It’s that strange time of the year. 

We’re home for the holidays, but Christmas is over and New Year’s hasn’t arrived yet, so we find ourselves walking the dog to enjoy some peace and quiet from all the festivities.

Like many of us, though, my family loves to hit the court. Instead of running a Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving Day, we participate in a pickleball event that would certainly rival Ben Johns’ family tournament (though none of us would be nearly as good).

Christmas was no different. Play in the brisk Florida chill after Santa put new pickleballs, a beautiful Trelle bag for my mom, and an Engage paddle for my brother under the tree. 

Now, I guess you could say things are getting pretty serious with my doubles partner. We spent some parts of Christmas together with our families, the morning at my parents' house and the afternoon at his. And after my completely comfortable, enjoyable, and predictable Christmas, I found myself at my potential future in-laws with all their extended family playing a friendly game of Christmas Day pickleball.

This should be fun. The family is perfectly lovely. I know his cousin considers himself more of a tennis guy and his aunt “plays for fun.” This should be a nice, friendly game. 

Oh, it was not. 

How naïve of me to make such a silly assumption. Look, my partner is a far better pickleball player. He drills for hours and even signed up for some PPA tournaments next year. But, he goes easy on me (as he should!) and let me win on our first date. 

Something changed, though, because when it was finally time to play with the family, it was on! And I was severely outmatched. 

His mom rolled up with hot pink Skechers, a JOOLA bag, and her hair pulled back in a bun, and I swear it was like I was standing across from Catherine Parenteau. Then, his uncle is over there stretching and warming up his Mari Humberg backhand flicks. He looks like Quang Duong racing around the court. 

I’m thinking, okay, maybe they are just those 3.0 players that have all the gadgets and grunt like the pros, too. I carried that assumption when we all dinked around a little bit and the aunt practiced a drop serve. My 5.0 partner and I can totally go easy on them, but we’ll win hands down.

Then his aunt calls, “Zero, zero, two,” and she whacks this incredible ace serve right past me. It was so shocking that I didn’t even move. I just watched it soar past me like she’s Dekel Bar. Oh geez. What have I gotten myself into?

At that moment, I thought about Greg Dow’s “Dow Tips” and the video where he played pickleball with his family.

I was close to giving his crazy strategy a try and fighting back. But considering that Dow’s tips are purposefully ridiculous and facetious, I had to settle with nearly getting pickled because his aunt and cousin completely targeted me since I was the weakest one out there.

My partner, of course, pinched the middle and tried to help, but it was clearly no match. It was JV versus Varsity. We rotated around and I somehow ended up with the lower level players with the baby cousin and mom who’ve never hit a pickleball in their lives. But on Christmas, I’d rather be over there with the beginners than the crazy uncle that was about to break his paddle after a net cord didn’t go his way at 9-9. 

No need to recreate the viral kick to the face video in suburban Florida. It’s Christmas, Frank. 

All I know is that I need to level up my game if I ever want to compete with the in-laws. Maybe I should start taking my partner up on his offer to be his drilling partner. I may not have won, but at least I was the best dressed player on the court.  

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