The Story of Jim and Lucinda

Chapter 1 

(Editor's note, there is only one chapter and it's not too long.)

It was a normal Tuesday at the courts, kind of slow, not too many players.  But suddenly it wasn't normal.  There was a strange player on court three.

Jim watched her play and decided that he was interested.  Besides her grace, there was a tasty backhand to admire.  The stranger was playing with three other women and they soon finished their game and surrendered the court.

There was only one gate on the courts and Jim hung near by.  Jim was a regular and one of the better players.  He knew almost all of the other regulars.

The ladies exited the gate and went to look for water and phones.  Jim sidled over to Janet.  "Who's your friend, Janet?"

"Hi Jim, and good morning to you.  Her name is Lucinda and she's new to the area."

"Really.  She has a nice overhead and seems to be able to dink."

"Yah, she's pretty good.  I've only played with her one game, but she didn't do much wrong.  So Jim, can we get a game?"  Janet wasn't interested in talking about Lucinda, but was ready to go back on the courts.

"Sure, and see if Lucinda wants to join us." Nudge, nudge.

"Ah, you are interested...  Naughty boy!  Okay, let me get something setup."

And she did and introduced Jim and Lucinda.  The play went well and Jim was, in a word, smitten.

She had the grace thing already mentioned, and played around the court as if she were dancing.  Never a foot wrong and a strong serve to boot.  

She glided about as if on roller skates.  Not the ones that were in line, but the real ones with four wheels and a toes stop, those skates, where corners could always be taken at high speed.  She could slap a ball like an angry child after a fly.  Or gently lift a dink over the net as if neatly placing a scoop of ice cream into a crumbly cone.   In fact, she seemed to have all the needed parts for excellent pickleball and then some.

Jim was in love and vowed to follow her from podium to podium, as he could see tournament play with Lucinda, or Lu as she preferred to be called.  They played all morning only stopping for water breaks.

"Lu, we must play tomorrow!  Can you add me to your play card?  Maybe play the day away and then all the others to follow?  Please tell me yes?" asked Jim.

"Why, Jim, that's quite the invitation.  I'm available tomorrow.  As for all the days thereafter, well, we'll just have to see."  Lu smiled and Jim's heart throbbed a bit more.  His smart watch beeped a warning that his pulse was a bit high.  But he cared not.

My God even her eyes matched her paddle and her paddle matched her top and that the skirt, and so on down her legs to cute socks and dainty court shoes.  

Yes, Lu was the full package and Jim, too long alone, had shifted his tired sports car of a life into a new gear and vowed to drive this road until it ended or he crashed.

They played the next day and the day after.  They met for coffee before, and lunch afterwards.  Soon they were an item.

They began to drill and then to play local tournaments.  They won and played again.  They played so well together that they soon moved from 3.5 to 4.0.  They had oodles of plastic medals and splinters from climbing on so many podia.

All summer long they played and won.  Skills rose and happiness rose with it.

"Jim," said Lu one day.

"Yes, my dear," terms of endearment trickled from Jim's lips all summer.  He was, as we have already noted, very smitten and a smitten partner is apt to say endearment type things.  

"I, I'm, I..." said Lu.

"Is there a problem, Lu dearest?" Jim was suddenly alert and stressed.  His smart watch beeped a bit as his heart rate climbed.

"I, er, we can't play anymore," Lu said in a small whisper.

"My, dear, what is wrong?  Are you ill?"

"I'm well, thank you.  But we can't play.  It's difficult and these months have been wonderful, but we must part.  I'm sorry but I can't say more.  It's intensely personal and private."

"Lu, it must be my fault!  I've erred in some manner, please let me make it up to you.  Our bond on the court and off, is too important to let die.  Please, tell me my dear."

"Oh Jim, it's horrible, but, but, if you must know.  You've become a lobber.  There, I've said it, a lobber and I can't go on like this."

"I don't think I'm an over lobber?  Sure I hit a couple every game, but I..."

