July 24, 2020

 

Another health related update came down from the NBA today.  Remember the health checks that I told you about, those that we had to perform ourselves every morning?  Not the COVID tests, but the temperature and blood oxygenations readings, and the health questionnaires that were to be performed daily?  Well, it appears that participants either weren’t doing this religiously as they were supposed to, or they were arbitrarily just filling in numbers with no true way of anyone verifying that what they entered was factual or accurate.  So, an update occurred overnight to the health app that required us to enable our phones to be connected via Bluetooth to the two devices that collected the data each morning.  This way, you would not be able to fudge the results, nor could you simply stick in false numbers.  The readings were now taken directly and input via the device, no more manual entries. 

Just when you think the NBA has thought of everything, they think of more.  I’m telling you, what we are learning here, experiencing here, can be used as a template in the outside world.  They have enabled our health readings to be taken damn near automatically, recorded automatically, and tracked automatically.  And as far as I know, no one has cried foul (do you like how I threw that in there) about taking away our rights, or tracking our movements, or invasion of privacy.  It’s because we, each and every one of us, has something at stake here.  It can be a pain in the ass sometimes, to remember to do the evaluation, to get the COVID test, to wear our sensors, but if we fail, the consequences may be dire.  Considering the world state at this moment, these small inconveniences are a simply that, small inconveniences.

I didn’t have to work today so I thought I would take a shot at learning how to play pickleball.  There is a court that one of the NBA refs built in the courtyard near where we eat each day, and a couple of the guys on our Turner crew have been asking me to play, so I thought, what the heck.  Even though I had been using the small gym every day since we had gotten out of quarantine, I didn’t feel I was getting enough cardio work.  I didn’t feel like I was sweating enough.  Let me walk that back a bit.  The weather in Orlando promotes a sweaty environment, but it’s not the exercise sweat that I am missing. I changed back into my workout gear and ventured out to the makeshift court.

Having seen the game played numerous times, I had never taken the time to learn the rules.  I liken it to a mixture of tennis and ping pong.  The paddles are very similar to oversized ping pong paddles, and the ball that is used is slightly larger than a tennis ball, and is made of hard plastic with Swiss cheese like holes throughout, and possesses a rather dead bounce. The net does not appear to be higher than that of a tennis court.  I would even say it is lower.  And the dimensions of the court are about one quarter of a true tennis court.

The rules are very simple.  Whoever wins the coin flip serves first.  The ball must land in the opposite quadrant on the other side of the net on a bounce.  Unlike tennis, this quadrant is beyond the quadrant closest to the net, so it is a rather distant serving target area.  The ball must bounce, and the returner hits the ball back after that bounce.  He can hit it anywhere to the other side of the net, providing it lands within the court boundaries.  But this return of serve must bounce as well prior to being returned.  After that, all returns can be hit from the air or after one bounce.  Play continues just like tennis, with the play ending when someone can’t return the ball or it is hit out of bounds, just like tennis or ping pong. But there is this one spot on the court that caused me issue when I observed…the kitchen.

The kitchen would be those two quadrants closest to the net on each side of the net, where, in the game of tennis, is where a serve must land.  Well, in pickleball, this area is highly restrictive, and a player can only enter it, key word here is enter, if the ball bounces in the kitchen.  At that time, the player can enter the kitchen and play it off the bounce, but that is the only time a player can enter the kitchen.  After the ball is played, get the hell out of the kitchen.  You can’t even mistakenly enter the kitchen if the ball did not land there.  It is violation and the rally is over. 

So anyway, back to the game rules.  You only score points if you serve.  The first player serves until his serve is broken, then the other team serves until that serve is broken, then his teammate gets to serve until his serve is broken, then it goes back to the other team for two broken service opportunities, and so on, until someone reaches eleven points.

My first game, I, of course, entered the kitchen illegally a couple of times because I was playing like a tennis player.  Rush the net, take away the angles, etc.  But in pickleball that is a no-no.  It didn’t take long for my partner to emphasize “Stay the hell out of the kitchen!  You’re giving away points!” I learned quickly, the kitchen was not my place to hang out.

Once I figured out the kitchen, and also caught on that when the serve is returned, it has to bounce as well, I was able to grasp the game.  I think I adapted rather quickly, and I was able to hold my own during my first game.  We won, I think it was 11 to 5, and I really enjoyed running around a working up a sweat. The Orlando heat and humidity made achieving that sweat to be a rather easy task.  But it was lovely, truly lovely. I don’t know about you, but when I work up a sweat, no matter what it is I am doing, I feel better for it.  I feel like I‘ve accomplished something, something that has taken a great deal of effort, because if your body responds that way in order to cool itself down, you’ve pushed it, you’ve push yourself, and you are better for it.  But again, the Orlando weather assisted in my getting to that point much quicker.  But it was good.

And today I decided to resume shaving.  It’s just too damn hot out here to wear a mask and have facial hair.  Plus my face is too pretty to cover with hair, at least that is what I had been telling myself for sixty years.