Accusations of “Mafia tactics” and drones sent on intelligence-gathering missions. Insinuations of opportunistic money grubbing and data manipulation. Publicity stunts and PR manifestos. Finger pointing and noise complaints. First dibs versus finders keepers.
Television melodrama? Not quite. It’s the war between pickleball and tennis in San Diego, and it doesn’t seem to be cooling down.
Pickleball, widely regarded as the fastest-growing sport in the United States, doubled the number of players to nearly five million over the past five years, and that stratospheric growth has yet to slow. With temperate weather and a preexisting culture of outdoor activities, San Diego is an ideal place for pickleball to thrive. Thrive it has, converting players of all ages and abilities by the thousands.
The problem San Diego faces—along with the rest of the country—is where to put all the picklers clamoring for places to play. The city and county can’t build courts fast enough to meet demand, and while there are a handful of private facilities like Bobby Riggs Racket & Paddle in Encinitas, local pickleball advocates say the lack of public venues is the sport’s number one problem.
For two and a half years, coach Kevin Bacon has taught 60 new students every nine weeks how to play pickleball through the City of La Mesa Parks and Recreation department. He says everyone asks the same question: “Where can I play?” Currently, San Diego relies on a sparse, spread-out system of public pickleball courts across the county and has only one dedicated court in the city limits.
That isn’t good enough, says Bacon. “That would be like saying we’re going to build a bowling alley, but we’re going to put one lane in every park.”
pickleball
Credit: Madeline Yang
Even if the city found enough spaces and had the money to pay to develop a number of pickleball courts that would meet demand starting today, it would take years to work through the bureaucratic process of special-use permits, environmental studies, recreation councils, and other red tape before they could even break ground.
Pickleball can’t (and won’t) wait that long. That’s why they’ve turned to what they consider a fair compromise: taking over what they call “underutilized” tennis courts.
The tennis community is reluctant to cede ground in San Diego or elsewhere. “Our sport has grown 27 percent since Covid-19,” says John Broderick, president of the board of directors for the San Diego District Tennis Association.
“We’re trying to get more courts to support the additional players… we were trying to do that even before we knew this pickleball problem was going to come up.”
He says the local pickleball community’s “underutilization” argument is based on manipulated data, sometimes from drones flown over tennis courts during off-peak times. “They claim there’s 550 tennis courts in San Diego, when those courts are mostly high schools and colleges,” he points out.
pickleball, courts
Credit: Madeline Yang
“They’re not accessible to the public.” Todd Sprague is the current President of the Board at the Peninsula Tennis Club in Ocean Beach’s Robb Field, where in July 2022, a group of pickleballers staged a well-publicized sit-in in an attempt to bring awareness to pickleball’s comparative lack of venues. Even before the sit-in, or what he and Broderick call “the stunt,” he had been in negotiations with Stefan Boyland, co-founder of the group behind the protest, The Pickleball Association of San Diego, to find common ground between the two sports.
Sprague says sharing space is a last resort, not a quick fix. “They’re very different sports,” he says. “If somebody is playing a different sport next to you than the one you’re playing, it’s just distracting as heck.”
But tennis and pickleball champion Steve Dawson, coowner of Bobby Riggs, isn’t letting tennis off the hook quite so easily. “Tennis players don’t want to see pickleballers playing on tennis courts, even if tennis players are not playing,” he says. “I had tennis pros who used to call pickleball ‘redneck tennis,’ and those pros eventually left my club because they couldn’t stand the idea of pickleball gaining popularity.”
He says the city should be stepping up to squash tension between the two sports by either building new courts or making it easier for private developers to do so. But in the meantime, advocates on both sides are holding out hope that tennis and pickleball can both thrive, if not at least coexist peacefully, in a city that’s perfectly primed to embrace the pickle.
“Throughout the United States, all we have is acrimony between tennis and pickleball,” says Sprague. “We need something much better because it needs to be win-win. It can’t be win-lose.”
