Sport of Kings

We saw a new road, then post holes and then fencing going up on a beautiful green hill, and then building began and we dreaded the subdivision surely to be built there, but that did not happen: the building stopped with one 16-horse stable and one house. It's a polo-pony farm or haven, and via road signs it invites the public to polo matches. I didn't know the first thing about it so ahead of time I drove up to the stable and got advice: bring a lawn chair; a match lasts two hours; general admission is $10, more if I wanted to sit beneath a canopy; park the car in the pasture.

I returned prepared. The polo field is huge, at least twice the size of a football field, and the action very far away. One team far overmatched the other; the latter was given a one-point handicap, but at the end of the first part the score was already 4-1.

I didn't know what to wear--it didn't matter--but had seen photos of big hats at polo matches and brought my biggest sun hat and was glad I did because the "stands" faced the June sun and all exposed skin was visibly broiling. I'd poured a nip of Jameson's into my water bottle and enjoyed the show but mostly the idea that now I've been to a polo match.

Why the Long Face?

I can't befriend a horse without thinking of the joke (and laughing, every time): "A horse walks into a bar, and the bartender says, 'Why the long face?'" Met this horse on today's early-morning walk. This horse's friend is wearing a fly mask to protect the tender eyes and ears it cannot protect on its own.

Some jokes never get old. One time a friend and I were arguing about nature and he passionately demanded, "Do you know the lifecycle of the cicada?" I replied, "No, but if you hum a few bars, I'll fake it," and that makes me laugh still.