"Jim, a lobber is the last to know.  You were a fine player once, great with drops, and you could dink softly like stroking a small kitten.  My heart melted to see your deep knee bends and soft sure strokes.  Oh, I remember those days so well.  The sun glistening off your forearm as you produced slice after slice.  But now, you rush a couple of dinks, not treating them like fine china, but more like a plastic cup to be tossed in the sink for a bit of a scrub.  Two dinks and then you lob.  I tear inside to see it."

Jim died inside.  Yes he lobbed, but not too much, one would think.  All players lobbed, it was really part of the game and well, sure he liked it, but he could give it up any time.

"I'll never lob again!" he cried.  "I love you too much and if that means no more lobs than I shall go and lob no more."

"Oh, Jim, I couldn't ask that of you.  It would tear your soul apart.  It would be impossible to stop and I can't make you change yourself.  We must part.  I will miss you every day and with every game, but go I must."

Lu was in tears and Jim pretty close.  He was a guy after all and sobbing on the courts was frowned upon, though there were often squeegees about.

They parted.  They were sundered.  They were split like an accident from a bad diamond cutter.  

Lu as mentioned was from out of town and she went home for the rest of the summer.

Jim struggled from then on.  Before he was often invited to the most skilled games at the club.  But soon the invitations dried up.

He was playing 4.0, then 3.5, and then 3.0.  His skill had fled like a tide on a super moon.  

He tried to return to tournament play, but partners were soon impossible to find.  The tournament hosts quietly lowered his DUPR score to allow him to try to be competitive again.

He played the Southeast Open.  He was tempted to toss out his paddles and do something frowned upon by pickleball players, namely golf.  He could see striding the fairways along, beaten and taking out his sorrow on a small white ball.  But he would play this last tournament and then decide.

It was bad.  Very bad.  He lost all his matches and by the end of his play, he was going to be happy to take up golf or shuffleboard or something else.

As he walked off the court after his last match, a hand came out and touched his arm.

"Jim," said Lu.

"Lu," said Jim, with a startled expression on his face.

"I watched all your matches," said Lu.

"I'm sorry, we hardly scored seven points a game."

"Jim, you didn't score four points."

"How could you stand it?"

"Your game has changed," she reached out for his paddle.  He allowed her to take it,

Lu ran her hand over the edge guard.  She noted the scrapes and scars.  The entire face was weathered and worn.  In the old days the face of Jim's paddle had a small worn area right in the sweet spot.  The edge guard would be pristine as a good player will never scrape the court.  

Lu raised her eyes and looked into Jim's.  "I could not stay away."

"I've, I've, been having troubles," Jim said.

"I want us back," said Lu.

"Why?  I'm no longer the player I was.  I'm about to take up golf."

"No, anything but golf!"

"Well, I was thinking of shuffleboard too."

"NO, NO, Jim, we can rebuild our partnership!  You've been cured!"

"Cured?"

"Jim in all of your games, you never lobbed.  I thought it couldn't be done that a man would change so much.  You've re-won my heart.  Jim, I am yours if you will have me."

"Lu, I want nothing more."  They embraced and held each other.  The pain of separation evaporated like a sunny court after a modest court, where towels and squeegees were industrially applied."

"But, Lu, I played so badly, I've won nothing for months."

"Yes, but you didn't lob.  It's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game!  I love my non-lobber!"

They returned to their former happiness.  Jim's play improved and soon they returned to the podia of tournaments.

They married and had two children, just enough to fill a court.  Jim taught the kids to play and honed their games, but he never taught them to lob, for he had learned his lesson.

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Well, I hope this was entertaining and also a bit instructional too.  No resemblance to anyone living or dead.  I've wanted to write something in the style of P. G. Wodehouse, who wrote a bunch of stories with golf as the back drop.  This was a nice exercise for me.  Little additional details have been running through my head for a couple of days.  Not all of them made it into the story.  Perhaps there will be more.  Rich