What is it about pickleball that made it the fastest-growing sport in the country?
Only in the Philippines can you see courts sprout inside malls. You hear the tok-tok-tok of paddles echoing through air-conditioned spaces once reserved for bazaars or food kiosks. I’ve met a few who have left their jobs to look for a warehouse that they have turned into pickleball courts. A sport once played in quiet American retirement communities has found a new home in our malls and our neighborhood parks.
I started playing pickleball because my knees could no longer handle tennis after an old injury. I thought I was done with racket sports. Then came pickleball—and it gave me a second chance.
I often see debates online that pickleball isn’t a “real” sport, and tennis players get annoyed that their courts are being converted from tennis to pickleball. Andre Agassi once joked that pickleball is where tennis players go to die—yet he’s now one of its biggest advocates. His jokes carry truth: the sport has reignited the competitive spark in many who thought their playing days were behind them.
When I started playing, I laughed and said, “I love it—it’s like tennis for old people.” (And I just happen to be part of that demographic now.) But what surprised me was how easily it pulled me into a new circle of friends. At this stage in life, I didn’t expect to find new kabarkadas—and in a sports setting, of all places. Life tends to narrow as we grow older: work, family, home, repeat. Pickleball broke that cycle for me. For the first time in years, I even wore a costume for Halloween with my new pickleball buddies. We celebrate every occasion.
Birthday party at the court
I love pickleball because this is where I met new friends—the kind who text, “Court at 8a.m.?” and suddenly your whole morning brightens.
Personalities shine through how people play. Some are calm and strategic; others go for every smash like it’s the championship point. And yes, there are those who poach your shots or obsess over medals, partnering only with the best players. It happens, on and off the court. But that’s part of the fun—watching human nature unfold in a 20 x 44-foot space.
Pickleball is a miniature version of life. You see patience, ego, generosity, pride, teamwork, and friendship all play out within a few rallies. You learn to read people not just by what they say but by how they move—how they handle a missed shot, whether they laugh it off or brood about it. It’s endlessly fascinating.
It’s also great exercise. I’ve never felt better physically. Sure, there are aches and pains after, and the scent of Salonpas and Deep Blue is my constant companion. But everything inside feels renewed. (BP, check.) My energy’s up, my mood better, and I actually look forward to sweating again. (But don’t get me started on perimenopausal sweats.) There’s something addictive about the rhythm—the rally, the strategy, the satisfying pop of a clean volley.
And let’s be honest—I love food. Pickleball gives me a perfect excuse. “I need fuel!” I tell myself before ordering dessert. “I burned 1,000 calories!” (Maybe.) But post-game meals are the best part—everyone tired, laughing, and recounting the day’s funniest shots. It’s community in its purest form. After each game, the next question is, where are we eating? Who cares about the calories we just burned? That’s why we play.
There’s always post-game eating and laughter
I’ve met people I never would have otherwise: retirees who play almost daily, young moms squeezing in games before school pickup, balikbayans comparing scenes from abroad. Pickleball erases titles and ages. On the court, we’re all equals chasing the same little yellow ball.
Sometimes it feels like high school again
Of course, there’s drama too—the small-town politics of who plays with whom, who’s forming teams for the next tournament, or who’s secretly annoyed at being left out. Sometimes it feels like high school again. But even that brings color. It reminds me that we’re still capable of passion, pettiness, and joy—even now.
Pickleball also teaches humility. Some days you can’t miss a shot; other days you can’t even serve. You learn to laugh at yourself, to let go quickly, and to say “Nice shot!” even when you’re dying inside. It keeps you grounded.
And it’s a sport that bridges generations. You’ll see a 65-year-old dinking with a 25-year-old, both having a blast. It’s not about brute strength—it’s about strategy and teamwork. I’ve watched couples rediscovering playfulness through friendly competition, and strangers becoming partners in minutes.
Most of all, there’s laughter—the real kind, belly-deep and spontaneous. The giggles after a silly rally, the collective freeze when no one knows whose ball it is, the teasing that spills over to the benches. When I think of pickleball, I think of laughter and lightness.
Sometimes I pause and realize how lucky I am to have found this community. I used to have a lot of time on my hands, and sometimes felt empty. Now I wake up early, grab my paddle, and head to the court knowing I’ll spend the next few hours moving, laughing, and feeling alive. That’s more than exercise—that’s therapy.
Pickleball may have started as a “retiree’s sport,” but it’s become so much more. It’s a space for connection, for joy, for rediscovering play. It reminds us we’re never too old to start something new, never too jaded to make new friends, never too tired to chase one more point.
Maybe that’s why it’s growing so fast—not just in numbers, but also in spirit. Beneath all the debates and racket rivalries, pickleball represents what so many of us crave: belonging, movement, laughter, and the simple thrill of showing up.
So yes—pickleball might have begun as “tennis for old people,” but what it’s become is a sport for everyone. For the tired, the curious, the hungry, the hopeful. For those who thought they’d hung up their rackets for good—only to find that life, like the game itself, still has one more rally waiting.
And that’s why I love pickleball.
