PICKLEBALL

In the summer of 1995, my family became a charter member at the Highland Swim Club. Nobody would ever confuse our little summer retreat with country club living but it served our purpose well. “The Pool,” was only a couple of miles from home, offered a relaxing way to beat the heat, swimming, other activities and a social outlet.

My wife Sue and I, measure our son Andrew’s progression from infancy, to splashing around the kiddie pool with a diaper under his swimsuit, to graduating to the "big boy pool," (learning to swim) and the after dark, adolescent mixer parties.

(1998), MY BOY ANDREW, AT THE HIGHLAND SWIM CLUB.  JUST OFF-CAMERA IS THE KIDDIE POOL (RIGHT), SHUFFLEBOARD, BASKETBALL AND VOLLEYBALL COURTS, (FURTHER BACK) AND THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING WITH A SNACK BAR AND LOCKERS (LEFT). 

The Pool, was such a valuable asset that many times we included Andrew’s non-member friends or families as our guest.

In the gung-ho early years, volunteer committees organized special events which sparked great enthusiasm. Among others, there was the Fourth of July Party, an adult only nighttime blast and a Labor Day sendoff, marking the season’s end.

During the 2000 Fourth of July party, I turned Sue down to play bingo, (I'm not saying I'm too sophisticated for it...but maybe I am)?  Later, Sue was adamant when we were recruited to be in the “Couples Shuffleboard Tournament.” I was reluctant because I knew I sucked, but Sue embarrassed me in to it. I soon learned that my wife’s expert talent had been honed from a gazillion visits to her grandparent's retirement facility.

I remember few details except, we won the first match and were walking away when the scorekeeper/social director announced, “Next up against the Edelblum’s are the Strom’s.” These old-timers, in matching white Bermuda shorts, the same orthopedic, navy knee socks and Hawaiian shirts, looked like ringers who flew in from Miami Beach...just to kick our ass, (which was fine by me).

This seventy-five year old gentleman set down the golf putter he was carrying and started examining each shuffleboard pole. Behind me, I overheard some scuttlebutt from the gallery that tabbed Sue and I as prohibitive underdogs.

The Strom's must have been doing Geritol shots.  Their swagger was extraordinary as they jitterbugged to imaginary music after winning the first round of the best, two-out-of-three format. Mr. Strom removed his dark blue captain’s hat (revealing a nineteen-dollar toupee), and took a deep bow to the approval of the audience, (which had swelled to over ten people and a stray dog).

GERITOL IS A DIETARY SUPPLEMENT WITH IRON AND OTHER MINERALS.  FIFTY YEARS AGO, IT WAS THE SPONSOR OF, "TED MACK'S AMATEUR HOUR," WHICH I WATCHED ON TV WITH MY PATERNAL GRANDMOTHER.  AIMED AT SENIORS WITH "IRON POOR BLOOD," MY GRANNY WAS APPARENTLY IN THE MARKET FOR RENEWED VIM AND VIGOR.  IN MY RESEARCH, I WAS SHOCKED THAT IT'S STILL SOLD, (UNDER A DIFFERENT FORMULA).

The writing was on the proverbial shuffleboard wall. I was ready to retire to our umbrella table and hit my own bottle, (I was heavily into Pepsi-One back then). But Sue laughed in the face of adversity and rattled-off some incredible shots, including a rare ten-pointer to even the score to one game each.  In the rubber game of the match, Sue devastated the septuagenarians and we were victorious. 

AROUND 2002, PEPSI-ONE CHANGED ITS RECIPE.  I DIDN'T LIKE THE NEW TASTE AND SWITCHED TO DIET WILD CHERRY PEPSI.  NOW, TWELVE YEARS LATER, I'M DRINKING ONE RIGHT NOW, AHHHHHHH !

The stunned Strom's “shuffled” off in disgust.  Mr. Strom was so ashamed to lose to "such upstarts" (us) that he left his golf putter behind.  Sue and I temporarily basked in the glory of the championship until the scorekeeper announced, “Next up for the Edelblum’s are the Dover's.” Through mutual friends, Sue and I were acquainted Eileen and Ben. Their relationship was so dysfunctional that I was shocked that they were appearing together at all. Between witnessing them bicker over a missing ten-dollar bill from his wallet, Ben drank (alcohol was strictly verboten on the property) from a paper bag. I was a good judge of character so I knew that wasn’t Pepsi he was pounding, (after murderizing them, I saw it was twenty-ounce can of generic malt liquor).