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
I am fairly sure they don’t let you graduate from Carlsbad High School without a W-2 from Legoland. Being a Legoland MC (Model Citizen, the employee’s moniker) is a rite of passage for all of us who grew up in North County. If you spent a day at the theme park in the 2010s, I probably pointed you toward the Granny Apple Fries or measured your height at a ride entrance.
And now we meet again. I can still point you to quality fries.
This is my first full issue as the new print editor for San Diego Magazine. But it’s not my first time here: I was an editorial intern for these pages back in 2018 (see photo). To be a part of a constant study of the city, its people, its culture, then finding the most compelling stories and bringing them to life—it was incredibly impactful and solidified my decision to pursue all of this (local, print magazine journalism) as a career. Since my internship, I’ve gotten my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the Missouri School of Journalism and worked for nearly five years at Backpacker magazine. And I’m back at San Diego Magazine, baby. There’s a real magic to narrating the lives lived and dreams dreamt in the place that built me. I am excited to be a part of building the culture of where I’m from. And, born in Tri-City Medical Center and raised in Carlsbad, I can’t think of any other place than our North County issue for me to make my grand entrance as an editor.
To me, North County isn’t just where I’m from; it’s home. Throughout the years, I have run thousands of miles (I did the math) up and down the 101 between Oceanside and Cardiff. I’ve spent thousands of dollars (an estimation, too painful to do the actual math) on BRCs—beans, rice, and cheese burritos—from Lola’s, Juanita’s, and the late, great Pollos Maria.
The stretch of land between Camp Pendleton and the 56 is easy to love. We’re quieter and a little more zenned out than our lower-latitude neighbors, sure, but we’re neither sleepy nor boring.
Do you think Scrojo, the Belly Up’s punked-out poster artist featured on page 68, could last a day somewhere boring?
What I’ve always loved about North County is that the culture shifts every couple of miles as you reach a new town. For years, the media seemed to cast the realm above the merge as a two-toned monolith: sleepy surf towns to the west, suburbs and country living to the east. The nuance of each section seemed flattened or clumped. I think you’ll see the vastly different cultures of North County in this issue—but all distinctly San Diego. Which is to say a little mellower, fewer airs, come as you are.
It’s hard to imagine that the dusty trails and vibrant, muraled alleyways of Escondido are just miles from the barefoot surfers roaming Leucadia. Even though the SDM editorial staff is made up of two lifelong locals and other longtime residents, we don’t pretend to be the experts on every street. What a good city media company does is find the people who are experts, who have a unique hyper-local perspective—and give them the stage.
So we picked six North County neighborhoods—Oceanside, Vista, San Marcos, Leucadia, Rancho Santa Fe, and Escondido—and reached out to artists, community leaders, business owners, anyone making their neighborhood brighter, and we had them describe their perfect day out and favorite things that give their neighborhoods meaning and culture. These itinerary curators included San Marcos’ Patricia Prado-Olmos, Leucadia’s Jeff Schade, Oceanside’s Aaron Crossland, Escondido’s Suzanne Nicolaisen, Rancho Santa Fe’s Charo Garcia-Acevedo, and Vista’s Steve Glaudini. If there’s anyone who lives and breathes North County, it’s them. Check out their recommendations in our feature on page 56.
This month, we’re also going back in time almost 15 years to the Big Bay Boom. Yes, that meme-ified Fourth of July fireworks show where enough pyrotechnics for a 17-minute show went off at once over San Diego Bay. Content Chief Troy Johnson remembers the day and dug back through the story for a hilarious locals’ take on the big debate: Was it the worst fireworks show of all time, or the greatest? (Page 38.)
Before I leave you to our hard work, a sentimental note. When my parents moved from St. Louis to San Diego in the early ’90s, my mom subscribed to San Diego Magazine to learn about her new neighborhood. Now, over three decades later, I’m here—on this planet and in these pages. I thought about my parents a lot as we worked on this issue. Maybe there are a couple new San Diegans reading this magazine for the first time. Maybe that’s you.
