Not to argue with Credence Clearwater Revival, but I am pretty sure I WAS one of the fortunate sons. Just luck. And, along with my good fortune, came toys. At one point I owned an AC Cobra, for instance, and you’d have to set a Ferrari on fire to attract as much attention as that sex-machine. And for several years we owned a brand-new, big-ass, gorgeous Tiffan Allegro Bus, which as far as RVs you’d live in go was pretty bitchin’. And while you can’t own your family members, in my fortune I also had the best dog ever. A brindle rescue Boxer named Desi, she actually won a contest once for the best all-around dog of all time. (Sorry, I’ll give you they’re all good dogs, yours included, but Desi won the Pickleball Rocks Best All-Time-Dog contest. Note her “Pickleball Rocks” gear!) 
And, until recently when Carvana took her away, I shared my home with one of the prettiest, sweetest-running Vermillion Red Ford F-150’s of all time. She’s the cover picture.
Now, while each of these things had some significance to me in their time, I don’t miss them. (OK, excepting Desi, of course, who I still miss daily and has a home with us anytime she can give running the rabbits a rest and find her way back across the Rainbow Bridge.) This sanguine attitude isn’t driven by age, enthusiasm or anything else – it’s simply more that situations change. What, for instance, would I do today with a 43-foot, 34,000 pound RV? And if I feel the need for speed, I’d certainly forgo the teeth-rattling Cobra and borrow a Tesla – I think there are about 100 here.
But not EVERYTHING changes. My long-term passion for pickleball is, if anything, higher than ever. And until I put the walking boot on again recently to save my peroneal brevis tendon, I had been playing some of my best ball in years. Part of the latter comes from a different attitude; mainly, my not trying as hard. For too many years I took the sport, and myself, way too seriously. Silly. If you think about it, how serious can any game be that bears the name of a fermented cucumber? But I’m older and wiser now and if it’s just for fun, you can just go for it!
Also, outside of my own play, I have found, to my surprise and delight, a group here in our new community that’s trying to learn pickleball, and a surprising number of them are both good athletes but also newly-minted and complete fanatics. (In case you aren’t an addict, pickleball is famous for inspiring fanaticism.) Their collective attitudes and just their presence are both great for me. Besides giving me an audience that hasn’t heard my trillions of pickleball stories before, it’s given me a new purpose. Booted up or not I can help them learn…and the better they get, the bigger a kick I get out of watching them…..plus, down the line, I’ll have more fun I’ll have playing with them. I hope I’m not annoying and they get that I’m here to help…that pickleball has given me far more than I can ever repay.
So that inspires a small digression. Ten or fourteen years ago I was trying to play pickleball with some pretty good players in Arizona while we snow-birded there. And I was having the darndest time returning shots that had a lot of spin – back, top or side, all were problems. So eventually a much better player I didn’t know that well took me in hand. He taught me to return those shots. He did it in a single afternoon, albeit a long one of at least a couple of hours. At the end, I thanked him profusely….and then I asked my question.
“Why did you take all this time off to teach me this?” I said. “I mean, you and I have only played against each other a couple of times.” By which I meant we didn’t know each other all that well and a couple of hours is a lot of time to spend helping somebody you didn’t really know.
A big, open-faced guy, he smiled toothily through his killer moustache. “Well, we’ve only played a couple of times, but you’re trying to get into all the “A” player games,” he said. “Clearly we’re not gonna get rid of you so I thought I better tune you up a bit. It’ll be lots more fun for everybody!”
And it was, maybe especially for me. And I hope I can pass the favor on in some fashion.
Granted it’ll be awhile before I get to play again. From this boot I go to a different foot surgery and then a different boot. And from there to a back operation which, I learned recently, will involve three areas in my back and includes the dreaded fusion. But with the recent changes in the technologies of back operations, the orthopedic surgeon has almost guaranteed me that I’ll be back playing at my same modest level in “almost no time” – a phrase I’m interpreting to mean “just a few months.”
A forced time-out like this sucks for senior athletes as recovery from any injury or operation takes away time you feel like you just don’t have to give. But that’s just whining, and in the meantime I have the other folks I mentioned, don’t I? Not playing sucks but hanging out and helping doesn’t. IMHO I still have a lot to give back, and a lot of stories to tell.
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Some our experiences sue do cross. Never had a Cobra, but on a crazy impulse I bough a DeLorean. I was working in downtown Carmel, CA, and it amazed me that the tourists gawked at my car more than many of the Ferraris. My need for speed took me to three Porsche 911’s. I never was jailed for 140 mph on Interstate 5 thank goodness.
I am retired. My 40 years long passion has been semi long distance road bicycling. But like so many things, that has now come to an end. In June I was hit by a car that was going over 50mph. I have two spinal compression fractures that I hope will be fixed soon. The cycling culture sounds a lot like pickleball culture. I have been mentored by people I didn’t know, and have tried to pay that forward a bit.
Never had one of those mansion on wheels RVs, but I sure am a fortunate son: my wife and I camp out in a house that is way too big for us. It is on the top of an oak studded hill with a 200 degree view.