IN MY TEENS, COLT 45 WAS THE KING OF MALT LIQUOR.  I TRIED IT ONCE AND THOUGHT IT TASTED LIKE *WD-40 WITH SAND IN IT.  SO I CAN'T IMAGE HOW AWFUL "BRAND-X" MALT LIQUOR MUST BE...   * THE TIME  I DRANK WD-40 WITH SAND IN IT, IS ANOTHER STORY...

Amazingly, Sue and I beat seven straight couples. She did all the major scoring but winning is contagious, so I got into it too.  However, towards the end, I was engulfed by boredom.  When the social director announced, “In the final game, for the Highland Swim Club shuffleboard championship of 2000, it’s the Edelblum's versus the Winnegar’s!” I was thinking; The Winnegars?...A family with a name like that doesn’t lose…the Edelblum dynasty ends here.

While shaking Mr. Winnegar’s hand, I felt like I was looking into a mirror, (he was, extremely good-looking, about my age, fat and bald). The scorekeeper added, “Due to an emergency, Doris (Mrs. Winnegar) had to rush home.” I was thinking: Cool, we won by forfeit.  Then he continued, “If it’s okay with the Edelblum’s, the Winnegar's daughter Allyssia will take her mom's place.”

Deep down, I really didn’t care but I didn’t like the way we were put in the awkward position of NOT being able to say no. Until that point, I had taken an easy-going approach but this gum-cracking, twelve-year old brat’s cockiness annoyed me to the core.

Outwardly, I maintained a dignified smile as this impudent, pest in pigtails talked trash, derisively grinned and stuck her tongue out at me, while single-handedly dominating the first game. In the second game, while I bordered on intense physical and mental exhaustion, I reached inside myself, found an unknown (to me) source of inspiration and played my best to help tie the series.

I heard someone say in was 4:35. I was shocked how late it was. I needed to go home, take a nap and get ready for work. So it pissed me off that the deciding game was a nail-biter that went into the tedium of overtime. It was too bad, here we were at crunch time and the once crazed crowd (that for a short time had numbered twenty), was now reduced to six. Even my son Andrew abandoned us when we needed all the support we could muster, in favor of a Pokemon battle with another five-year old, (which I'm told out drew us, by five spectators) . All looked bleak for Team Edelblum until the little girl’s last shot failed to block our slim chance for a comeback victory.

She examined all the angles as she prepared for the last shot.  There was no room for error.  Her window of opportunity rested on a sliver of room to knock-out two of the Winnegar’s scoring rocks, (to produce a scoreless round and prolong my agony). But to avoid another overtime, if she could manage this difficult feat and score herself, we’d win. Sue’s competitiveness was never keener. She looked at me and silently got her point across…I got this!

Like a gold medal-winning Olympic curler, my girl's deft touch skittered her rock between the tiny space between barrier rocks.  She banged her rock into their eight-pointer and sent it flying off the court. Her rock then careened towards their seven-pointer. She skinned it enough to back it onto the “minus-ten box” while her rock safely nestled to a stop in the victorious confines of the seven-point area.

IN THE EARLY GOING, WHEN SUE TIED THE STROM MATCH WITH A COLOSSAL (AND RARE) TEN-POINTER. THEY WERE SO INTIMIDATED THAT THEY BARELY "SHOWED-UP" FOR THE DECISIVE THIRD GAME.  BUT WHEN SHE SLITHERED THROUGH A TINY CRACK IN THE WINNEGAR'S ARMOR, SHE NOT ONLY TOOK FIFTEEN POINTS OFF THEIR TOTAL, SCORED SEVEN HERSELF...BUT TO PUT AN EXCLAIMATION POINT ON OUR CHAMPIONSHIP, SHE DUMPED ONE OF THEIR ROCKS INTO THE "TEN POINTS OFF" ZONE. 

