Polo

When I first came to St Andrews last September, I was immediately thrown into an environment with a predominant social milieu that previously I had had zero contact with...posh people. Although the stereotype of St Andrews being entirely an enclave of Rah-types is completely ass, it's impossible not to encounter their influence in this small seaside town. Somehow, I've managed to fall into a weird, Twilight Zone style, space-between-spaces, kind of situation where I can flit between that world and my own meek, state-educated upbringing. On those occasions where our paths tend to interact, like at formal balls, I do still find it difficult though, to shake off the impression of being Jack Dawson, venturing out from steerage and up onto the First Class decks of the Titanic.


So when my new flatmate invited me to come along to her Charity Polo Tournament that the University Polo Club was organising, I was a little unenthusiastic to say the least. Even excusing the small matter of me not knowing anything about the sport and how it is played, or never even having drunk a glass of Pimm's before in my life, I instantly conjured that stereotypical mental picture in my head of the cast of Made In Chelsea, big hats, Range Rovers etc with me, sticking out like Mel Gibson at a screening of Schindler's List.


However, what convinced me to tag along was that the whole event was in aid of such a worthwhile cause, Help For Heroes, providing vital assistance for wounded and ex-servicemen/women, a cause that does not get nearly enough attention devoted to it in the corridors of Westminster as it really should. My conscience was cleared significantly by this.


Also, people who know me well understand that I've got an adventurous drive wired into me so I'm always willing to give new experiences a whirl. ("Kangaroo burgers? Fuck it, why not?") So, after a quick detour to the charity shops (sorry, vintage clothing stores) on South Street and emerging besuited in a snazzy Tweed jacket and bow tie, (bow ties are cool) I hit the playing fields.


I was stupid to have been worried about anything since my first ever polo tournament turned out to be one of the most fun, enjoyable spectator sports I've witnessed.


Upon arrival, an array of gazebos had been erected along the edge of the pitch, perfect for bringing along a hamper filled with Tesco's finest for a picnic. Even if you'd forgotten a blanket, there were several bales of hay to sit on, adding a rustic, quaint atmosphere to proceedings. Refreshments came courtesy of Rascals Bar, where I helped myself to several cool glasses of Pimm's that did not disappoint. Burgers and hot dogs were also readily available...om nom nom.

Although the Tweed Brigade was most definitely well represented at this event, I never felt for an instant that I'd wormed my way into some elitist snobfest. The conversations I had with the other people there and some of the Polo Club members were informative and relatable, only adding to the general air of being in the presence of good company today.


The entertainment was top dollar as well. Aside from just the sheer joy of hearing the sonorous tones of some of the commentators (the kind of, archaic, old-fashioned voices that one only receives from being brought up at an all-boys boarding school, followed by countless years of National Service), there was also a pipe band; uh, a bit of dubstep pumped through the loudspeakers; and best of all, a live performance from St Andrews' premier male acapella group The Other Guys who treated everyone to renditions of a Backstreet Boys mash-up, their 2011 viral hit, Royal Romance (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAlnM7RUDcA) and excitingly, their forthcoming Katy Perry parody, St Andrews Gurls.

But what did I make of the actual equine part of today's proceedings? Fortunately, any dumbass like me could pick up the general rules of the game fairly quickly and before I knew it, I was shouting out PUNT IT! and CHUKKA! like a seasoned pro. Just the simple sight of watching the players gallop majestically across the field, thwacking a wee ball is more than enough to turn even the most cynical hack into a foaming uberfan. Oh yeah, and we totally kicked Edinburgh's ass in the varsity match. Yay us!


The only letdown was the gloriously miserable, oh-so-familiar, Scottish East Coast weather that left many a spectator frostbitten and with pointy icicle nipples (just me?). And as is usually the case, I didn't really feel the inkling to try and take up polo as a pastime afterwards. Being given the chance to punt a ball on a wooden model horse is certainly fun, but why do I get the impression that that simulation differs wildly from the reality of having a live animal nestled between your thighs, charging down the field with seven other players nearly crashing into your little horsey? For now at least, I'm content to stick with being a spectator of this sport.


All in all, the St Andrews Charity Polo Tournament was a smashing spectacle that did much to shatter my pre-existing mindset on the sport and showed off the best of what this little town can offer.