BECAUSE OF NEW federal regulations for seniors, I now have to play pickleball. I just turned 75, and it’s the law.
But it wasn’t just the law that compelled me when my former boss of some 30 years called for a game. It’s because he’s the boss, and those old office dynamics quickly kicked back in. (Other habits kicked in as well, so I told him I’d have to leave early to pick up the kids from school and will probably come in late tomorrow because I have a doctor’s appointment. But I should be back in time for my lunch break.)
I had been avoiding the sport, despite its growing popularity among older people, because I resist following the crowd and don’t give in to the latest fads and trends. Mine is a solo trek in life. I take my own path, the road less traveled, unless I need a bathroom. Then I merge back onto the highway and look for a Wawa.
Plus, I have seen a pickleball game — with older people — and it’s not pretty. I watched these ancient ones with their rediscovered athleticism, running to and fro, back and — with some frequency — forth. They tempted fate with every overhead swing, every lunge at a ball whizzing just out of reach. (Although, since they seem to miss the ball as often as hit it, maybe that’s how the game is played. You swing, and then you curse.)
These people have lived long and productive lives and have earned the right to pass away peacefully in their own beds, surrounded by loving friends and family. Yet now, on a regular schedule and in a public place, they willingly perform levels of exertion that virtually guarantee their final moments will be spent lying on a hardwood floor, surrounded by the bare legs of concerned people who shouldn’t be wearing shorts.
Granted, there might be some satisfaction at smacking a whiffle ball into the torso of an elderly person, reminding them they should have stayed home in their comfortable chair sipping a prune-based high-fiber drink and watching Jeopardy. But their doctor recommended they “stay active” — which I have always taken to mean walking briskly to the refrigerator — and at our age we do what doctors tell us. We should also do what dentists tell us, but why use up our few remaining moments flossing prunes out of our teeth?
Forced pickleball is just one of the many rules the new administration may impose on its citizens, following the influence of Elon Musk, who earned his billions in electric cars and exploration of space. (And who, some have suggested for the betterment of all, should sit inside the former and launch himself into the latter.) Happily, his name fits easily on a protest sign, leaving plenty of room for references to camels and needles.
Musk wants to reduce the federal workforce and cut costs, even targeting programs for seniors, of whom I am one. Medicare might stop covering certain conditions, such as pickleball injuries, and the age of eligibility for Social Security could be increased, particularly for people who play the game. Because if you can play pickleball you don’t need Social Security. You might need oxygen, or maybe Bengay. But why bother the good people at Social Security about it, what with them trying to look busy whenever Elon Musk walks by?
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