An Eventful Polo Match - One of the best times of our life, in Johannesburg!

 A Royal Afternoon at the Polo Grounds

August 25, 2013. Waterfall Polo Park, Johannesburg.

The sun was bright, the air crisp with the last whispers of winter, and fate – ever the mischievous playwright – had conspired to place my wife and me among the Royals and the Rich. One of our prestigious business associates had generously slipped us tickets to the BMW International Polo Test Series’ second and final test: South Africa vs. Chile. 

Cricket and Rugby matches were a common fare for me to get treated to, and reciprocally, I too invited a lot of guests during the time IPL (Indian Premier League) was compulsorily hosted in South Africa. But Polo, Eish! This was my first!

We arrived with enthusiasm, ushered into the hospitality marquee where the shade was cool, the chatter warm, and the glasses never empty. The match began with thunderous hooves and the crack of mallets, a ballet of muscle and precision. South Africa, our team, carried our cheers; Chile, the visitors, carried history – five tours, no victories on South African soil.

The first half was a deadlock, 4-4, déjà vu from Durban’s earlier test. It looked less like a sporting contest and more like a polite diplomatic exchange: “You score, we score, let’s not upset anyone.” But in the final chukkas, the Chileans delivered a masterful display of strategy. Their horses seemed to glide, their strokes sharper, their intent undeniable. By the end, the scoreboard read 9-7. History had been rewritten: Chile, champions at last on South African turf.

Yet, while the field was drenched in sweat and triumph, the marquee was drenched in something far more intoxicating. Amber, transparent, ruby-red liquids flowed like rivers, quenching parched throats. Beer sulked in the corner while wines and spirits ruled the roost. The food? A vegetarian’s Mediterranean dream – Italian pastas, European salads, platters of a variety of cheese paired with wine, and desserts that could make one forget the scoreline entirely. I can’t describe the non-vegetarian fare much, as I am a vegetarian! But looking at those who kept digging into these dishes, I am sure they enjoyed the spread.

The crowd was a spectacle of its own. South Africa’s glitterati paraded their haute couture with the kind of confidence that made you wonder if the polo match was merely a backdrop for their fashion show. We, the “lesser mortals,” found joy in simpler victories: a couple of pictures with the team and the venerable John Robbie of 94.7 FM. Proof that we had mingled with greatness, even if greatness didn’t notice.

        

     

      

      

As the trophy gleamed in Chilean hands, we bid farewell to friends old and new, trudging back to our car with the quiet satisfaction of having witnessed history – and having feasted like kings while doing so. I was surprised by my business associate, who handed over a bottle of my favourite cognac, which I cherished till the last drop, and a memento to my wife, too! Thanks, buddy!

That day etched itself into memory not just as a sporting milestone, but as a reminder of serendipity: how a casual business associate’s gesture could place us in the midst of grandeur, laughter, and legacy. Even now, when I think of polo, I don’t just recall the score – I recall the taste of tiramisu, baklava, and a host of other desserts, the clink of glasses, the rustle of silk dresses, and the thunder of hooves fading into the Johannesburg sun.