I first hit pickleballs in Wyoming in 2010. I was in the Sheridan YMCA gym, where two courts had been delineated on the floor in red tape. I helped friends assemble portable nets and then, wielding a borrowed paddle, I played mixed doubles for two hours.
It was more fun than tennis or racquetball. I wanted more. In Salt Lake City, however, pickleball courts were as scarce at the time as Frisbee golf courses. Three temporary ones in Sandy's Dimple Dell Recreation Center gym were all I could find. I began scouting places that would accommodate a pickleball court.
The more I asked around, the more I heard: "What the hell is pickleball?" The question came up at places like Big 5, Sports Mall, Tenth East Senior Center and Salt Lake City's Parks department. I made no headway.
I soon realized I was bumping up against a paradoxical catch-22, whereby construction of courts was determined by player demand, but demand was dependent on the availability of courts. Without a place to play, demand dried up.
Pickleball—a tennis-like game played with a solid paddle and a perforated, plastic ball—is not the upstart sport that padel (a tennis-squash hybrid) is. Pickleball predates Nike's "swoosh" logo. The sport was invented in 1966 by the late Joel Pritchard, a congressman from Washington. He cobbled together handmade plywood paddles, a borrowed wiffle ball and a badminton court to create a game for his kids.
The source of the silly name? You hear two stories. One features a ball-chasing cocker spaniel named Pickles. The other comes from Pritchard's wife, who wrote in 2008: "The name of the game became pickleball after I said it reminded me of the pickle boat in crew where oarsmen were chosen from the leftovers of other boats."
Pickleball eventually took root in sunbelt retirement communities. More accessible than tennis, it was an ideal sport for "active seniors," especially those hobbled by sore knees and slowing reflexes. (The Villages, a 55+ community of 80,000 in Florida, now has more than 200 courts.) In 2003, pickleball reached St. George via the Huntsman Senior Games. It then leapfrogged Salt Lake City for Ogden because John Gullo, a pickleball proponent, donated $60,000 to build courts in Mount Ogden Park.
A turning point came when Ben Hill, then the manager of the Holladay Lions Recreation Center, acquiesced to my Field of Dreams, build-it-and-they-will-come proposition. He made a single pickleball court in his gym. I bought four paddles and invited people I knew to try a game most had never heard of. Ten years later, people in pickleball togs sit on the sidelines, chatting about grandkids or knee replacements, waiting for a turn on one of six courts there.
The pick-up games on the Holladay Lions courts kindled demand. Soon, Millcreek, Central City, Murray and other recreation centers added courts. And why not, pickleball players importuned—the gyms were mostly vacant on weekday mornings and nets were cheap.
On the other hand, outdoor courts were expensive. The cheapest option was to convert existing tennis courts. You could repurpose two tennis courts and get enough space for six pickleball courts. Because the city had about 90 tennis courts, many of them dilapidated, six-for-two conversions seemed to be the ideal way to go. My friends and I lobbied the Parks department for tennis-court conversions, and I promoted them in City Weekly. The city's tennis players organized a counteroffensive.
As the dust settled, support from the Greater Avenues Community Council caused pickleball lines to be painted on three tennis courts—one each in Pioneer, Reservoir and Sunnyside parks—to make dual-use courts. Then, a 2015 meeting with Salt Lake City Mayor Ralph Becker yielded the city's first two outdoor courts on C Street and Fifth Avenue. Handsome pickleball complexes in Fairmont Park and 11th Avenue Park followed. The new courts attracted a younger demographic, whose jobs had kept them away from the recreation center courts. The new courts allowed for weekend pickleball, and Gen Z players soon filled them.
Pickleball is now the fastest-growing sport in the U.S. There are several reasons for its popularity. The court is invitingly small and learning the basics takes minutes, not hours. With its underhand serve and no-volley zone along the net, pickleball is not a serve-and-volley game. Smart tacticians hold their own against big hitters, so it is conducive to mixed doubles and intergenerational pairs.
It is also known for having a cordial social dimension, which I think is attributable to a tradition of vacating the court at the end of each game. Sharing the court with waiting players creates a sideline interval in which amiable conversation flourishes.
In those courtside conversations, I have often heard people reflect on the sport they assert has been life-changing. I began this column with that in mind. Would the writing process disclose some underlying explanation? I envisioned "The Zen of Pickleball" as the headline. But the more I wrote, the more I revisited the growth of the game along the Wasatch Front, the more I was drawn to Woody Allen's observation that showing up accounts for 80% of success.
Pickleball partisans like me showed up for many years. We did so in the service of self-interest, it is fair to say. But we showed up as squeaking wheels at county planning meetings, and we badgered Salt Lake City's Parks department. As a result, pickleball was considered when zero-sum financial decisions were made.
New courts slated for west-side parks in Poplar Grove, Rosewood and Glendale indicate that pickleball players like Ifa Motuliki are still showing up to evangelize while showing up to play.
Private Eye is off this week. Send feedback to comments@cityweekly.net