Well then, to both of us, I say, “Welcome.” Let’s do this.
Emma Veidt is an editor at San Diego Magazine. She earned her bachelor's and master's degrees from the Missouri School of Journalism. She loves running, hiking, and rock climbing, but really, she mostly loves encounters with the street cats around North Park.
“This is insane!” the guy filming it seems to proclaim. “It’s the best fireworks show ever!” a companion confirms, inspiring a debate lasting over a decade.
All told, 7,000 fireworks exploded in the span of 25 seconds over San Diego Bay on July 4, 2012. A Michael Bay amount of unison. $125,000 worth of shells, cakes, Roman candles, and skyrockets had been placed on a barge—enough for 17 minutes of decorative sky flares—and…
Boom.
The sky looked like someone had set a giant Rorschach test on fire. Or as if whatever we all see in our Rorschachs—butterflies, clowns, tongue kissing, dads—was being electrocuted and lifted heavenward, amen. It was shocking how bright it was, how much it sizzled the local cosmos. Could’ve been one of those sci-fi films where a hole is ripped open between warring universes. But angstier, more metal—the work of some methy creator in a sleeveless concert tee.
The sound?
Lou Reed once released an entire album that contained 64 minutes of mindflaying guitar screeches and machine noises. No regular songs, just a fascinating amount of ear distress. His record label reps no doubt heard the melodic outro of their careers, but everyone else was in pain and stumped. That album still sounded better than the bay did that night. The bay sounded like a god who struggled with emotional regulation had blown his speakers and was working through the anger stage of AV grief.
In the left frame of the video, a middle-aged woman is attempting to drag her husband off by the hand. In no way does he want to go, possibly because he had missed the time Roseanne Barr sung the national anthem at a Padres game, simultaneously disemboweling and amusing America through the power of song. He would not willingly abandon an equally worthy San Diego trainwreck.
Another woman in the video appears to have just filled her beer, rushing to sit down for the show. She pauses mid-sit and returns to the full and upright position to properly bear witness. What was supposed to be prolonged entertainment has been so radically shortened that she will have to find another reason to drink. Lucky for her, drinking will be the only way to adequately process.
Locals remember the conspiracy theories. People wondered if the fuses had been tripped by a saboteur who was sympathetic to dogs, fish, or the growing suspicion that late-stage capitalism is a gorgeously branded but impossible dream sustained by remarkably efficient top-tier wealth retention and the soft compliance of fireworks-watchers who can no longer afford a house, a beer, or the personal impacts of human reproduction.
Speaking of being terrified of babies, babies were terrified. The children who witnessed it probably still can’t go near a candle store. But those kids will be tougher, perfectly scarred kids. They’ll write better songs.
That night helped us absolutely dominate the national news cycle. For a hot minute, we became America’s water-skiing squirrel. Now, years later, when you Google “fireworks gone wrong,” San Diego is always a top contender, along with that poor Nebraska family who nearly wiped out a couple generations in their front yard, their minivan somehow turning into a howitzer of recreational TNT.
There is still debate as to whether Big Bay Boom 2012 is the worst or greatest fireworks show of all time. But the advanced parts of civilization arrived at the truth as quickly as the women in the video did. It was undeniably amazing.
First of all, the point of Fourth of July fireworks isn’t “the intricate choreography of sky fire over a guaranteed amount of show time.” It’s about creating a vivid memory shared with some people you like, love, or would like to love.
BBB2012 used large-scale chemical fire to create the ultimate memory.
Sure, some people who iron their jeans subjected their family to a sermon about how San Diego managed to botch America’s birthday like a Disney princess-for-hire who smelled of quite a few Sauvignons.
