A few weeks ago, as I waited for my valise at baggage claim in Palm Beach, I saw the ad for the weekly polo matches that take place in Wellington and thought that maybe, after all these years, it was time to see what Grace has been talking about for so long.
So that Sunday, I left Palm Beach after being there four days and ventured to the land-side Palm Beach offshoot, Wellington. This little gem about thirty minutes from the Breakers between the hellish nightmare of those gated communities and strip malls filled with bad chain restaurants and an awful TJ Maxx in West Palm Beach and the swamp-filled fun fest that is the Everglades is the self-proclaimed horse capital of the world. The distance (and exposure to really grotesque architecture) aside, Wellington is a perfectly wonderful place.
The planners of its gated communities decided that golf courses were too Boca for such an equine area, so they replaced the fairways and sand traps with polo fields and stables. And you thought a precocious twelve year-old at golf camp on summer whacking a golf ball going into your living room window was bad; imagine the mess that a polo ball makes when that same kid sends one through the window after hitting it with that mallet! All I can say about that is, well… you’re the idiot who volunteered to live on a polo field.
Anyway, aside from these gated polo communities, Wellington is home to the world-famous Palm Beach International Equestrian Festival, which is so much nicer than the dumps Grace used to go for horse shows. But I wasn’t there to view faux-Italian architecture or to find a horseback-riding wife. No, I was there for polo.
It’s been called the sport of kings, and rightfully so. It’s expensive beyond belief (those horses don’t come cheap, you know), potentially dangerous, can only be played in spectacular settings like the Great Windsor Park at Windsor Castle or on snow in St. Moritz. Oh yeah, and did I mention that it’s actually played by some members of royalty? That and one of the few loves of Grace’s life, Nacho Figueras. Polo is so much more than the logo on the shirt that made Ralph Lipchitz Ralph Lauren. It’s given us the chukka, the most outrageous hat since Oddjob’s bowler hat and well, the polo shirt. To put it quite simply, polo is a lifestyle, and it’s a lifestyle I very much enjoy.
Now I went to my first polo match at the International Polo Club of Palm Beach thinking that it would be just like that scene in the original Thomas Crown Affair with Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway. Aside from the addition of a “grandstand” that makes the Rollins grandstand on the soccer field look big and more corporate sponsorship, it kind of was just like the movie:
The few tailgaters at the match were clearly doing something right with their bottles of champagne (which I quickly discovered was the unofficial official drink of polo), real linens and actual cutlery, china and crystal while the rest of us non-members were seated on benches literally two feet from the field. Members were seated behind us mere mortals in the small, more luxurious viewing stand that offers them a much better view of the playing field. But so what it wasn’t that easy to watch what was happening throughout the match. It’s so much more about the experience of being there.
So there I was in my Stubbs and while the match was taking place, I began looking around the field and there were the most tasteful corporate sponsor signs I’ve ever seen. Instead of the Home Depot, Bud Light and Dodge ads, there were tasteful signs for Aston Martin, Piaget (who also sponsors the home team), the Four Seasons of Palm Beach, and Veuve Clicquot. It was like a dream come true, only it kept getting better.
After the first three of the six chukkers, it was time for the time-honored polo tradition called divot stomping. As an incentive to get us all out on the field, though, the wonderful folks at the International Polo Club lured us all out there with champagne! That’s right, THEY GIVE YOU FREE CHAMPAGNE JSUT FOR WALKING OUT ON A FIELD. Just make sure to mind the horse manure, though.
It’s clear that the level of “enthusiasm,” which is a word I use very loosely as this is the same crowd that does the golf clap, dips a little during the final three chukkers but it was nonetheless entertaining. The announcers reminded me of those local news sports anchors with the random jokes that make sense to only them. That said, they made the whole game lively.
What was most surprising was that for a sport that on the outside seem so pretentious, it didn’t really seem that way at all. In fact, it was very relaxed and fun and something I think everyone should give a shot. Heart-racing it is not. It will not have y’all screaming and crying during the last 30 seconds (college football) because it does move at a slower pace as there are men on horses with sticks and things stay in the same little area for long periods of time. But there are moments when you wonder if he’s gonna get that ball into the goal and they can get Muffy to put her G&T down and watch with some intensity to see if the home team Piaget will score that goal.
If y’all would like to see what all the WASPy excitement is about, then head out to the International Polo Club of Palm Beach in Wellington.
For the 2013 season, matches open to the public will be played every Sunday through April 21st. Matches start at 15h0 and it’s $5 to park and $30 for a seat on a wooden bench down in front of the “grandstand,” just a few steps from the action on the field. And if y’all choose to go, just remember that this is the satellite branch of Palm Beach so casual dressing is really an oxford and colored shorts. Now if you want to get a better view, you have to either be a member of the club or you can try and get invited to join the club. If anyone who belongs is reading this, please feel free to contact me in the comments section below because I would LOVE to join!
In conclusion, Grace, I’m so sorry I waited so long to finally go to a polo match because it was a life-changing event. I may not entierly understand how it’s played yet, but I’ll get it, eventually.
Until next time…
JD
The Yapper 