I couldn’t believe my eyes, nobody could've done it better. I looked at my twin and dumbfounded Mr. Winnegar’s jaw dropped. His weasel of a daughter complained to the scorekeeper, “No fair! That lady’s foot was on the line.” He ignored her protest and congratulated Sue and I...and walked away. I hadn’t cared the whole time but now I was pissed…that’s it?  No coronation, no plaque on the wall, no "we're heading to Disney World speech?"  What a chintzy outfit!

Indeed, there was no trophy, no announcement or recognition of our feat on the activity bulletin board. I shouldn’t have been disappointed because the champs of horseshoes, volleyball, cup-stacking and ping-pong weren’t acknowledged either.

Now, fourteen years later, Sue and I haven’t competed as a team since. However, with the reality of retirement a few years away, I think I have found a solution to our feisty nature…it’s a game called Pickelball.

Pickelball was invented in Bainbridge Washington (1965) by Joel Pritchard, (a State Representative).  This politician used his creativity to entertain his children...but the game blossomed into a sport. Since then, Pickleball enjoyed modest success with people of all ages and skill levels.  But recently, its popularity has gone viral, primarily among senior citizens.

My friend HOBOKENKID lives in a Florida retirement community. She says that even though there are twenty Pickleball courts on the grounds, people have to sign-up for time slots in advance…and there’s still long waiting lines.  She also mentioned that one of their top players is a ninety-one year old Adonis.

PICKLEBALL, FOR TWO OR FOUR PLAYERS, IS AN INDOOR OR OUTDOOR RACQUET SPORT.  IT USES A BADMINTON-SIZED COURT, PADDLE-BALL RACQUETS AND A WIFFLE BALL.  THE GAME FEATURES RULES THAT ARE SIMILAR TO TENNIS AND THE SAME NET.  BECAUSE OF THE SMALLER DIMENSIONS, THE GAME HAS BECOME ESPECIALLY FASHIONABLE FOR ATHLETIC SENIORS.

The game is already trendy in the USA, Canada and India. Plus, Pickleball clothing and equipment are hot items on the Internet.   The only controversy regards how the seemingly silly name "Pickleball" originated.  Some people feel it was a tribute to the Pritchard family dog, "Pickles." Others are confident it refers to the phrase used for a fisherman's last catch of the day.  But according to the TV news report I saw, the term refers to a mixed bag of participants in a sculling boat.  Me, I like the dog named Pickles.

SCULLING (a.k.a. COMPETITIVE ROWING OR CREW), IS OVERWHELMINGLY AGE AND/OR GENDER SPECIFIC.  SO A MIXTURE OF PARTICIPANTS IS FREQUENTLY CALLED , "PICKLE BOAT."

In a few years, Sue and I must decide where we enjoy our golden years.  That decision seems even more controversial than how Pickleball got its name.  But the three main destinations are, Florida, Arizona or Las Vegas.  Either way, I still have time before I need to kick my Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi habit and switch to Geritol, as well as getting fitted for my Bermuda shorts, orthopedic knee socks, nineteen dollar toupee and captain's hat.

THE DEATH OF THE DEATH CARD !

Stop! Sift out the white noise and listen. If you concentrate, you'll be able to hear the theme song of, "PEE-WEE'S PLAYHOUSE," fading out. It's volume is getting drowned-out by the whining drone of distant bagpipes. Unfortunately, the carefree days of my monthly poker games are over and all that's left are ashes and the Royal Scotsmen playing somber funeral dirges.

DURING THE CANDLE LIGHTING CEREMONY AT MY SON ANDREW'S BAR MITZVAH, MY POKER BUDDIES WERE USHERED UP ON STAGE TO THE THEME OF, "PEE-WEE'S PLAYHOUSE."

Today, with heads hung low, we are gathered here to pay our respects and to say something nice about my deceased poker game. It's hard to believe, but now that my cherished night out with the boys is gone...it seems that I will never play in a regularly scheduled game again.

You see, I started playing poker when I were ten years old. That introduction featuring wild, one eyed-jacks was completely harmless. But as fourth graders, my pal HJ and our other friends, felt that as gamblers, we were cool renegades, breaking the law.

