View from the Kitchen: The Perks of Being President

I was recently honored to be elected PRESIDENT of the CSPA pickleball club. I’m told I beat out several worthy opponents, including a 4.0 player, a high school gym teacher, and a very intelligent border collie who, frankly, had a stronger serve than I have.

To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure how I won. My campaign slogan – “More Courts, Less Arguing About Kitchen Violations” – may have struck a nerve. Either that or the incriminating photos I had of my opponents deliberately stacking paddles out of order.

Either way, the people have spoken. And I have to say… I’m a little disappointed. As president, I was fully expecting at least a few of the standard perks that come with the presidential title. For example, I had assumed I’d receive a private helicopter for official club business. I had already decided to name it Lob Force One.

At the very minimum, I figured I’d get a black SUV limousine with my personal chauffeur and those little flags on the fenders to shuttle me between courts during peak rec play. But nope. I’m still driving my 2014 Hyundai, and the only "security detail" I have is a loose muffler that rattles loud enough to alert the neighbors of my arrival.

And the office situation? Not great. I was hoping for something along the lines of an Oval Office. Maybe a large desk where I could sign official documents like “Executive Order #1: No lobs before 9:00 a.m.” When I was informed that my "Executive Suite" would continue to be my house's man cave and that my "War Room" was just a folding chair in the garage next to a bag of lawn fertilizer, well, you can imagine my disappointment.

And no administrative assistant either, let alone a Press Secretary. Which means I am now responsible for everything, including answering emails that begin with, “Quick question about the upcoming ladder tournament…”or “who is that weird old guy playing with the ‘El Presidente’ t-shirt?”

I was, however, informed that I would receive round-the-clock security. This turns out to be nothing more than my five house cats. While I appreciate their service, I have concerns. None of them have shown any ability to enforce foot faults, and if an intruder shows up with a laser pointer, we are completely compromised.

I had also heard that other presidents get a private bowling alley. I did not. What I got instead was a $2.00 off coupon for Twin City Lanes in Stanwood. Which, to be fair, is still more valuable than most of the advice I get during rec play. And I get a LOT.

I expected a few other standard presidential amenities that so far have failed to materialize:

Pardon Power: I assumed I’d be able to officially pardon any of my own foot faults (which my editor tells me I do constantly) or serves that hit the net. Apparently, the "Rules Committee" (which is just Gladys and her clipboard) doesn't recognize executive clemency.

The Nuclear Football: I was looking for a somber military aide to carry a briefcase containing the "Launch Codes" for our new automated ball machine. Instead, I was given the four-digit combination to the equipment shed – which turned out to be the code from 2019 so it no longer works.

Another surprise – no Secret Service. I had assumed I’d at least get a couple of highly trained agents to follow me around the courts, stepping in anytime someone questioned my call that their shot was out. Instead, I’ve been told I should “just handle those situations diplomatically,” which is apparently code for “don’t make another scene, Tim.”

And perhaps most disappointing of all, I do not have the authority to instantly resolve the eternal pickleball debate: “What exactly is a 3.5 player?” I was really hoping that came with the job.

So yes, there have been some adjustments. But despite the shocking lack of helicopters, motorcades, chefs, assistants, and line-call enforcement teams, I remain committed to serving this club to the very best of my ability.

And let me be clear – I will not accept any bribes… unless, of course, someone insists on gifting me a brand-new 2026 Mercedes-Benz S-Class Maybach. In which case, I would not want to appear rude.

While the perks of being your president haven’t exactly rolled in yet, I remain optimistic. I’m still holding out hope. I haven't heard back yet on my request for a Presidential Library, but I've already started clearing a shelf in the man cave for my collection of back-issues of "Pickleball Magazine," my Camano Pickleball t-shirt from 2021, and a few slightly used tubes of Bengay.  And a rack of cracked balls. A legacy has to start somewhere.

– Tim Jones [Check out more of Tim’s View from the Bleachers humor column in the Crab Cracker, at www.ViewFromTheBleachers.net and his YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/viewfromthebleachers]