Recently, my sainted wife and I had company over for dinner – company who was not quite as informed as we.
This dinner guest began the conversation with questions about “woke culture,” which almost immediately caused her eyes to glaze-over, creating a coma-like appearance from the answer.
Soon thereafter I took mercy upon her and stopped talking, but she insisted on delving even further into current events.
Keep in mind I’m not terribly athletic, but our company attempted to tap my brain for information about the sudden explosion of sports.
The world has just finished with the unbelievably breathtaking display of FIFA athletes exhibiting their physical prowess and cash-rich sponsors.
FIFA, if you’re interested, stands for Federation Internationale de Football Association, according to the interweb. Evidently, this is the association that represents international soccer. Unfortunately, why the word “soccer” is not included in the federation title is a complete mystery.
In any case, eventually the conversation gravitated from soccer-mania to other sports. I’ll refer you back to paragraph four, above. Not being much more than a spitting image of Tom Selleck – without any associated athleticism – I am more of a thinker; my hat size is proof positive of that.
So when we transitioned to her next query, “What is pickleball?” I was prepared.
Hearing so much about pickleball lately virtually made me an expert on this fledgling sport. I patiently explained what I’ve been seeing on television, reading in old folks’ magazines, and hearing snippets within the old-fart community, slowly and distinctly, so there would be little chance for her misperception.
In essence, I conveyed my understanding of pickleball as a hybrid of ping pong, tennis, volleyball, and sweating.
It uses paddles rather than racquets, is played on a smaller hard-surface court, is divided by a net, and will somehow, eventually, involve drinking adult beverages. Still, the apparent draw to this Frankenstein-like activity is that it was designed to be played by senior citizens.
I immediately switched on the television and located all sorts of sporting events including the ones nobody watches, as well as others I didn’t even know were considered sports.
Passing through sports channels I noticed one had a program on darts, international poker, women’s basketball, competitive bass fishing, and something called “cornhole.”
Cornhole caught my eye because my neighbor - who is even less active than I am – built some cornhole boards and actually plays the game.
Cornhole uses some plywood fashioned into sloped platforms, supported by two legs, containing a hole. Not unlike horseshoes, each of two teams of two people toss beanbags from a distance in an attempt to get their beanbags into the other person’s board hole.
Evidently, the only real difference between cornhole and horseshoes is the length of time before a fistfight breaks out.
I know. I know. It sounds riveting. And that’s why they nationally broadcast a sports show dedicated to this awe inspiring effort to waste even more precious time. But I digress.
As luck has it, the last three hours of an international pickleball tournament was being televised, and so I felt this was a golden opportunity to punish our company. And punish her, I did.
Just as I described, the court was small, racquets were unique, scoring was nonsensical, and the participant’s clothing made them look as though they were taxi cabs – decorated with numbers, their name, and plenty of advertising.
It was at this point she asked
how this could be considered a sport for the elderly. This particular tournament featured
youngsters – people born well after the Civil War – rather than spry, fit
20-somethings.
As our guest was complaining how she was likely unable to play this neo-sport, my mind began wandering, perhaps as a self-defense tactic.
My memories took me back to days of yore – a time when suddenly, the federal guvment felt it necessary to outlaw the funnest games and toys.
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| Vintage Jarts from 1961, commanding the princely sum of $150 |
Dad had just purchased a new yard game, likely for the Independence Day celebration; it was a game called “Jarts.” Jarts consisted of two plastic rings, along with four Jarts – roughly 18-inch long oversized darts, made from plastic, sporting a sturdy pointed, metal tip.
Again, like horseshoes, the rings were to be spaced a number of feet apart. One person got two Jarts of the same color, to differentiate them from your opponent’s. They were then tossed high into the air with hopes your Jarts land inside the ring.
It seems as though
But it was during this personal mental drift that I thought, “Perhaps I, too, could invent a game that might provide a sense of activity combined with a modicum of danger.”
Picture this: Two people versus two people on a carpet of beautifully green lawn. There, within a chalk lined field of 20 x 20 feet would be placed 12 varying colored, two-foot wide rings. The rings would consist of 6-red, and 6-yellow, with a color assigned to a team.
The players would toss their lawn projectiles into the air attempting to strategically get their darts to land inside the colored ring that corresponds to their dart. Of course, the opposing team would be able to prevent that if they were able to catch them!
Sure, it sounds easy. But here’s the rub: running to and fro across the manicured field is fairly easy for those athletic youngsters. The handicap would come in the form of each player wearing swim fins. The excitement borders on absolute levity and curiosity.
Normally my brilliant ideas are kept under wraps, but I this case, I’m offering it for consideration to anyone with the drive to create a real sport that could eclipse soccer.
You’re welcome.