The rest of us saw how perfectly it nailed the actual feeling of being an American. Because only a miniscule percentage of us bake postcard apple pies where every inch of crust is perfectly laminated like the wood in an Irish bar. Very few of us can paint on par with Picasso. The rest of us—despite truly believing in our America-activated abilities to achieve greatness in almost any field of our choosing—burn pies. We try to paint only to realize it looks like our fine motor skills have entered active death.
That’s why BBB2012 was the most perfectly American fireworks show ever: A wildly ambitious idea galvanized thousands upon thousands of people to both work on it and come to hold a beer and gawk at it, only to have it fail in the most glorious TMZ-level spectacle.
America isn’t about immaculate, storyless wins. It’s about how the framework of a country is solid enough that we can accidentally detonate our entire lives—a few times—and still probably be OK.
No one has America’d quite like San Diego did on that day. It was performance art. Lou Reed’s heart slow-clapped. Any brief municipal embarrassment quickly became a pride of our people. I can only hope the same for the Nebraskan yard family whose Dodge Aerostar became a hyperactive Death Star.
P.S. Local writer Maya Kroth compiled a quite great oral history of that night for Thrillist. The bottom lines for me were—it took nine months to prepare, no one was hurt, and even though the pyrotechnics company tried to zero out the bill, Big Bay Boom founder H. P. “Sandy” Purdon refused and paid them in full. This year will mark the 25th Anniversary of the yearly Big Bay Boom.
Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
If absence makes hearts (and stomachs) grow fonder, then shuttered restaurants quickly become the hottest tickets in town—something a number of iconic institutions found out after taking very public hiatuses after historically long runs. For instance, following a lengthy (and extremely flip-floppy) closing process after 92 years in business, Las Cuatro Milpas reopened two blocks away in Mercado del Barrio. Similarly, Carlsbad butcher shop Tip Top Meats reopened in the same location (albeit a smaller space) after the death of founder Joachim “Big John” Haedrich in 2023. Finally, after a whopping decade out of business, Sami Ladeki and chef Alfie Szeprethy brought back Roppongi to its original Prospect Street space, where it was the talk of the town in the late ’90s. All came back under the same proprietors, so they weren’t third-party nostalgia-licensing deals. The algorithm may have ravaged our attention spans away from all but the newest and shiniest, but this proves there’s still hope for our collective prefrontal cortex.
Other local eateries honored their pasts by bringing in new perspectives. The Lion’s Share in Embarcadero, Milton’s Deli in Del Mar, Dudley’s Bakery in Santa Ysabel, and J-K’s Greek Cafe in La Mesa handed over the keys to new owners willing to take on a big task: maintain the soul of icons through particularly rough economic circumstances for restaurants, navigate big feelings from longtime regulars (who often don’t take kindly to change), and make some necessary changes to keep going for another few decades. Taking over a project in process can be a lot harder than starting from scratch. But building that feel-good nostalgia doesn’t happen overnight, so it sure helps to have a well-established playbook of success passed down from those who came before.
Courtesy of Sugarfish
The Expansion Class Arrives
It wasn’t just restaurant groups from Los Angeles that decided to put down roots en masse, although San Diego saw plenty of LA transplants recently (Sugarfish, Mr. Charlie’s, For the Win, Katsuya Ko, Bacari). Global brands like Chef Fei, Zuma, and Pepper Lunch have locations of their own on the way, and upscale Canadian eatery Joey joined to the inescapable gravitational pull of Westfield UTC’s culinary cosmos for its first spot in America’s Finest City. Good to see the rest of the world is catching up with what we’ve been seeing the last few years—San Diego is a dining destination already on the rise.
Choosing To Not Choose
Between the never-ending news cycle of doom and perimenopause brain fog, I’m at the stage in life where I’m more than happy to let someone else make a decision for me, especially when it comes to what’s for dinner. And based on the way a lot of menus look right now, I’m not alone. It seems like half the places I visit offer some version of a prix fixe, omakase, or tasting menu. Restaurants are embracing the curated experience to solve the problem of affordability (a fixed menu reduces food and labor costs, guarantees an acceptable check average, etc.) and critical thinking in one fell swoop. Omakase (meaning “I leave it up to you”) is far from a new concept in high-end Japanese sushi culture, but now that it’s popping up everywhere from coffee experiences to grab-and-go sushi and sandwiches, it’s gone from somewhat niche to nearly omnipresent.
