This is the diversion of the moment — a blend of pingpong, badminton and tennis played on a tiny court with rectangular paddles and a plastic ball with holes in it.

Nearly 5 million people in the United States are swatting the ventilated sphere back and forth, according to a Christian Science Monitor story, which quoted an expert as saying pickleball had become the nation’s fastest growing sport.

And what’s not to like?

“Fun, social and friendly,” says USA Pickleball, the sport’s “national governing body.”

Get ready for the weekend with our picks on where to shop, dine and have fun on Long Island.

By clicking Sign up, you agree to our privacy policy.

Rules are “simple,” and the game is “easy,” the group continues, “. . . but . . .”

In life, isn’t there always a “but”?

“ . . . but can develop into a quick, fast-paced, competitive game for experienced players.”

So, no surprise there is a national championship played at a fancy tennis hub outside Palm Springs, California, and, inevitably, superstars and top earners and endorsements.

One stellar player, Ben Johns, says pickleball sometimes is disparagingly called a “sport for old people,” but that is so not true.

“It’s a sport for most everybody,” Johns told the website Experience Life. He is 23.

Let’s focus just briefly on the “sport for old people” idea.

If you’re like me — blazing fastball long kaput, batting eye betrayed by foggy bifocals — athletic activity these days may suggest Scrabble or Parcheesi or, at most, a backyard contest of quoits. Yes, there are stalwart seniors down at the field playing softball under the lights, and hats off to them. Eternally prudent, I remain in the stands.

So when Johns says pickleball is for “most everybody,” I think the young fellow is just being polite. A quick survey of “most everybody” in my Golden Age crowd (Advanced Division) revealed no one tightening a knee brace and heading for the courts.

But that is not the point.

Mainly, I wanted to offer a word about the league-ification of leisure — the need to have a governing body and high-pressure tournaments and a quick and competitive edge. To, you know, be organized.

I recently spotted a familiar yuppie couple carrying slender black bags, maybe 3½ feet long.

“Just back from indoor shuffleboard,” he said. “Tough competition.”

“We’ll get ’em next time,” she vowed.

Turns out they are ardent members of an extreme shuffleboard league. In their bags, the couple carried telescoping “cues” and, though unmentioned, I’m betting energy bars and Fiji bottled water, too.

“Big competition in Ohio coming up,” he said. “We’ll be there.”

Same thing happened with jump ropes, Frisbees, skateboards and even hula hoops. (World championships soon in England if you missed the big Michigan hoop convention — Spinsanity 2022 — earlier this year.) Organizations for every purpose.

Is that what we need?

A Harvard professor named Robert Putnam became famous in 2000 for a book called “Bowling Alone,” which claimed the decline of bowling leagues was a sign that our sense of common purpose was in danger.

Could it really be that the survival of American culture depended on joining teammates in funny shirts on Thursday night, destroying bottles of Bud and whooping when someone aces a 7-10 split?

Oh, I know this is small-scale stuff in a world with so many problems, and maybe I’m griping just because summer is ending and COVID-19 persists — still out there, folks, take care — or maybe it’s a conversation I had recently after more than 60 years with Mike, an old Brooklyn pal I located through the internet. Mike and I recalled distant Bay Ridge days and Saturday mornings at the sandlot with our little neighborhood pickup team, the Cobras, and how Mike was great at plucking grounders off the unpredictable, pebbly surface — “I loved them,” he said — and how, even then keenly opposed to pain, I inevitably backed away. No coaches, no governing body, no umps, just we kids.

So, yes, pickleball. It’s a big deal now with tournaments and superstars and approved equipment, but it had humble beginnings the summer of 1965 when vacationers on Bainbridge Island in Washington state began batting around a Wiffle ball with tennis rackets. Some accounts claim the game was named after a family dog, Pickles, who persistently stole the ball. Others say Pickles was named after the game.

I like the first version starring Pickles as bandit. My bet, the pooch was just trying to keep things in perspective.

Privacy Policy |Terms of service |Subscription terms |Your ad choices |Cookie Settings |California Privacy Rights |About Us |Contact Newsday |Reprints & permissions |Advertise with Newsday |Help

Copyright ©2022 Newsday. All rights reserved.