"RIDE HIM OFF!"

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 25, 6 March 1914, Page 2

"RIDE HIM OFF!"

POLO, AND A CUP FINAL HARD RIDERS ON SHORT-BACKED PONIES. STICKS BROKEN, BUT NO HEADS. [Specially written for The Sun.} Eight incorrigible riders on - eight desperately anxious ponies hunting a fleeting white ball; a battery of elegant automobiles looking on: that 's a polo match. Other people and other things form the' background—including relays of mounts. The occasion is the Rhodes Cup final. It is a repetition of the Wars of the Roses'—red versus white. Pierce hard j . riding, a-fighting with stieks, wild faces of wild horsemen, thud of hooves, collision and rebound, impetuous animals that, with the weight thrown on the bit heavily, reef for a moment and then pirouette on their hind legs—it is exhilarating play in which none / gives or expects quarter. It is a game for men only—and Heaven look after the. ponies. If you have never felt a horse leaping "beneathyou; if you, have no delight in a high-powered Bobrikoff hurtling roiind the home bend, and stretching up the

straight/ then a real, clashing game of „ polo will not give you nightmare. But, v if you be fond of a . well-bred, welltrained animal, the Rhodes Cup flnal

was a business to be seen. i There'was no "Maltese Cat" (oh, ' tfiat Most subtle, : most cunning of polo ' ponies!) on the field on Wednesda;

•yBat » meaii looking, tubby chestnut "with the regulation short back, with a plain head: attached to a strong neek powerful shoulders, played a knowing game. At his best, he was

not a racehorse, and when he got slow' }.he was slow. As, urged to his top, he / ;irattled down the field, he nudged a rival that was running neck and neck ivith him. chestnut 's remarks yrere plainly audible above even the mingled oaths .trying to the temper, yott must kjcfow—of the riders. I mighty strong in the quari&iß, you Darkie, but I'm in this.'' The white ball trickled ahead. The wild horsemen stirrup-iron to stirrupiron, banged away, concentrating on the white pitch that was coming to = rest on the green. "You're mighty

: smart,'' snapped the chestnut, as he leaned all Ms weight on the - blofro .mouse-coloured rival, "but you are tip" against one who has gone through nftHfe touriiaments than you aretlikely to hear of. Keep over a bit, there will ■. you!

Clearly, it was a ease ofridingyour man off, and the ponies bumped and bumped so that a mart who wore red and another in' white rushed yards wide of the ball. At the back, hell-for-lfeather, clattered the supports, who, also, neck and neck, swooped down, and on© rider with a sinewy forearm, flicked the ball with a back hand shot in field again. And, as the chestnut, blowing more than he cared to Bhow, spun round to have a look at things, he panted: "You're running out of your class, Darkie. Pon my word, yop look as though someone had stolen you ©ut of the 'long paddock' and given you some hard food occasionally. Personally, I fetched 300 guineas, I've never been thrown, and there's my pedigree- " Just here an Elworthy, at the gallop, hooked the ball good and hard. It rose •on • a flat trajectory, and took the chestnut sternly on the flank. The battle descended. The play was in midfield. A red and a white singled them- * selves out, detached themselves from the main bunch, and chased the white patch. It was a short, sharp sprint, a miniature Newmarket, with no betting. Bed, on the right, poises his stick for the shot. Behind them, is another hard-' riding pair. On the outside hovers another, couple of polo outlaws, scrutinising a possible miss. How the leaders go, and the pair behind them! The good old leaning, bustling, ridingoffgame is worked so effectively that the ball is overran. The ;inext line of attack comes on at full gallop, arms working, heels niggling; "Hell! " exclaims a.red (whose turn is yet to come) as the second lot wheels wide, thanks to tactics. And he explodes again, "Hell!" as the, ,bftU is oveT-ridden once more, and ' hfe unleashes his mount, with ap. on Ms heels. lie descends on tl|e |bal], a length" to the good. There's a flash of a stick, and, ere the headstrong" three- . quarter thoroughbred is pulled up 011 his haunches spurs are applied,'and the pack is. iii fall" cry. again.

Or it may happen in this w*ty: a case > of defence become attack. The teams ' are level. The ponied liave gdne off, and fresh ones mounted. A rush—two broi en sticks testify to its earnestaeßß—has settled down to a mel6e &

few yards out of the goal moutli. Riders burst rocket-like out of the ; crush, and, having missed the trail, re[turn with a picturesque swerve of pawling front legs. A hoof dribbles the | ball a little further out until it clears the crush. Somebody in red swoops | suddenly and fiercely, strikes, lands, and J —"He's away," pipes a stable lad on ; the line. It is a clean get-a-way. j While the others are disentangling, the leader worries his mount along —a real flying-start. When the others sit down to ride, a red has burst across halfway on a tiring pony, its head nodding, its tail (this one's tail is not "banged") swishing—a sure sign of weariness. The lean man, with the long limbs—a hard, dashing horseman —measures the next shot as he goes, and the ball is a whitewashed streak

on the green. One must not stop to take breath here. The goal is unprotected, undefended. How they ride! Tired-legs in front is beginning to go up and down in the same place, the pursuers are closing up, gesticulating, exclaiming, exhorting, appealing. Now they are right on top of the chase —a swirl of horseflesh, free-reined and impetuous, when,

*'* Crack! " , It's the last and only ehancfe. The ball is headed to travel just inside the post. There's a flash of white, as one of the enemy rushes into the lead to save a seore. As he fails by a yard or two, his pony brushes the post violently, and a breathless stampede of flying hooves accompanies him over the line into the long grass.

A bell tinkles, announcing the end of a spell. "By Lupin (the chestnut always swore by Lupin, being an imported anim&l), but I've got a proper palpitation," he gasped to his whilom foe, Darkie, as, riderless, they trotted-bff to -be rubbed down. The mouse-eoloured Peninsula-bred quadruped rolled his eyes startlingly the while his lungs clamoured for oxygen. The play went on. The hard riders, joii other ponies, clashed in close conflict, broke up, and streamed at all sorts of giddy angles up,; down, and across the field; Here a red, shirt fought with fa too; impetuoiia animal, and cursed because ' out-ridden. There a mulish l3^4i^s¥eet ; (for pqlo) small horsb messed up an open shot by a ISut through all there was a vision of men with easy grace and splendid carriage/showing no daylight between seat and the saddle even on most thrilling swefep after a curving ball. Ribs are rattled, shots pelted against flanks,

melees precipitated and dissipated, goals won, goals lost, and a coveted cup won and lost too. When the victors had exchanged congratulations, and the defeated had dismounted a little stiffly, their minds devoted to a serious retrospection, I passed two ponies on the way out. "I've got the best of short backs, I fetched 300 guineas, and I've never let a man off yet"—it was the chestnut boasting. "Aw," scoffed the Peninsula-bred thing, munching a green mouthful.

"A great game," observed the chestnut, with more humility. "You had all the luck," snarled the mouse-coloured quadruped. "If I hadn't stumbled "

That was all. It was great play—play fit only for the big men.

If you wish to know more about the game, there is |he encyclopaedia, which will tell you how it was a soldier's pastime, introduced into England by the 10th Hussars after the tragic mutiny, and so on. For the purposes of this argument, a pony can be a small horse, please remember. —THE BLOQUEt