Pickleball Slam featuring tennis greats, McEnroe, Roddick, Agassi and Chang, it’s worth a YouTube search. Tennis courts across North America are slowly being converted into a sea of 44 x 20 foot pickleball courts, and savvy entrepreneurs are snapping up empty retail spaces to open pickleball venues.
But this is Lunenburg, and dandelions thrive between the pavement cracks at the makeshift outdoor pickleball court – ragged lines drawn out behind the school, where sea breezes topple the lightweight, portable net. But that’s about to change. The council recently announced that the former jail site has been approved for the development of six new pickleball courts. Things are looking briny in the UNESCO hamlet.
While there’s no denying the sound of a hard plastic pickleball hitting a paddle is far less resplendent than a fuzzy tennis ball bouncing off strings – it hardly matters to one local player who routinely forgets her hearing aids. But don’t let that same 70-something with the new hip fool you! She’s got game – as do the adorable young, identical-twin deckhands who have literally cruised into town. New to the sport – they happily rotate with players of all ages, shapes, sizes, temperaments and walks of life. Artists. Gardeners. Students. Lawyers. Grandmas. Labourers. Politicians. And, one shy Japanese woman – in town to study English – who wasn’t fooled into believing an expletive that rhymes with “duck” was the appropriate word to shout when you missed a shot in Bluenose country.
Played well, pickleball is a blend of finesse shots called “dinks,” angles, patience, power, strategy and remembering to stay the hell out of the kitchen or “non-volley zone.” Stepping in to strike the ball in the seven-foot area on either side of the net is a sin – unless the ball bounces in the kitchen first. Confused? Don’t worry. The Minister’s occasional sermon from Court 3 is reserved for beginners, and the affable players in Lunenburg are more than happy to guide those picking up a paddle for the first time. Those with any form of hand-eye co-ordination will find banging a holey, high-drifting pickleball easy – but it takes practice to master the divineness of the dink. (Think about that sentence, will ya?) Eventually, even the three-digit scoring system makes sense.
The Lunenburg Community Centre’s gym floor has a myriad of faded lines for a variety of sports. Jaundiced looking after decades of sweat, wax and polish, it’s also hard to see the yellow ball against the honeyed wood – but no one cares, nor complains as they offer up three loonies for the bucket before heading out like school kids at recess. Note the absence of fancy gear, logoed headbands and protective eyewear. South Shore picklers often show up in heavy work socks, jeans, flannel shirts and inappropriate footwear. Judge not. In the space where farmers and fisherfolk flog kale and cod on Thursdays, the first serve automatically goes to the team on the “unfortunate” side of the court, where a big backswing or long shot will have you smashing into the antiquated metal wall heaters. It’s truly humbling, in the sweetest possible way.
Our community, the province, the world, the planet is dealing with a seemingly endless string of heartbreaking burdens. Even the broadest of shoulders gets weighed down. And not everyone has faith. Letting go and laughing like a carefree kid on the playground is beneficial and essential on so many levels. So, it’s uplifting that on any given Sunday, you can wander like a lost sheep and be welcomed into a warm, poorly lit, but funny fold. A beautiful, sweaty, empathetic family of believers playing an intoxicating game with a silly name.
Amen to that.
Cynthia Schultz lives in Hermans Island, Lunenburg, N.S.