The older brother of one of the kids on my street and his toady were the organizers. These games set the stage for those jokers to advantage of us younger kids, for years. But in this case, they weren't squeezing us for much because the stakes were incredibly low...even for pre-adolescents.

We used red, white and blue poker chips in these games. Whoever finished with the smallest chip stack had to forfeit one Strat-O-Matic baseball card to the biggest winner.

A BOARD GAME, "STRAT" PRODUCED INDIVIDUAL PLAYER CARDS FOR EACH MAJOR LEAGUER. THEN BASED ON THE PREVIOUS YEAR'S PERFORMANCE (WITH THE HELP OF THREE DICE), A REALISTIC BASEBALL GAME WAS PLAYED. PLEASE NOTE THAT THE CARD ABOVE WAS TOO GOOD TO BE GIVEN AWAY AS A POKER LOSS. SCRUBS, SCHLOCKS AND DUKIES LIKE MARV THRONEBERRY, JAY HOOK AND CHOO-CHOO COLEMAN WERE MORE LIKELY CANDIDATES TO BE DISCARDED.

My appreciation for poker wouldn't resurface again until my working vacation at Disney World with RBOY. At our apartment complex, I met three disgruntled Disney employees from rural South Carolina, (Bob, Ronnie and Brad). After quitting, they became waiters at Red Lobster. Later, they got me a job there too. Once our friendship bloomed, on many occasions, we had poker sessions on the floor of their place. We mainly played "DR. PEPPER," for chump change, (RBOY was invited but never played and neither did ZYMBOT when he came for his prolonged visit).

AUGUST 1974 IN KISSIMMEE FLORIDA. THAT'S ME WITH TWO-THIRDS OF THE SOUTH CAROLINA MAFIA. AT OUR POKER GAMES, THERE WASN'T A LOT OF MONEY CHANGING HANDS BUT I THINK I ALWAYS CAME OUT AHEAD.

Oddly, I was intimidated from playing poker during my Las Vegas years, (1979-1984). What makes this even stranger was that the World Series of Poker was a budding giant. Several of my friends and acquaintances were players or dealers; like SK28 and John Imperiale. But their horror stories made competitive poker against strangers seem to be anything but fun.
THE "WSOP" EVOLVED FROM BENNY BINION (IN 1970), INVITING THE SEVEN BEST (MOST KNOWN), PLAYERS FOR A SINGLE TOURNAMENT. WHEN I LIVED IN VEGAS, THE WSOP HAD GROWN. BUT STILL SMALL ENOUGH THAT BINION'S HORSESHOE ONLY HAD TO TEMPORARILY REMOVE A FEW BLACKJACK TABLES FROM A REMOTE ALCOVE OF THE CASINO TO ACCOMMODATE IT. IN 2010, THE MAIN EVENT, WORLD CHAMPION'S PRIZE WAS NEARLY NINE MILLION DOLLARS. TODAY THIS INCREDIBLE, TEXAS HOLD 'EM TOURNAMENT IS HELD IN A CONVENTION HALL IN ORDER TO SUPPORT CLOSE TO 20,000 ENTRANTS.

The one time I was lured into a Vegas poker game was by LTJEFF. Two of his fellow Mint Casino craps dealers, ran a private Cajun poker game called, Boo-Ray. The gracious hosts, (Big Jim and Buffalo Joe), supplied an array of cold cuts, salads and other snacks, plus a fully stocked bar. Later I found out that for discrete guests, a wide range of narcotics were available too.

This friendly game had two major rules. First, each pot had a small rake to defray the cost of the "refreshments." Rule two was anyone who reneged had to match the pot.

While I was playing, when the antes were low, a department store manager reneged and everyone laughed off the four-dollar error. But as the night wore on and flow of liquor etc. took effect, the once cautious group became sloppy as the antes skyrocketed. So when the ante money created a fifty-dollar pot, the atmosphere became mercenary when the next sap, (one of Jim and Joe's casino supervisors) reneged. At that point, I thought it prudent to bow out.

I stuck around and watched for another hour. By that time only fifties and hundred-dollar bills were being used. That's when the hosts (who were both winning a lot), cashed a drunken airline pilot's $650.00 payroll check. I knew that sober Jim and Joe were grossing less than $300.00 a week, so this maneuver opened my bloodshot eyes. Soon, I became convinced that they were weasels by their shared procedural reaction, on how their victim should sign over his check.

