The Sport of Kings

Caroline Graham Swann

May is upon us. May, the merry month of sunshine, blossoms turning into tender green leaves, school being out for the summer, kids’ kicking their shoes off to run through clover, and the sport of kings, polo.

Polo is a favorite sport of mine. As a spectator, my goodness, this southern belle could never have the prowess it takes for a sport where the player and horse must become one. To watch the noble majestic horses, so well-groomed, and the most masculine men, dressed in the signature white britches, display such extreme skill in an ancient sport is thrilling. At one time during the history of this ancient sport only kings and royalty were permitted the pleasure of the match.

Times have changed and most anyone that can afford a string (about 12) polo ponies, the maintenance of them, and the equipment (truck, horse trailer, groom, vet bills, travel expenses) can have the pleasure of regularly playing polo (perhaps times haven’t changed too much).

I have always loved horses. As a child, “Black Beauty” was my favorite book. Handsome athletic men on horseback is another favorite of mine. Naturally, polo captured my interest. Shortly after moving back to Tennessee from New York City, and to my delight, I discovered Knoxville had a polo team. To make a long story short, I became the Social Chairman for the Knoxville team.

What amazing fun and adventure followed. The visiting polo teams were invited to be weekend guests at my home, and new friendships were formed during the chatter and laughter. During one weekend a very brave polo player, who was also a champion rodeo rider, was a guest. He was so macho until he heard the ghost stories about this historical house. Apparently he could not sleep for thinking about the ghosts, and crept into the room of a fellow team member (armed in full with pillow and blanket), and proceeded to sleep on the floor. Next morning his polo pal awakened and there lay the bravest of the brave asleep on the floor. Surprised, his pal asked the obvious question: why was his friend asleep on the floor in his room? Answer? “The ghost kept touching my face and I was afraid.” Over steaming mugs of coffee in the kitchen, the pal let slip the macho man’s fear to the rest of the household. Laughter rang loud and long throughout the rest of the week end, because it was so out of character for this fearless rider of horses and bulls. To this day he is teased about the ghosts!

I’ll not forget the beauty of a special polo event I attended, where a huge white tent with flag flying served as a romantic picture of ancient polo matches. Ladies in the most beautiful hats and dresses sipped sparkling champagne in crystal glasses, and were escorted by gentlemen in suave silk ties and designer suits. String music played under the tent, and the aroma of a feast being prepared by a select caterer, to be served on fine china, of course, filled the air.

Yes, it was romantic and beautiful… with one exception. Rain. It rained so hard it ran down the hill in waves of chilly water, flowing under the open tent. The water rushed so furiously that shoes (pretty, elegant, expensive designer shoes) were soon filled with sloshing muddy water, all while ladies were scrambling to stand on the tables before it reached hem level of their elegant, expensive dresses. No amount of fashion advice could help these poor ladies. Sometimes, you’re just out of luck. Chaos ruled the tent, and gave me a memory I will never forget! And was only one day’s worth of memories of the sport of kings (both muddy and dry): polo.