Issue link: https://imageup.uberflip.com/i/1522812
58 FOUR SEASONS BREEZE | JULY 2024 Let's talk about injuries. Cue the music. A tune from Peggy Lee's oeuvre: "Is that all there is?" There's been a spate of gherkin-ite surgeries of late; treatments obviated by injuries. Post-operative prescriptions have invariably included a stern follow-on caveat: "No pickleball for at least a month." Now, there are undoubtedly more answers to the "what's going on with pickleball" question than there are titanium screws torqued into all the artificial knees in Four Seasons put together. Says Dr. Waetooyung, his tacit "harumpf " all too obvious during a consult: "You know, I see so many injuries from that game. I can't understand why you grampas and grammas are playing it in droves the way you all are," adding, "and I REALLY can't figure out why you all can't wait to GO BACK TO PLAYING IT when that's what brings you in to see me in the first place." Here's the thing, though: What good is life and love without play? And what good is play without effort? And what effort is effort at all if it (and life and love) carries not the risk of some pain? "Is that all there is?" Deep? Not really. American? Resoundingly "yes." And here's where the connective tissue trouble starts. So … STRETCH, people! Warm up. Wear protective eye gear. Invest in a good pair of shoes. Hydrate. Put on a little reef-friendly sunscreen. Go out and SLOWLY test whether your rotator cuffs still rotate. CAUTIOUSLY see if your plantar fascia can withstand a bout of eye-tiss. CAREFULLY investigate the limits of space-aged metal substitutes for menisci, elbows, and vertebrae. Do these things in pickleball, in tennis, in table tennis, while bowling, playing cards, swimming, dancing, hiking, or anything. Do these things in love. Do these things in life. And for crying out loud, come on out to the pickleball courts and do it with us! And may the rockets' red glare remind us all that, regardless of the outcome today, there ARE ever days ahead in which to play. And even if we must join those games elsewhere, all our old friends await us there on some heavenly field of contest, paddles ready, where the sun always shines at the friendliest of azimuths, where the nets magically lower themselves to accommodate all our otherwise errant dinks, and where all our smashes are e'er called IN. ~ Karen Rose, gmew@hotmail.com Pickleball Bernie A. (mid-whack) and Gary C. game faces. Jeromee L. ponders the low orbit of planet Selkirk as Carol W. tries to act nonchalant. Fred T. (note the knee brace!) executing a perfect Tennessee Fry-pan serve.