Australia's newest Polo players

Polo - sport of the elite, played by the handsome, watched by the champagne sippers and synonymous with Argentina. Sounds positively fabulous sweetie darling!

Until I reached Buenos Aires, my experience with Polo was limited to watching Julia Roberts get ousted as a prostitute at a posh game in Pretty Woman.

What trip to Argentina would be complete without learning to play polo? So learn we did!

First, the rules:

Aim of the game is to score the most goals
4 players each side (generally exceptionally good looking)
Each team has a captain (boss-person), a bumper (cause maximum distraction on the field), a striker (shoots, scores and most likely to get laid) and a defender (of the universe).
8 'chukkers' (periods) in a game lasting 7 minutes each.
1 ball and every player has a mallet, strictly for the right hand only.
A polo field is the equivalent of 10 football fields at 274m long by 146m wide with goal posts at each end

The smaller training ground - used during rain or for hopeless beginners like us

Argentina Polo Day offers a full day experience at a private polo club in Buenos Aires. It's a five star day that went something like this:

Welcomed with empanadas and Argentinian malbec
Watch Club players play a game of polo while the coach explains the rulesand we sip on malbec
During each chukker (explained further down), coach tries to teach us how to play through a series of polo drills with mallets and balls - all done with more malbec. So easy!
Enjoy a magnificent Argentinian Assado (BBQ) with the players and of course, more malbec
Gear and saddle up for more polo drills - this time on a horse. Drills are not so easy anymore.
Arranged into teams, positions assigned and then game time at which point the malbec has well and truly kicked in, the mallet feels like a 100kg sledge hammer, my horse is adamant I'm not a competent rider and I'm failing to see, let alone hit the pea sized ball.

Learning how it's done with a little help from Malbec

Captains discussing tactics... or simply chatting bollocks following endless Malbec?

Naturally, I was assigned to played 'bumper' and excelled in this position (see rules for 'bumper' explanation).

Sherpa held the esteemed position of Captain and striker. He held court in his leadership position and scored most of the goals (damn that Sherpa). As such, he was awarded Man of the Match. Accolades aside, I have never laughed so much as I did watching Sherpa on a horse. His enthusiasm was boundless. Unable to control his body on the rise and fall of the trot, he was bouncing up and down like a hyperactive baby in a bouncer. His heels were wildly kicking the horse and his hands were enthusiastically geeing up the horses using the reigns - priceless. However, whatever he was doing was working.

Horse back tour of the impressive private polo estate.
Ice cream, malbec, home time

Our stallions heading to a deserved dinner

Yep thats the look of a day polo'ing on Malbec!

Playing polo is hard
And not just because of the malbec. You need a strong right arm, good ball skills, ability to command a horse, nerves of steel when 500kg bolts towards you and bucketloads cash to maintain a squad of horses, stables, fields and a fierce malbec habit.

But if it was easy everyone would do it - then it would lose some of its elitist sheen. We couldn't have that happen now that I've made the team.

Special guest paragraph - By my horse, Te con Leche (tea with milk)

Oh, it's 3pm again. Amateur hour. Damn this polo club - things have slipped.

Why do they always give me the tourists? I'm an esteemed and highly awarded polo stallion for gods sake. I've played with the best and now, as if riding with club players wasn't bad enough, I'm doing extra hours with no extra carrots, dragging tourists around the field. And they won't even give me my own stable, I have to share Monte who has no regard for personal space or hygiene. My ribs are still killing me from the last shit-kicker who weighed down on my back.

Bother - here she comes. Count 3-2-1 breathe and smile. This one looks like a kicker. She doesn't even have the respect to wear the proper attire. Honestly my mother mare would turn in her grave.

Sometimes I do the tourists a favour and just follow the ball to give them some measly sense of excitement. But I'm sure as hell not going to exert myself when the Club Administration won't even do some minor due diligence to check if these clowns have ridden a horse before.

Oh well, on with the show.