Sleeves

Stepping outside the usual pickleball conversation for one post. A dad emailed me this morning out of nowhere. His son Solomon died last week. He was a teenager in Washington, NC who fell in love with pickleball this past year and played with his friends every night until midnight, on tennis courts, because their town has two bad courts and no lights. His parents are building courts in his name. Lights, real surfaces, covered, public, free. Somewhere the next group of kids can stay out too late doing something good. Cameron didn't ask me for money. He asked if I'd get Solomon's name in front of people who'd understand what those late night sessions meant. So here it is. Solomon Boltes. Give if you can, share if you can't. Both help. Links below.