Few manoeuvres in pickleball are more despised than the lob, particularly by those of us in our golden years.We’ve done our bit. We’ve paid our dues. We do not want to face the indignity of running all the way back to the baseline to flail at a bouncing ball that may or may not be in. Those who lob, not so fondly referred to as lobsters, can, in these moments, easily be viewed as sick, sadistic, hard-shelled monsters.

How disturbing it is then, and how ironic, that one morning, much like Franz Kafka’s antihero Gregor Samsor, one awakens to find oneself morphed, transformed, aged, into a giant lobster. That one delights in lifting that hole-y sphere over the heads of opponents, in watching them scramble and flail while you amble up to the net, lessens somewhat the shock of the transformation. But now you know what you are: an older player losing athleticism, resorting, like an old spitballer in baseball, to cunning to stay in the game.

Younger players don’t need to lob. They are too busy attacking, dinking and honing their reflexes for firefights.Nor, unfortunately, are lobs particularly effective against them. They still have the agility to stride quickly back and leap if necessary to smash an overhead without worrying about tweaking their already tattered rotator cuffs. So the well-seasoned player (read old and slow) must choose his or her lob opportunities carefully when playing against the young guns. Often the best result is a chance to catch one’s breath when you actually get one over their heads and bouncing behind them.

That said, the influx of younger players (those in their teens, twenties and thirties) into our game has been a wonderful thing to behold. They are enthusiastic, dedicated, and classy people whose rapidly increasing skill level and creativity brings whole new dimensions to the game. That a foursome possibly composed of ages eighteen to eighty of all sexes can have a competitive, fun contest is really one of the prime delights of pickleball. It allows multiple generations to interact and benefit all who partake.

But youngsters, heed this warning from a hoary headed senior: Youth, like all things in this world, does not last. One fine morning, perhaps decades from now, you too will wake up, assess your game, and find yourself transformed into a giant lobster.

JR MacLean does home improvements in Peterborough. More thoughts on pickleball and other stuff can found at

https://substack.com/@jrmaclean