As far as I have been able to bond in a chumminess with Polo as a sport, it has always been known as associated with a patrician background (I heard the British found the game being played in Pakistan and then bought it in Europe!), as I go on Googling it's genesis. It has always caught my conscience as a thrilling and a glamorous escapade, consisting of some intrepid athletes thundering down the grass at each other, where the love for the beautiful ponies and the sport always goes on surpassing the hovering danger.
It never used to be a right-handed sport, but it was the USPA which had to stick to the same, in order to shun down a possible head-on collision, as they say. Although a coquettish and opulent world for some and an infatuation for many, Polo hasn't yet been able to establish a domicile in the majestic Olympics, way back since 1936.
‘Polo is worse than cocaine, it ruins your body, ruins your pocketbook, ruins your family life, and you play it until you can play no more!’
There is indeed a modicum of truth in this refrain, owing to the sumptuosity and a very much possible jeopardy Polo as a sport beholds.
Well, Polo has certainly been enthroned with a very cathartic atrocity by the small agglomeration that preaches it. And I do simply believe that a sport not only insinuates passion within those who play it, but also drives a humongous crowd of spectators off the confines. And it is this entertainment which sounds to be much more of a legislation when it comes to the recognition the sport could ever brag of! Many in India for instance, are indeed novitiating into this alluring romance and in the years to come, I do see Polo exalt to an august cognizance.
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