12 C
Niagara Falls
Thursday, April 18, 2024
Letter: Pickleball Karen and the saga of the noisy courts
Letter to the editor. File


There was motion in the town, till they locked us all back down

And NOTL closed their shops and tourist stores.

But the numbers kept increasing, putting pressure on policing

And they told us we all had to stay outdoors.


Though some folk had some misgivings, most preferred to keep on living

So they modified their outdoor tennis space

Pickleball became the rage, a game to play at any age

And the P.B. Club was born there, just in case.


The game’s following increased, not one player grew deceased

Courts were jammed, though all the shops stayed mostly barren

Then one woman took a stand, she declared this must be banned.

It was the hero that we needed, Pickleball Karen.


Now her real name wasn’t Karen, could be Kim, or Kate or Sharon

It’s irrelevant, for she was heaven sent

Her complaints about the din, were ignored, to her chagrin

So she lawyered up and off to court she went.


Now there are ways and there are means, to make a point. Or so it seems

But diplomacy, we know, is for the weak.

This was no time to back down, she would sue the club and town

It was time for them to hear her bold critique.


“I’m not one to hold a grudge.  But my life’s hell,” she told the judge

And due to noise it’s hard for me to function

My nerves are quite a wreck; I can’t sit upon my deck

So I pray the court will grant me an injunction.


Her lawyer thusly plead, that the noise messed with her head

For the volume was indeed a trifle high

And the sound of whacking balls left her climbing up her walls

So he asked the judge to ban the game hereby.


And the judge, named Mary Shelley, said this case seems rather smelly

But nonetheless, the town must still comply

With the laws of God and Britain, and town’s own laws they’d written

So the volume must decrease; the game must die.


As I near the end of sonnet, there’s a padlock placed upon it

And the courts stand very silent to this day

So the case was put behind ’em, and the town and club, she fined ’em

For their impudence for letting people play.


The players are not raunchy, though since then some have grown paunchy

For they’ve taken to enjoying cups of wine.

You can’t play here, it’s a pity, though they play in the Garden City

And the villages and towns across the Line


You can play within Australia, but not here, for fear they’ll jail ya

If you should break the padlock on the gate

All the players now are banished; as for Karen, she has vanished.

Graham McMillan


Subscribe to our mailing list