Courtesy of Rikka Fika
Local Coffee Hit the World Stage
The world got an up-close look at San Diego’s coffee industry when we hosted the premier specialty coffee expo World of Coffee for the first time this April. San Diego’s long and rich coffee history stretches back to the late 19th century. Things percolated fairly quietly for around a century before really picking up steam. Today, there are nearly 200 specialty roasters and cafes across the county, with many earning national accolades like the Good Food Award (Steady State Roasting, 2020; Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, 2023, 2021, 2019, 2017, 2016), Roaster of the Year by Roast Magazine (Mostra Coffee, 2020; Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, 2012), and the Specialty Coffee Association Coffee Design Award for packaging (Rikka Fika, 2026). Now that we’ve moved past the comically insufferable coffee snob era of the early 2000s, even java newbies can feel comfortable walking into pretty much any coffee shop in San Diego, asking questions, trying a few things, and feeling confident they’re going to get great service and a great beverage.
Beth Demmon is an award-winning writer and podcaster whose work regularly appears in national outlets and San Diego Magazine. Her first book, The Beer Lover's Guide to Cider, is now available. Find out more on bethdemmon.com.
San Diego summers can be brutal. But since the hottest period is typically late summer into early fall, San Diegans still have time to prepare. The pros at Mauzy Cooling, Heating, Plumbing, and Electrical are standing by to help homeowners fortify their homes against the elements and ensure their air conditioning is as frosty as the penguins that serve as the company’s mascots.
Many homeowners underestimate the load their AC system faces, especially in the inland valleys where temperatures regularly top 100 degrees. San Diego regularly sees multi-day heatwaves each summer, and a system that struggles on the first day will likely fail by the third.Longer run times, unusual sounds or smells, and uneven cooling from room to room are all signs that your system may not survive the next hot spell.
Systems typically last 12 to 17 years, but there are exceptions. If a system is approaching that, or is already there, a professional evaluation is recommended before summer really heats up. A good rule of thumb: If you can’t remember when your system was last serviced, it’s due.
“As technology changes, systems become smarter and smarter,” says Sean O’Connor, an install manager at Mauzy with 42 years of experience. “There are a lot of people out there who will say a system’s only good for 10 years. I don’t buy that—these systems are built to last as long as they’re taken care of.”
There are also a few steps homeowners can take between services to extend the life of their system. Regularly changing a dirty filter—especially if you have kids or pets—and keeping an outdoor unit clean can help head off problems in the future, says O’Connor.
Also, be realistic about whether it’s time to replace a unit. O’Connor likens pouring money into salvaging a faulty unit with patchwork repairs and replacement parts to “tripping over a dollar to pick up a dime.” When one part fails, others are sure to follow, and newer parts may not be compatible with older units. Mauzy recommends homeowners use the 50% rule: If a repair costs more than 50% of the system’s replacement value, and the equipment is over 10 years old, replacement is usually the better long-term value. And don’t forget the ducting. An older house that was built with heat and later had air conditioning added may not have sufficient airflow, regardless of how good the system is.
Last but not least, homeowners should know who to trust when it comes to their homes. Built on three generations of professional integrity, Mauzy has grown into not just a leader for cooling, heating, plumbing, and electrical services, but a leader in the community known for supporting local nonprofits across an array of causes. To ensure complete peace of mind, Mauzy stands behind a comprehensive 12-point guarantee that outlines its commitment to outstanding service, quality equipment, expert technicians who understand how the local microclimates affect HVAC performance, and no upsells or surprises on the bill.