The next day, I asked LTJEFF if Jim and Joe were in cahoots and if the whole game was a scam; he shrugged. Weeks later, LTJEFF confirmed my suspicions. He told me that Big Jim kicked Buffalo Joe out of the house when his girlfriend moved in...and how frustrated Joe broadcast their scheme to bilk the Boo-Ray players with cheating signals. He also spelled out how they made a separate chunk of cash by gouging everyone for the grocery money.

In 1984, I moved back to Canarsie while my New Jersey gaming license was being processed. During that year, RCC and JEFFDDS included me in their monthly poker game with other boyhood friends. These social events had venues in Brooklyn, and Staten Island as well as Edison and Princeton New Jersey.

This was the purest form of relaxing entertainment. Nobody got hurt and the games like, "BINGO FOR IDIOTS," were full of laughs.

In 1992, coworkers from my current job started a poker game. The last of the charter members have either moved away, changed days off or became unavailable for a million reasons. So with PCSHMEE set to move to California next month, I formally declare that our little social club, after a nineteen year run, has become defunct. Further, I decree that this blog serves as a eulogy and a Requiem for my dearly departed night out with the boys.

I fondly remember FRANKIERIO of fashionable Somers Point being the first host. He served chili and white rice. The second game boasting barbecued ribs was in Tuckerton, at KURUDAVE's. For the most part, we rotated the hosting duties among the generous core of originators.

To fill in the empty seats, tons of coworkers, relatives, neighbors and friends of every nationality, race, religion, gender and sexual persuasion were included. We even included our fair share of space-cases...from other planets, (most of them were never invited a second time).

In the early days, we put in an eight-hour shift, (9:PM-5:AM). The night was so much fun that the cards frequently interrupted the hilarity. Along with coffee and cake, we had half-time entertainment ranging from cartoons, to porn to music videos....we even had a girl, (Sapphire), from work volunteer to be a topless cocktail server.

THE ACTUAL POKER ASPECT OF THE GAME WAS STILL IMPORTANT BACK THEN. ERGO, OUR TOPLESS BEER WENCH WAS VOTED DOWN 4-3

We used a dealer's choice format. My favorite poker game was called, "DEUCES, JACKS, THE MAN WITH THE AX." It's a seven-card stud game featuring nine wild cards, (all the twos and jacks plus the king of diamonds). However, a pair of natural sevens beats anything. And if that wasn't enough, the five of spades was the "death card." That meant that no matter how good your hand was, if you turned that card over, you got kicked-out of that hand and had to add a dollar to the pot.

REGARDLESS OF THE SITUATION, THE FIVE OF SPADES, A.K.A. THE "DEATH CARD," WAS GUARANTEED TO CAUSE SPONTANEOUS LAUGHTER AT THE EXPENSE OF ITS PREY.

I adopted the death card concept from the South Carolina bunch. After years of careful cultivation to make it the wonder that it now is...maybe I should copyright it and formally call it my own. Hell, there's nothing wrong with making a few extra bucks for something so pleasing. My point is proven by the fact that that element had been incorporated into many of our other poker games.

Some of the alumni players from the last nineteen years who read my, "MORE GLIB ThAN PROFOUND," blog include: CGS39, DOMT, MAL, MIKE123, BLAZELION, RJKL, RSKB102, WTW and TOMD. After a recent survey with many of them, it seems that the following was our most unusual and memorable night.

Ten years ago, on a hot summer night, CGS39 hosted his first game. I was driving PCSHMEE and KURUDAVE through the Jersey boondocks to Little Egg Harbor. On unlit Stage Road in Ocean County, we went quite some time without seeing anything relating to civilization. We were doing about sixty when suddenly the black pavement ended and gave way to what looked like a dirt road. I slammed on the brakes unnecessarily because the dark-colored roadway gave way to a whitish pavement.

That scare left the three of us on edge plus we had gone five miles through the wilderness without seeing a house, business or even a sign. KURUDAVE made a, "BLAIR WITCH PROJECT," reference which spurred PCSHMEE to call ahead for some reassurance. CGS39 laughed at us, called us names and said, "When you pass over the Garden State Parkway, I'm a half mile up on the right."

