The Rise of Pickleball

Sweat burns my eyes. A deep ache antagonizes my shins. I’ve never wanted water so badly. Also, I’m losing. Remembering when we’re supposed to switch sides, what the score is, and who’s serving is as mentally taxing as it is physically draining. I never thought Pickleball could kill me - until now. 

These ailments don’t seem to inflict my opponent - who is also my housemate - as she dances around the yellow-lined court. Sophia is from the Silicon Valley and began playing Pickleball over her summer in Seattle (a Pickleball mecca that boasts the most courts in the nation) where she interned with Amazon. These are exactly the identifiers I imagined a “pickler” to maintain. You know, the kind of crowd that runs with Elon Musk and Bill Gates, both of whom have avidly voiced their love for the sport, and who presumably lead cushy lives void of manual labor and adversity. It’s what I’d previously call a ‘soft sport,’ like golf or badminton, something that white affluent people play to break some kind of sweat they otherwise wouldn’t - and all without touching anyone. 

Yet here I am, a Massachusetts-born, blue-collar-raised, college-aged girl, busting my ass to pickle that ball. Sophia knows the rules forwards and backwards; Always serve diagonal but never in the ‘Kitchen,’ let the ball bounce before returning the first hit. You can only win points on your serve. The list goes on, and on. My six years of tennis experience, from elementary and middle school, respectfully, do help. The form and technique is similar if not the same, and the rules feel vaguely familiar. Many picklers enjoy Pickleball for these parallels to tennis, but this odd new game is actually a fusion of badminton and ping pong. And now, facing a brutal loss of six to eleven, I wonder: why invent a sport that so closely resembles three other widely popular and historically rich ones? And moreover, how does that derivative passtime then gain over 36.5 million players, becoming the fastest growing sport in the U.S. with a 158 percent growth rate in the last three years and a $152 million paddle market? 

Pickleball was born in 1965 out of boredom. A Washington State congressman and a successful businessman with a badminton court and no equipment rounded up their families, issuing ping pong paddles and a plastic ball. It was summer on Bainbridge Island, a forested isle just off of Seattle, and they soon realized the ball bounced well off the hot asphalt court. So, the players lowered the net from 60 to 36 inches, allowing room for ricochet. The next weekend, congressman Joel Pritchard and businessman Bill Bell introduced the game to a friend, Barney Mcallum, and the three men established rules and conduct. Almost immediately, the game became a family favorite, and the first official Pickleball court was built two years later in the backyard of Pritchard's neighbor.

Soon, the game eclipsed the island. Seattle University President Kenneth Baker, a frequent guest of some of the original picklers, started a “Pickleball Night” at the school, where students and faculty were introduced to the sport. “The concept of the game has not yet been comprehended other than locally,” reads an article in the Seattle University Spectator from 1970. “If both male and female students remain responsive to this game, it could possibly be added to the physical education curriculum.” And responsive, they were: Today, as a part of the U.S. Collegiate Pickleball Association, the university offers a Pickleball club with weekly matches and events.

Perhaps more effective for audience growth was Pritchard’s political campaign. While running for Congress in 1970 and ‘72, he frequently set up Pickleball games at events where he’d explain the rules and ask for bold volunteers. Pritchard would advise players, “You’ve got to be able to hit the ball hard. Nobody plays golf to putt.” Slowly, this make-shift fun began winning the hearts of more than just some students and vacationing families - and where there are old, white, and wealthy eyes, there is inherently money. 

That’s when the business angle crept in. Celebrating the 50th anniversary of the sport, McCallum explained in an interview, “I got telephone calls from people from all over every place, ‘Barney I want some Pickleball paddles.’ People wanted these things and I’m not gonna give ‘em to ‘em. And so, we were just forced into business.” Ah yes, the ol’ backyard-invention-to-million-dollar-company pipeline that so many of us are coerced towards. Pritchard, Bell, and McCallum wrote a healthy check and, just like that, Pickleball Inc. was born, forever and irreversibly commercializing the game.

Sales reportedly began exploding when one pioneer player and fan, who happened to be the president and a publisher of the New York Times, pitched a story to the newspaper. McCallum remembers getting a call from a reporter in New York asking him to sell a starter set. 

“Well I really don’t know,” he replied.

“Well take a stab at it.” 

“Okay, I will. Around 30 bucks.” 

“How about $29.50.” 

“That’s a deal.” 

The order included four rackets, four balls, and a net. (Nowadays, they also provide a duffle bag, rulebook, and upgraded paddle materials - and go for $425.99.) 

After the sales and media coverage went national, a corporation was founded to protect the novel game, and Pickleball was crowned America’s newest and shiniest racket sport. By 1990 it was being played in all 50 states. 

While the game began amassing tens of thousands of followers, a problem arose, shaking communities. As it turns out, Pickleball is loud as hell. With a sound about twice as noisy as a tennis ball, complaints began flooding neighboring residential areas. The New York Times reported people feeling the sound had replaced leaf blowers, quoting one resident saying, “I thought maybe I could live with it, maybe it would fade into the background - but it never did.” Headlines quickly turned from, What is this thing? to Stop this thing! 

