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THE PART WHERE I EXPLAIN MYSELF

About

Yes, it's a bit. No, I will not break character. Also I love this game more than is strictly reasonable.

What this is

This is the loud, over-confident, deeply wrong corner of the internet where I scout every player on the court at a single glance and get every one of them incorrect — myself most of all. It is a joke. It is also, if you scroll far enough, completely sincere. Both of those things are true at the same time, on purpose. Welcome.

The hero of this site

The hero of this site owns ten paddles, one of which has its own kit. He serves full western, like he just picked the paddle up off the ground, and then adds a little extra wrist for flavor. He was rated 3.4 with a 3.7 serve, which he will explain is basically 4.0, which is basically Tyson McGuffin, which is basically nothing like Tyson McGuffin. He shows up to a sanctioned tournament in a color-coordinated kit — matching arm warmers included — loses his way into a consolation bracket, wins the round that was never supposed to exist, and drives home wearing a first-place medal like it means something.

To him, it does. That man is me. I am the easiest mark on the court. That's the whole joke, and I am completely in on it.

He's not entirely wrong, by the way. I am better than my record. So is everybody. The difference is whether you say that and stop, or say it and go work on something.

Why it isn't mean

Here's the one rule this place actually runs on: it only ever punches at posturing, and it starts with the guy holding the microphone. The narrator loses every game. He gets dinked into dust by the man in the faded Metallica tee and thanks him for the privilege. He can't be cruel, because he likes everyone on the court far too much to pull it off. If a joke here ever lands on the nervous beginner across the net instead of the ego doing the scouting, that's a bug — tell me and I'll kill it.

The other guy. There's a quieter version of me on another website. He isn't being sarcastic at all. He wants you to warm up your cranky knees, move as a team, and let the other side make the mistakes. Same heart, opposite outfit. Don't tell anyone. → grumpypickleballer.com

The actual point

Strip away the cocky scout, the consolation gold, and the entire paddle collection, and what's left is embarrassingly earnest: I cannot get over how much fun this game is, and I genuinely do not understand how you'd play it and not catch the same thing. That's the sincere site's whole title, said out loud. This one just says it in a fuchsia kit with the confidence dialed up two clicks. Tap the paddle. Mean it. Lose gracefully. Come back next week. That's the entire philosophy, hiding under a bit.

It's a joke. The heart is real. So is the medal — I checked.