CGS didn't believe in screened windows. While he introduced us to his neighbor Corey, we were dodging huge flying insects. CGS was in the middle of telling us that he just dusted off his dirt bike from when he was a kid when MAL showed up.

MAL interrupted CGS's story. He was referring to the large amount of flying bugs when he said, "All we need is an all Japanese cast, our mouths to be unsynchronized to the dialog and a cameo appearance from Raymond Burr and we'd have the makings for another "MOTHRA," movie.MERCHANDISING FROM 1964's , "GODZILLA vs. MOTHRA."

CGS continued by saying that he hadn't taken the dirt bike a hundred feet behind his property when an armed forest ranger...who looked like Barney Fife in a Smokey the Bear hat, stepped out from behind a tree and blocked his path.

The ranger's gun hand shook violently as he asked CGS for a motorcycle operator's license. CGS had no ID. The license he once had, expired long ago. While staring down the barrel of the vibrating service revolver, he tried to explain the circumstances and pointed to his house. The shaky ranger only nodded. When he finally spoke, CGS was detained with a ten minute lecture highlighted by a segment on helmet safety. He politely listened and prepared to humbly accept the stiff warning. So it really pissed him off when Ranger Fife wrote two $75.00 tickets.

When MAL heard the word "detained," he encouraged PCSHMEE to repeat for everyone, the nightmare story he had been told. Apparently, when going through Canadian customs in Manitoba, the staff spot-checked PC's suitcase. An undeclared item, (a gift wrapped, $300.00 wristwatch for his Internet girlfriend) was discovered. After getting caught, PC compounded their ire by lying about its value. To minimize his tax exposure, he under-exaggerated the cost. Moments later, the actual receipt was unearthed from his wallet. PC then cemented his wise guy's fate by saying, "I thought you meant the wholesale price."

PC's punishment included being officially "detained." Which meant that in addition to being held in custody for hours that night, all future trips into the "great white north" would require him to "check-in" with Canadian authorities. Additionally, he was charged a higher tax rate on the item and was heavily fined.

When PC finished, CGS's neighbor Corey said, "That's nuthin'! When I was a teenager, I was crossing into Canada at Windsor Ontario and made a drug smuggling joke. Some Dudley Do-Right impersonator handcuffed me and led me to a small room. He and another Canuck stripped me, attached my cuffs to a metal hook bolted to the floor and did a full body-cavity search on me. Even though they found nothing, I was detained and forced to pay a fine."

So during our poker game, in addition to incessant, dive-bombing moths, nobody sat pretty after hearing Corey's story. Later while driving home at 4:AM, with MAL following behind us in his car, PCSHMEE, KURUDAVE and I joked about body-cavity searches.

When we crossed Stage Road's white pavement back onto the blacktop, an antlered deer appeared in the distance. I can still recall the exact angle of its head and how its feet straddled the yellow median line. I hit the breaks and high-beams at the same time...and the deer vanished. Not ran away...vanished!

PC said, "What was that?" KURU said, "Did you see where that guy went?" I said, "It was a deer but I don't know where it went." PC said, "No, it was a ghost and it de-materialised...UP!" KURU said, "You're both crazy, it was an old geezer limping into the woods." I pulled over and flagged down MAL. But he saw nothing. We were all too tired to argue. To this day, everyone remains adamant to what they saw...but we have no answers. However, the one thing we all agreed on was... that night was the most bizarre poker game and that the going home "deer" incident was even crazier.

Who knows? Maybe I'll find another poker game. But the truth is, this blog is a symbolic funeral. If you were here, you'd see I'm typing in a pair of black boxers and a black, fishnet, wife-beater tee-shirt. Because, the "Pee-Wee's Playhouse Theme," is long gone. During this mourning period, that silly music has been replaced by the interwoven tapestry of much louder bagpipe dirges and the tolling death knell of far away bells.

So while I cling to the positive notion that PCSHMEE is going to a better place... I along with all his poker buddies wish him every success and happiness. Nevertheless, with my head hung low, I officially proclaim the death of the death card and the end of a great night out with great friends.