The club's Oldest Member was leaning on the fence and watching play. His thermos of coffee was at hand. His faded eyes had seen it all, but he still liked to watch the play.
The Downs had twenty courts and a few players could remember back when it was only four and no club house, or earlier still when there was no Pickleball in Livermore.
Most of the courts were busy. The play was divided roughly by skill level. And The Oldest Member was watching the good players, but not the best. The good players had more fun and the points were more interesting. Entertainment is not always about competency.
A game finished and the players came off. Joe walked over to the Oldest Member and said hello.
Joe: Good morning. Were you watching the play?
Oldest Member: Yes, but I didn't see all of it. I was watching some of the match on court four, too.
J: Ah, Jill was playing there.
OM: Yes, she was. Her game is coming along. Do you two play together at all?
J: Well, I'd like to. I like her a lot.
OM: Mmm, forehand or backhand?
J: What?
OM: Do you like her for her forehand or backhand? Maybe dinks...?
J: Oh, I get it. Nah, she has a nice game, but if I'm honest...
OM: 'To thine own self be true'... (His eye glazed a bit as old memories wandered through his memory.)
J: I like her ankles.
OM: Excuse me? (His eyes cleared, he shook his head a bit. Maybe due to tremors, maybe just reconnection to the current world.) Ankles?
J: Ankles.
OM: Really?
J: Yes, really. I like her ankles.
OM: Her overheads are nice, what about those?
J: No, I love her for her ankles.
OM: Where did that come from?
J: Who knows? Where does anything come from? Blondes versus gingers? I don't know. I just know what I like.
OM: Hmmph.
J: I'd really like to date her.
OM: Have to talked to her?
J: Yes, well no, but about pickleball I mean, not love or dating.
OM: Hmm.
J: The club championship is coming up. I should ask her to play.
OM: Sounds like a good idea. Gets you close to the ankles and all that. Heh, heh.
J: <dreamily> Yes, it does... But...
OM: A small but or a big one?
J: She is a most sought after partner. She might be committed already.
OM: Then you should ask her promptly.
J: Well, she is still playing.
OM: She has to come off the court at some point. Like pickleball defense, being in the right place is what the game is all about. Your pickleball game is good, apply it to your love life.
J: <dreamily> Love life,... Ankles...
OM: I've got to go, good luck with your quest.
J: Thanks. I'll let you know.
The OM left the park and headed home. He drove to avoid the outlet mall that drew crowds all day, every day. The driving of the customers around the mall had not gotten better as the mall had grown. The crazy driving had amused him 15 years ago. Now it was a constant annoyance and he avoided the area as a matter of happiness.
He thought briefly about Joe and Jill. They were both good players, sound of mind and all that. Did they belong together? Who knew? But, ankles? What was that really all about? Joe seemed pretty normal. Considering the sportswear found on pickleball courts, it seemed that focusing on ankles left a lot of other elements neglected.
The OM didn't return to the courts until after the club championship. And Joe had not gotten back to him. It mattered not and the OM had forgotten Joe's problem.
When the OM next dropped by the clubhouse and ordered a pint, a couple of weeks had gone by.
He sat at his usual table and looked forward to a nice drink with the sound of well struck pickleballs coming in the window.
Joe came into the club house, stopped by the OM's table and pulled a water bottle from his PB bag.
They nodded agreeably as each worked on their drinks.
"How are you and Jill doing?" asked the Oldest Member.
"What? Oh, Jill, well we are not together."
"Did you summon the courage to ask her to play in the club championship?"
"Oh yes. That was fine. It seemed she was between partners and was willing to give me a game."
"But...?"
"Well, the story is, if you want the long version, we had a pre-game lunch, which I had hoped might lead to talk of life and children and all. But all she wanted to talk about was pickleball."
"So, the age old dichotomy of life..."
"Yes, I wanted life, she wanted pickleball."
"Was that the end of it?"
"No, I saw how the wind was blowing and we talked PB for a long while. The usual conversation of who, what, where, and how much. She and I were on the same page for most of it and all was well."
"Then was the championship play a problem?" asked the OM.
"No, we won all the games in our pool and then romped undefeated through the medal games. We won and if you look on the plaque by the door, our names are there. So all in all the play was fine."
"Surely, a good run like that would lay the foundation for a future together?"
"You'd think so and I pressed her for dinner that night. And she was willing."
"But it didn't go well?"
"No, the conversation was still all about pickleball. This woman has a problem, I think. Every time I mentioned something else, she steered it back to wrist angles and the proper number of cross court dinks that are reasonable before trying something new."
"Yes, I can see your problem. Err, not to be indelicate, but you didn't mention the ankles thing did you?"
"Oh, no, no. I don't talk to many about that. And if you are talking to a girl, you can't mention that kind of thing."
"Maybe after marriage?"
"Exactly, and not during the honeymoon either, of course."
"Of course."
"I did mention her beautiful eyes however. And they are nice, but not as nice as her ankles. And she steered that comment back to the color scheme on her pickleball gear bag! And, well, there were other problems in all of this."
"Yes, go on."
"Well the day of the championship was quite cold and damp and windy. So Jill wore these legging that went down to her shoes and then socks that went up her calves, and so you see, or not see, I guess, but the ankles were not there. Kind of threw me off my game actually."
"How so, how much time could you be looking for ankles during play?"
"Good question, but I was thinking about it and I was a bit sad. A sad man can't play his best I've found."
"Agreed. The mind needs to be clear as the paddle needs to be clean."
"Yes, of course. So there was that. As I said we won all the games, but I had to, ah, had to, oh, I'll just come out and say it, I had to lob a couple of times as I got caught out of position and I was in an awkward spot."
"Oops. I see. Did Jill react to the lobs?"
"There might have been some eye rolling, I'm not sure. My blush of annoyance and shame was burning my face and I didn't want to face anyone."
"How many lobs did you hit?"
"A lot, I think three. Those points did not end well as one could expect."
"Yes, usually true. Awkwardly positioned and forced to lob... So the play was ok, as you won. But those lapses were, ah, destructive to the future life scenario?"
"I guess. It seemed to just collapse and the dinner ended early and we went our separate ways."
"Too bad, it looked promising for a bit."
"Yes, well..." They both went back to their drinks and a manly silence descended over the table. The plonk, plonk of the pickleball hits wafted in the window. The OM worked on his Stout and Joe on his water. Sip, gurgle, and repeat.
Joe suddenly came alert and sat up straight. He tossed back the last of his water and starred out the window. "I say, who is that?"
The OM swiveled around and peered through the window. Due to the elevation of the courts and the location of the club house, most players could only be seen from the waist up.
"I'm not sure," said the OM.
"Doesn't matter, very fine ankles there. I think I need a closer look." With that Joe leaped up, grabbed his bag and headed for the courts.
The OM sat back, his pint nearly gone. It was too early for another. Perhaps he would watch a game or two before his afternoon nap.
He wandered out to the courts. There was Joe, with someone new. The OM watched a bit and had to admit that whoever this woman was, she had nice ankles.
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