We here at Murmurs from the Losers’ Bracket have become aware of a pickleball poetry situation at the Canadian border.
It turns out a justice of the peace named Mary Shelly – not to be confused with the English novelist who wrote Frankenstein – has banned outdoor pickleball play in the town of Niagara-on-the-Lake, in Ontario, Canada.
Shelly ordered the public outdoor pickleball courts there to be padlocked for two years, and for the town and the local pickleball club to each pay a $1,000 fine for violating the local noise ordinance.
The ruling was in support of a woman who lived near the courts and claimed that the daily sound of pickleballs thwacking on paddles was affecting her ability to enjoy her home.
The disappointed local pickleballers have been driven to play inside this summer, which has made them grumpy and, in one case, resort to poetic complaining.
The poem “Pickleball Karen” was posted in The Lake Report, the local newspaper. It’s a lengthy sonnet of questionable artistic merit.
Here’s a sample:
To be called a “Karen” these days is not a compliment. It implies a level of unjustified whininess.
This, we think, causes an undue hardship on those women who, by no fault of their own, were named “Karen” by parents that had no inkling that the unfortunate name they had picked for their newborn daughter would be a yoke she would have to bear later in life.
But moving on, it’s the pickleball poetry that intrigues us here at Murmurs from the Losers’ Bracket, which has, perhaps, the most extensively staffed pickleball limerick department in the pickleball journalism universe.
So, we’ve let loose our poetry operation to give aid and comfort to the Niagara-on-the-Lake pickleball club at this tough time for them.
We offer the following emotional-support limericks:
It happened thousands of miles from Venice
Where a judge deemed picklers a menace
So they padlocked the gate
Said two years you must wait
Maybe you’d like to play tennis?
A woman at the mouth of the Niagara
Made pickleball anemic like pellagra
A judge helped her ban
The game for every man
So now they’re all taking Viagra.
They called her the Pickleball Karen
‘Cause she made the courts go barren
No more doubles stacking
Or pickleballs whacking
Just silence, and picklers’ despairin’
There is a quaint town in Ontario
A charming little lakefront barrio
Where pickleball all summer
Turned into a bummer
Over a courtroom scenario
Canadian weather gets an ovation
For summer pickleball in the nation
But playing conditions are poor
In one town driven indoor
By a neighborhood noise violation
Closing courts in summer? Obscene
The judge’s ruling was mean
With no pickle to play
Outside every day
Canadians get fat on poutine
The pickleballers hearts did break
In a Canadian town on the lake
When a judge ruled no way
Could they continue to play
Over sound their paddle did make
Abuzz was the courthouse corridor
The ruling couldn’t be horrid-er
No outside pickle for years
Canadians burst into tears
While others left early for Florida
MURMURS FROM THE LOSERS’ BRACKET
Read past editions of Murmurs from the Losers’ Bracket, including:
- The Ozempic Ad
- Ball On Court? Maybe Not
- The PPA, the APP and Monty Python
- Time to Get Help at Bangers Anonymous
- “It’s an Injury Sport”
- A Pickleball Translation Guide
- What’s Your Pickleball Nickname?
- Tennis the Menace
- Is There Such a Thing as “Pickleball Torture”?
- How to Be an Effective Pickleball Snob
- All You Need Is Glove
- The Lesson McDonald’s French Fries Have for Pickleball
- Tunes on the Court
Frank Cerabino is a long-time columnist for the Palm Beach Post in Florida, a pickleball addict like the rest of us, and a newly published author. Check out Frank’s newly released book, I Dink, Therefore I Am: Coming to Grips with My Pickleball Addiction (available on Amazon and a great read (or gift!) for any pickleball player), for pickleball tips and laughs!