Hate the game, not the player - But the players are fighting back. “I don’t feel bad because I want to play, and this is the best place to play,” defended one pickler. Loyalty is not uncommon for these athletes and is such the case for an executive board member of the India Society of Worcester named Ragoo.

Every morning Ragoo posts a poll in the center’s Pickleball GroupMe chat, asking who can join that day. When he introduces himself at the courts, people tend to already know him. “They’ll say, ‘Oh we know who you are, you’re the guy who posts pickleball polls everyday!’” This has been Ragoo’s routine for around two years now, getting his daughters and wife involved whenever he can. “I love the simplicity of the game and how anyone can play.”

After the India Center raised about $2 million, they decided to build out a Pickleball court to encourage activity in the community. They’d heard the sport was gaining traction and thought it was inclusive enough regarding age and gender to commit investments. Slowly, more and more members began enjoying the game. “Many women play too, which usually Indian women are more conservative.” Ragoo’s favorite part about Pickleball seems to be the accessibility it encourages. “It brings out the competitive nature in people, especially the more introverted. They don’t need to talk or shout across the court, they can just play.”

He’s even learned how to support the detrimentally competitive player. “I started playing with this one very competitive guy, and I began beating him,” he says. “I’m competitive too.” When Ragoo noticed the man becoming hesitant to play, he decided he needed to purposefully lose. “Well, then he started wanting to play again! So now I let people win sometimes.” And after speaking with Ragoo, I found I too had a new passion for pickling.

Sandwiched between two other games of Pickleball - a 300 percent attendance increase from last time - I was feeling self conscious. The weather had gotten more brisk and the sky more gray. On my left was a doubles match played by four young men who looked like business majors; backwards caps, black athletic five inch shorts, and determination more palpable than my own fear. This was not their first rodeo. To my right was a singles game played by two young men who seemed a bit more approachable, lanky frames, one of them dawning a nose ring. Sophia and I exchanged glances, flashing wide eyes to acknowledge that we had an audience this time around.

After finishing up a game, one that I had surprisingly won - just barely - Sophia nodded toward the players on my right. “Should we ask them to play?” Damn it. I knew we had to. For I had learned that the essence of Pickleball is community. But I was nervous! “Yes, yes we should.” I said, letting out a heavy sigh. “But maybe you should ask.” Sophia rolled her eyes and we giggled. 

With tentative footing, we made our way over to their court. “Hey!” Sophia called out, and the boys looked over. Having just finished their match, they didn’t seem sure if we were talking to them. “Hi?” The one without a nose ring responded, almost as a question. “Would you guys want to play with us?” I felt like I was on the playground in elementary school again, trying to make friends with the light expectation of having sand kicked in my face. “Oh, yeah, sure, sounds good!” Relief. We met between our two courts, introducing ourselves. The nose-ring guy was named Finn, the other, Owen. 

I had overheard them complain about a huge crack in their court earlier, how it made their ball bounce unpredictably, so I offered up our space. “Yeah, that’d be great. But it might just be because I’m not very good.” We laughed. After getting situated and clumsily reviewing how each team played, we decided on a traditional winning score of eleven. It soon became clear that Sophia and Owen were the more knowledgeable players, with both Finn and me looking to our partners for cues of where to stand and who was serving. I didn’t even try to keep score. But, I didn’t really have to; it was rarely my serve, which meant that Owen and Finn were winning. After every missed shot, far or short ball, and miscommunication, Sophia and I shook our heads with smiles on our faces. We were getting smoked. Swiftly and mercifully, the game ended with a loss of four to eleven.

We met each other at the net, the thick plastic brim between us, and shook hands. “So, how’d you guys start playing?” I asked. “Well, I got into it because of Owen,” Finn explained. “I still don’t really know what I’m doing but it’s super fun.” Relatable. “Yeah, my mom gave me a racket, and courts in my hometown opened up, so I just started playing and fell in love with it,” said Owen. They’re freshmen living in Central, a residential area of UMass known for the stoner, artsy, easygoing type. Owen studies communications and Finn, environmental science. They spoke casually and calmly, wearing soft smiles and short curly hair. Discussing the sport, how it’s inclusive and addictive, Owen took a big sigh, “It makes me really happy.” We all chuckled. “It’s funny but it’s true.” It was the most emotion I’d seen out of either of them. Finn then backed him up, “He actually does say that all the time.” 

I couldn’t help but agree with Owen. Despite my nerves, the weather, and a predictable origin story, Pickleball is … fun. I enjoy running around the small court and making a good hit. It’s exhilarating to lose a rally but have another chance on my opponent's serve. Spiking the ball or making a volley is satisfying. And though I am often confused about the logistics, I’d learned to play in a matter of one game. It is so simple and so sweet. And, just as Ragoo had told me, it encourages friendship. Sophia and I get to spend an easy hour together just laughing and playing, catching up on our days and getting a sweat in - It’s as casual as it is exciting. And here we are now, meeting new people and having new conversations. It feels good.

The four of us wrapped up, exchanging our usual playing times and hoping to meet again. The other four guys were still there as we left, working hard to win. I wondered how long they’d stay, it was getting dark. Unsure when I’d return to the courts, with the days growing colder and shorter, I knew I would be back. “I don’t see it dying any time soon,” Ragoo had told me, “where there is community, there is Pickleball.” 

It’s unclear which comes first.