Last Game of the Season

So today was the final polo match of the season. I hadn't originally been intending to play, given my changed economic circumnstances as of late (particularly after buying a last-minute ticket to Chicago!), but at the last minute the woman who organizes everything called and assured me I could play for free, if only I would come join in.

Admittedly I will say that this is one thing that has been diminishing my enthusiasm for polo as of late, is just how damn expensive it is. It's like what my grandmother once told me about her legendary stay in the George V in Paris. "It was so expensive, I felt terrified to actually leave the place, as we needed to stay in our hotel room and get every our money's worth out of it!" Weird that I would still suffer from this affliction even when I wasn't actually playing, but it doesn't escape my attention that polo costs a heck of a lot of money, even when I play at one of the cheapest clubs in England.

I took the train up, got picked up at the station, and made it out to the field where everyone else was parking their BMWs and Range Rovers. Got suited up for the first match, where I found I was going to be playing with two of the most agressive guys in the club. Great.

We were playing a round-robin match due to low numbers, so that meant that there were three teams playing. We played two chukkers against one team, then we had two chukkers off (my favourite position to pull in round-robins, a chance to rest!) and then played our final two chukkers against the other team. Hence everybody plays four chukkers, and the ranking is determined by adding up all of the scores.

Overall, I was a bit frustrated, for while I didn't play my worst, I certainly didn't play my best either. I ended up having quite an extensive conversation with one of my teammates at one point, as he said, "You're in a tricky spot, as this level of play is a bit above you, but you're way beyond any beginner leagues. Yet I never see you here during the week just stick-and-balling and practicing. You really need to practice more."

I couldn't deny the truth of his words. I'd been stick-and-balling only once in the entire season, and had only really practiced right in the midst of tournaments. Sometimes there's really something to be said for riding for hours, getting fit, and just practicing the same swing again and again. Practice is frustrating and can be boring at times, but also is something entirely necessary.

Unfortunately my team lost the day (although not entirely my fault), but we still had a lovely asado afterwards. I always love asado because it is such delicious meat, although it's funny how I always forget utensils at asado, just eating with my hands. It was only later that I thought, "I guess the done thing is to use a knife and fork, now isn't it?"

At the end of the day, an American woman who has lived in London for over 10 years offered to drive me home. I had to laugh, as after getting stuck in traffic, the drive took much longer than if I'd simply taken the train, but I was grateful for the conversation and company nonetheless.

Finally we parted with plans to see each other at the end-of-season dinner in London on Wednesday, and then my little haven of Argentina in England will be gone for the summer!