There are five dreaded labels in the pickleball world that no one wants to wear: sandbagger, hooker (that’s a cheater on line calls, for the uninitiated), poacher, banger, and—my personal cross to bear—lobber.

Now, I can’t speak for the first four, but I’ve earned a reputation for being that last one. Yes, I lob. Sometimes more than once. Occasionally more than “socially acceptable.”

One of my partners recently suggested that I might want to cut back. Apparently, I’ve been annoying some of my fellow players. The eye rolls and glares haven’t escaped me, and I’ll admit I’ve even apologized a few times for exceeding the unofficial “lob quota.”

But here’s the thing: the lob is not the weak, outdated, sneaky shot it was once considered. Years ago, pros and commentators sneered at it. You almost never saw it on the big stage. Today? Pros lob often, and they lob well. It’s a legitimate strategy—a way to reset a point or outwit opponents who camp at the kitchen line like they’ve paid rent there.

At 73, I don’t have the hand speed or footwork of a 30-year-old tournament player. Just as a pitcher with a fading fastball learns to mix in more curveballs and off-speed junk, I mix in more lobs. For me, it’s both a survival tool and an offensive weapon.

If I lob you, take it as a compliment: it means I think you’re good enough to deserve it.

That said, I try to be mindful. I don’t lob against beginners, players with mobility challenges, or anyone who tells me they just don’t want to chase them down. I do not use the sun as my secret doubles partner, I do my best not to lob into it deliberately. (Though, if I see a wide-open chance for a clean winner? Sorry, I’m taking it. I’m not that saintly.)

At this point in my pickleball journey, I want opponents to bring their best game against me—lobs, drop shots, body-bag drives, all of it. It’s part of what makes pickleball fun and unpredictable. And when the day comes that I can no longer compete, I’ll gladly hang up my paddle and write about pickleball instead of playing it. Or maybe I’ll take up chess—where, mercifully, no one will complain about a well-timed lob