Pickleball Tournament – When Everything Goes Wrong!

They say that everyone has their off days, but little did I know that my off day would coincide with my first pickleball tournament. It was a day filled with mishaps, missed shots, and an overwhelming feeling of incompetence. I am going to be honest – I was awful. From the moment I stepped onto the court, it became painfully clear that I couldn’t do anything right. In the midst of my failures, there was one lingering thought that weighed heavily on me—I felt genuinely sorry for my partner, who was forced to endure my disaster of performance.

From the first serve to the last point, it seemed like the universe conspired against me. Every shot I attempted went astray, either sailing out of bounds or falling embarrassingly short of the net. I couldn’t seem to find my rhythm, no matter how hard I tried. The more I tried to compensate for my mistakes, the worse they became, turning the match into a comedy of errors. I am not a bad player – Really! I have played competitive sports all my life and play pickleball 2-3 times a week. I know it may sound like I am trying to convince you of something that isn’t true but honestly, I can play. Just. Not. That. Day.

The Guilt of Letting Down My Partner:

As the tournament progressed, my frustration grew, but it was nothing compared to the guilt I felt towards my partner. He had skill, finesse, and an unwavering dedication to the game. I have played pickleball much longer than my partner and I thought, at a minimum, I would be the go to guy to get the hard shots down and win the crucial points. It is not because he is a bad player – he is good. His serves are amazing and every shot he takes skims an inch over the net. I am just a bit more experienced.

That was not the case as I stumbled around the court, resembling a lost soul in search of pickleball enlightenment. I was the guy the other team secretly says “Hit it to that guy“. I am the guy they picked on. I couldn’t help but imagine the disappointment my partner must have felt as my ineptitude became increasingly apparent. The weight of letting them down hung heavily on my shoulders. It is fair to say that my partner is my best friend, someone I have known for over 30 years. He is as competitive as it comes but I believe his friendship with me overrides his disgust of my play!

They say that everyone has their off days, but little did I know that my off day would coincide with my first pickleball tournament. It was a day filled with mishaps, missed shots, and an overwhelming feeling of incompetence. I am going to be honest – I was awful. From the moment I stepped onto the court, it became painfully clear that I couldn’t do anything right. In the midst of my failures, there was one lingering thought that weighed heavily on me—I felt genuinely sorry for my partner, who was forced to endure my disaster of performance.

From the first serve to the last point, it seemed like the universe conspired against me. Every shot I attempted went astray, either sailing out of bounds or falling embarrassingly short of the net. I couldn’t seem to find my rhythm, no matter how hard I tried. The more I tried to compensate for my mistakes, the worse they became, turning the match into a comedy of errors. I am not a bad player – Really! I have played competitive sports all my life and play pickleball 2-3 times a week. I know it may sound like I am trying to convince you of something that isn’t true but honestly, I can play. Just. Not. That. Day.

The Guilt of Letting Down My Partner:

As the tournament progressed, my frustration grew, but it was nothing compared to the guilt I felt towards my partner. He had skill, finesse, and an unwavering dedication to the game. I have played pickleball much longer than my partner and I thought, at a minimum, I would be the go to guy to get the hard shots down and win the crucial points. It is not because he is a bad player – he is good. His serves are amazing and every shot he takes skims an inch over the net. I am just a bit more experienced.

That was not the case as I stumbled around the court, resembling a lost soul in search of pickleball enlightenment. I was the guy the other team secretly says “Hit it to that guy”. I am the guy they picked on. I couldn’t help but imagine the disappointment my partner must have felt as my ineptitude became increasingly apparent. The weight of letting them down hung heavily on my shoulders. It is fair to say that my partner is my best friend, someone I have known for over 30 years. He is as competitive as it comes but I believe his friendship with me overrides his disgust of my my play!

A Comedy of Errors:

In the midst of my calamity, it seemed as though Murphy’s Law had taken center stage. Every time I attempted a shot, something went hilariously wrong. I managed to hit the ball into the net while attempting a gentle dink, or send it soaring into the fences or net when trying to execute a powerful smash. It was as if my racquet had a mind of its own, determined to add an extra touch of comedy to my misadventures.

As I reflect on my disastrous performance in the pickleball tournament, I can’t help but feel a mix of disappointment and amusement. I wanted to send a letter to the tournament coordinators to apologize for stinking up the court. I wanted to grab the microphone and announce my retirement from the sport. As a competitive athlete, this was one of the most humbling moments I have had in years. I know people are going to say that it is “only pickleball” but I would argue that it was a paid tournament and we trained and practiced to compete.

While it’s true that I couldn’t do anything right that day, it also served as a reminder that even in our most abysmal moments, laughter can be a saving grace. I may have let down my partner and myself, but I walked away with a newfound appreciation for the ability to laugh at our my misfortunes. I know my body at 47 can’t move like it did at 24 so I now must refine my game. I see 60-70 year old guys just killing it on the court with placement and little dinks so I will practice, learn and hopefully, come back and redeem myself next year.

So, here’s to the tournaments we lose, the shots we miss, and the hilarity that ensues. After all, life would be far less entertaining if we were perfect all the time.