It started as the Styff Country Club — tennis, gin, and a membership roster nobody could get on. When the paddles showed up in 1973, the founder did the only sensible thing: he married the family name to the family pastime.
Styff + dinks. The lawns stayed. The martinis stayed. Most of the pretension left.
Fifty years of the club, boxed and forgotten — signs, sweaters, score cards, the 1974 rule book, a VHS nobody can play.
The contents of Storage Unit 14B were discovered after forty years of forgotten payments, administrative confusion, and remarkable luck.
Inside were thousands of artifacts documenting the rise, fall, and occasional poor decision-making of Stiffdinks Pickleball Country Club.
Everything shown here was recovered from that unit. Mostly.
Everything the storage unit gave back — the catalog, the trophy case, the afternoon nobody talks about, and the signs that pointed the way down to the basement.
Responsible for ordering trophies. Frequently ordered them before determining what event they were for.
This explains much of the collection.
Six courts, one pool, a bar that has never lost an argument, and a clubhouse that smells faintly of gin and fresh paint.
Bob and Betty Stiffdink founded the club in the spring of 1973, after returning from a vacation they described only as “life changing.” Club records contain no further details.
Bob served as Club President from 1973 until 1986. Betty served as Club President from 1973 until 1986 as well. Neither appeared aware of the arrangement.
Together they established many of the traditions still observed today, including Opening Day, Closing Day, Ladies Day, Gentlemen’s Day, and pretending not to notice when members brought cocktails onto the courts.
Bob believed every problem could be solved with a new paddle design. Between 1973 and 1982 he patented nothing, documented nothing, and built more than sixty prototypes.
Most were unsuccessful.
One exploded.
Betty ran the social side of the club with remarkable efficiency and only occasional intimidation.
Attendance at cocktail hour increased 400% during her tenure.
No official records were kept regarding how.
The club produced more advertisements than it had members. None were ever placed in a publication. All were framed and hung in the lounge, where the membership admired them between matches.
Founded in the clubhouse basement, 1982. One game at a time. Admitting it is the first step. The second is Thursdays at seven. Everyone welcome.
(The squirrel is the mascot. He has a problem too. Don't ask.)
A paddle and a martini, crossed, with a pickleball where the olive should be — and a blackletter S on the face, for Styff. The name makes the joke. The crest proves it. The spill is on purpose.