The Pickleball wars have landed near my shores. The unholy paddle holders want to smack their whiffle balls on the sacred tennis courts where I have played every Saturday for nearly 30 years.

Fuckers.

I’m not a member of the place — just a guest. I have no say in how this homeowner’s association chooses to use its 8 7 tennis courts. But the battle is a brewing.

A few years ago, the tennis players gave up their second shittiest court to make way for two temporary Pickleball courts. In theory, the real men and women who play with strings and a true sports ball, could kick the whiffle kids off the courts at any time.

But in practice, few had ever seen it. Once the Pickle fuckers got their hooks into one court, they wouldn’t let go. Now they want more.

It’s been going on all over the country from Chicago to Maui. Perfectly good tennis courts and nets are being “converted” (indoctrinated) into Pickleball courts with fucked up taped lines and a slightly lower net.

Once a court goes Pickle, it never goes back. It becomes ineligible for USTA tournament play. Children and old people get confused by all the lines, and the extra nets sitting on the side are just a lawsuit waiting for someone to fall into them head first.

But the conversions continue. Pickleballers are doing better at convincing towns and private clubs to build new courts just for their “game” (I won’t fucking call it a sport). In Gilbert, they just opened 16 courts at the regional park and are building tons more in private clubs. But Pickleballers are shameless hussies that want to pimp out our tennis courts for their own sick desires.

Sure Pickleball may be more popular. Why not? It can be played without sweating or getting out of breath. People can pick up a paddle and compete in a few hours. Tennis is a real sport and takes weeks and months of practice to be good enough not to feel a deep shame and loss of self-esteem.

But any halfwit with a pair of sneakers and a paddle can hit a whiffle ball in the general direction of the court. There’s no fucking challenge in that — there should be no pride taken in getting “better” at whiffle ball. But these people walk around like they won a national tournament in two-strike kickball and their participation trophy makes them better than you.

At my local place, they want another court — or they want to take over the stadium court and cut it into 4 Pickleball courts.

“I don’t think that’s right,” one tennis friend said. He swings both ways. Don’t tell his wife, but he dabbles in the Pickle on weekends. (I can tell he feels guilty about it the way he whispers and looks away when we mention it.)

“I don’t want to volunteer for the committee that has to sort this all out. That’s a good way to get everyone mad at you,” he said.

No shit.

It’s not just the players. Neighbors hate the noise. There’s an awful “thwack” that goes through your ear, into your sinuses and sits on your fillings.

Pickleballers hire sound experts to claim the decibels are the same as tennis or talking. But machines can’t measure the pain humans feel. It’s like asking your vacuum cleaner its pain level when it sucks up a nail.

Some places have gone to quiet paddles and force Pickle fuckers to use “green zone paddles.” Doesn’t make much of a difference, but I’m sure the marketing guy at the paddle company got a nice raise out of that deal.

The neighbors hire counter experts and file suits for loss of value and call the cops for noise disturbances. Who wants to volunteer to get in the middle of that shit?

But these Pickle Fuckers won’t stop until every tennis court has a “kitchen” and the nets are low enough to clear with a whiffle ball. One court is just Czechoslovakia. They won’t be appeased. The war is coming. Look for these Pickle fascists to go marching through Poland any day now. Don’t laugh France, you’re next.