I COULD HEAR the “plock… pak… plock” of the pickleball players even before I could see the tennis court on which they were playing.  Twice today my ride carried me past local tennis courts in city parks, where a dozen or more people were whacking a plastic ball with wooden paddles.  It’s evident that pickleball is, at the very least, a momentarily popular pastime.

It’s my perception, most likely wildly inaccurate, that the game was invented to help near-geriatrics stay active and therefore healthier by promoting movement, hand-eye coordination, and some level of mild exertion.  It’s well documented that becoming or remaining sedentary as one ages is a significant factor in many age-related health problems, and that moderate activity on a regular basis is a key strategy for combating the insidious effects of prolonged inertia.

Yet I resist taking it up.  To do so would be, in my malinformed mind, at least a tacit acknowledgement of my advancing years.  It’s an “old person’s game” and I don’t want to be seen as an “old person”, either by others or in my mind’s eye.  This is despite all objective evidence to the contrary, you understand.