“We go the extra mile. That’s what sets us apart,” O’Connor says. To get a free quote today, visit mauzy.com.
The Groundlings improv theater has churned out world-famous comedic talents like Will Ferrell and Maya Rudolph. And in San Diego, a former Groundling has used that training to campaign for a higher power. The power to protect bees.
“The goal was to try and get on SNL,” says Jeff Russell of his time in the improv troupe. “[But now], I have an audience, and I get to crack jokes and be silly and entertain and educate.”
That audience? The over 4 million people who follow Mr. and Mrs. Bee Rescue in the socialmediaverse. Jeff and his wife, Julie, operate the business, which means they remove unwelcome bees without harming them and rehome them to apiaries throughout the county. Their social media is a hub of videos of Jeff peeling open car trunks, flooring, barbecues—any cozy spot for a bee to set up shop—and using smoke to coax them out of the hive (sometimes working sans gloves or protective gear).
Bees in a hive will follow their queen, so finding and moving her helps speed along the relocation process. It’s “a really hard game of Where’s Waldo,” Julie says. But there’s a secret to it: “If the bees start running completely in some random opposite direction in a hurry, then we know that the queen is probably that direction,” says Jeff. Their social videos document this process in a way that turns a reasonable nightmare (being swarmed by bees) into a form of entertainment and advocacy. The Russells spread the apian gospel, sharing why relocating bees is the only option to consider.
Since the 1960s, bee populations across the US have shrunk drastically for a slew of reasons—habitat loss (postwar industrialization led to fewer farms and crops), climate change (petulant temps affect blooming schedules), and pesticides (when used improperly, they can be toxic for bees).
Bees are also responsible for up to 75 percent of all flowering plants; 35 percent of food crops rely on animal pollinators to reproduce. So, basically, we’d be living in a flowerless world fueled by a diet of wind-pollinated oats and Red Dye 40 without them.
Jeff and Julie met on Tinder in 2016. “It would have been more appropriate if we met on Bumble,” Julie says. A photographer and graphic designer, she had no experience in a swarm of stingers before 2018. When Jeff broke his back surfing, she had no choice but to step in. Later, when she was laid off from her job in 2020, she focused on growing Mr. and Mrs. Bee Removal’s social media accounts. That’s when their business took off. These videos work. People are learning.
“Quite a lot of my customers were [initially] like, ‘Why don’t we just kill?’” Jeff says. “Now, the vast majority are like, ‘You take them alive, don’t you?’”
Emma Veidt is an editor at San Diego Magazine. She earned her bachelor's and master's degrees from the Missouri School of Journalism. She loves running, hiking, and rock climbing, but really, she mostly loves encounters with the street cats around North Park.
Rub some dirt on it. Walk it off. Be a man. The tropes and reasons for men ignoring their health and doing preventive care are many, reinforced by action heroes and generational norms. As a result, compared to American women, American men live an average of five years less, seek healthcare treatment half as often, and die by suicide nearly four times more often.
Many national campaigns have tried to change this. This year’s “Relax Your Tight End” ad from Novartis during the Super Bowl—in which NFL legends advocated for early prostate cancer screenings—was a high-profile example. Meanwhile, in San Diego, Evan Miller seems to have figured it out.
Miller founded Gameday Men’s Health in 2018 as a small clinic in Carlsbad. The idea was to create a space men would actually want to spend time in. So he built Gameday to feel more like a sports bar or a man cave—snacks, sports on oversized, high-def flat screens in the waiting room. He personalized the care for each client, made the experience more casual, and, above all, efficient. If the wait for payoff is too long, Miller says, men won’t show up for their health.
“We need to feel better quick,” he says. “So that’s where the real hook with Gameday is: It’s fast; it works quick.”
The idea has worked. Big time.
Gameday now has 430 locations spread across 46 US states and parts of Canada, with hundreds more set to open over the next three years.
