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At a polo school on the outskirts of London, a group of students learn the basics of handling polo mallets, standing on chairs to simulate the height of a horse's back. Photograph from the forthcoming book Polo: The Nomadic Tribe, by Aline Coquelle (Assouline). Mallets are usually made of manau cane, and the hardwood head is referred to as the "cigar." Spanish tennis player Tommy Robredo of Spain practices his polo swing on a wooden horse. Novice players should try to observe as many chukkers as they can—it will increase your familiarity with positioning and plays. A polo match in Pasadena, California. Polo mallets are always carried in the right hand—left-handed play was outlawed for safety in 1975. |
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Not long after I started learning to play polo, my instructor paced into the center of the high-ceilinged, circa-1916 arena at Yale University and dropped a white ball on the ground. "This is called the drill of death," he announced. "It will teach you courage, and it will teach your horses courage."
I sat, mounted on my horse, in one corner. Opposite me, at about the length of a hockey rink, stood one of the more experienced members of Yale's polo club. Our job was to charge directly at one another, in the way of medieval jousting, to see who could reach the ball first. I could see, in lucid detail, every feature of the thousand-pound bullet rushing toward me: the rider's grimly determined face and the horse's dark, almost pupil-less eyes. Most terrifyingly, I saw the rider's hand stretched all the way up to the horse's ears—the signal for it to gallop unrestrainedly.
These were not the kinds of activities I had anticipated when I had signed up for polo lessons a few months earlier, in an attempt to get back into riding after a fifteen-year absence. As a teenager growing up in rural Pennsylvania I had learned to ride dressage, a stately, slow-moving activity that is often likened to ballet on horseback. But the nearest riding center to my home in Connecticut offered polo, so I thought I would give it a try.
On my first day, I arrive at the barn in half-chaps and a pair of cheap paddock boots and set about locating a helmet, which I pulled from a dusty box in the tack room. I am advised that if I get serious about the sport I will probably want to purchase my own, one with a face mask attached ("I like teeth," are my instructor's exact words). A chalkboard on the wall informs me that I will be riding a horse named Pink and that a young woman who works at the stable will help me tack her, a good thing considering the multiple contrivances involved: draw reins (a second set of reins used for steering), a breastplate to keep the saddle from slipping, a martingale to keep the horse from throwing its head in the air, plus bell boots and protective wraps on all four legs.
Pink is short and squat; the complete opposite of the Clydesdale-like dressage horses I had ridden in my youth. Polo ponies are built for speed, strength, agility, and endurance; they are typically thoroughbreds crossed with quarter horses or the Criollo, a hardy Argentinian breed. Their manes are shorn to prevent reins from getting tangled in it, and the tail is braided in an intricate fashion, tight enough to prevent a mallet from getting caught.
Once astride, I learn how to hold the mallet—straight up in the air, with my right elbow bent at my side (all polo players are required to carry the mallet in their right hand). This is the position a sword was held in during ancient times, and the mallet indeed starts to feel as heavy as steel after the first couple of minutes.
We try out the four types of swings: the offside forehand and backhand and the nearside forehand and backhand. The offside is the right side of the horse, and the offside forehand is the easiest, most common stroke. Nearside shots involve reaching over the horse's neck and are considerably more difficult. With practice I can perform a passable offside forehand, but the first time I try to make a nearside shot, I lose my balance and go straight over the side of the horse, landing in the dirt of the arena with a bruised hip and skinned elbow. I realize I will have to adopt a different mindset than the one that dominated my dressage riding. Playing polo would be more like breezing racehorses, with the ferocity of a boxing champion and the finesse of a Tiger Woods golf swing.
Further lessons tackle skills such as hooking—using my stick to interrupt another player's swing—and bumping, or riding off, a defensive move akin to checking in hockey. When my instructor decides that I have demonstrated enough proficiency so as to not pose a hazard to myself or others, I start playing in chukkers. The basic interval of polo matches, chukkers are seven minutes in length for outdoor play, seven and a half for indoors (a full match typically lasts six chukkers outdoors, and four indoors). Players are handicapped on a system from 2 to 10 goals. Although the goalmouth is approximately the size of a small garage door, I soon learn how challenging it is to put the ball into it when three other players are intent on taking it away from you.
In a chukker, teamwork and positioning are key, and having the best player in the barn on your side is no guarantee if that person doesn't have anyone who can pick up their passes. I watch a video of my first tournament and can see clearly that I am often several lengths behind the other players, not circling back quickly enough when I miss a play, and most important, not being as aggressive as I need to be.
Frustrated, I go back to the lessons. "I want to practice the drill of death," I inform my instructor. This time, I don't even look at the other person I'm riding against—she's just a blur in my side vision. My entire focus is on the ball. I let the horse run for all it's worth, thinking that I'll worry about stopping it later, and amazingly, I reach the center first. I smack the ball forward before my opponent is even close to it.
Andrea Walker is a writer living in Norwalk, Connecticut. She is looking forward to graduating to outdoor play this summer.
Photography credits:
- © Roger Hutchings/Corbis
- © Aline Coquelle
- Julian Finney/Getty Images
- © Bruce Weber
- © Bruce Weber
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