How I meet polo…I was at a BBQ at Bar’s home on Indian Mound Rd. It was late July, the dogs were in heat and the grown-ups were in rare form. As the day went on us kids threw water ballons and ate watermelon. A man showed up on horseback, his name was Steve. He was old enough to be my grandpa, and his horse’s name was George. A dark bay with no markings and a shaved mane. Being a Hunter/Jumper I questioned the man, “Why doesn’t this horse have a mane?” he replied “This dear is a polo pony.”
“A what! A polo pony, what is a polo pony and why don’t we have one? I asked my mom.
That friends is a true story, but not how I met polo…