Prior to Gameday, Miller—who has a Ph.D. in clinical psychology—ran Akua Mind Body, an addiction treatment center in Newport Beach. After selling the center, Miller says he searched for a new way to help his community.
He drew from his behavioral health training and dispiriting past experiences with “sketchy” men’s clinics, albeit with a slightly different concept at first.
Courtesy of Gameday Men’s Health
“My original idea for Gameday, funny enough, was men’s group therapy,” Miller says. “I wanted to put it in this ‘man cave’ environment because I knew guys wouldn’t show up otherwise.”
Initially envisioned as safe spaces to encourage men to open up emotionally, Miller pivoted to a more clinical approach with an athletic design that personally appealed to him. Soon, it evolved into a one-stop shop of compounded medication treatments for weight loss plans, hair loss treatments, anti-aging injections, sexual wellness strategies, and testosterone replacement therapy. The hotly debated trend of peptides—mini amino acid proteins that the FDA has yet to approve—has become a popular feature.
New patients undergo in-clinic assessments for testosterone and prostate levels with the goal of producing test results in just a quarter of an hour. “Our philosophy with our treatments is we only do what the research supports,” Miller says.
An Orange County native, Miller found Carlsbad to be a natural headquarters. He found a much bigger market in coastal North County of men seeking a boost—both in their marriages and their overall livelihoods. The pandemic proved to be a watershed moment, with front-yard gyms and outdoor, highly visible exercise sparking a wave of self-care. According to Cleveland Clinic, after the pandemic, about 20 percent of men started to exercise more and eat healthier, with a quarter of men reporting they scheduled more sleep and spent more time with family.
“When Covid happened, [suddenly] everyone looked in the mirror and was like, ‘I need to take care of my health; I have to do everything possible to get in shape,’” Miller says.
Two years after Gameday first began, Miller opened a second clinic in Temecula, followed by locations in Laguna Beach and Newport. Demand kept coming, so they started franchising in 2023. They sold 1,000 licenses in the first year. By 2025, they had over 400 clinics across the country.
When asked about the rapid growth, Miller cites the feedback he received along the way: “People were so excited about men’s health, cash-pay medicine, and not having to wait for insurance. They understood the model. It was for guys; it felt like ESPN meets healthcare.”
Now Miller says Gameday is starting to map out a global expansion—to Europe, Latin America, and the Middle East. Since the company first cultivated a following, Miller says there have been persistent questions about whether Gameday would ever expand its focus to include women. Their answer: Her Way.
“We only offer a very narrow menu, almost like In-N-Out Burger, because we stay in our lane, we do it really, really well, and we gain trust that way,” Miller says. “So we created the Her Way model to do the same thing for women [that] we’ve done with men.”
Her Way Health & Hormones launched in 2024 in clinics with more neutral and calming décor. With locations in Carlsbad and Mission Valley, it will officially start franchising this summer. Miller seems incapable of thinking small and expects around 1,000 Her Way locations to open nationwide within a few years.
Ryan Hardison is a freelance arts and entertainment writer and recent graduate of San Diego State. When he's not staring at his laptop, he's likely eating an adobada burrito or getting sunburnt at the beach.
Daniel A. Kaplan is a founding partner of Panakos LLP with more than three decades of civil litigation experience in both state and federal courts. Mr. Kaplan pursues and defends legal claims on behalf of companies, entrepreneurs, and business owners in high-stakes disputes. He focuses on business disputes including breach of contract, unfair competition, trade secret theft, securities disputes, fraud/misrepresentations, and employment matters.
“The best advocacy combines preparation, perspective, and a client relationship built on trust and candor.” — Daniel A. Kaplan
His clients include real estate investors, private and public corporations, and individuals seeking sophisticated legal counsel. Known for practical judgment and strategic advocacy, he works closely with an experienced and diverse legal team to protect, enforce, and defend his clients’ interests.
555 W. Beech Street, Ste. 500, San Diego, California 92101 619-8000-LAW Panakos.law
