PROFILE
STEVIE ORTHWEIN Preparing for the Gold Cup in less than clement weather did not detract from the unforgettable experience of competing, says Stevie Orthwein ILLUSTRATION PHIL DISLEY
There I was, standing in a 17th-century English meeting hall, watching the pouring rain continuously drip down the Veuve Clicquotbannered windows. It was a familiar sight as the last seven days had been the same with the next seven days promising more downpours and soggier fields. Next to me stood my teammates, Will Johnston, Alejandro Novillo Astrada and Lucas James. Besides wondering when the sun was coming out, I was thinking to myself, ‘How did I get here?’ I didn’t have a lot of time to answer the question as my rainy reverie was broken up by the moderator calling me to the front of the room to determine our team’s fate in the Gold Cup. ‘Bracket B,’ I called out, smiling at my teammates. To my surprise, instead of warm, smiling faces, I saw anger and despair. I had just drawn Cambiaso for our first game followed by the Merlos brothers, Pablo MacDonough and Javier Novillo Astrada in later fixtures. Over the next few days, as the excitement of the draw subsided and we came to terms with the monster teams we had been fated to play, we settled down to the business of preparing for our matches. Given the deluge that had plagued southern England the previous weeks, practice grounds were in short supply so preparation meant stick and balling or riding in the ring at Trippetts. After a few days of struggling in the arena, Will received a call from Luke Tomlinson of the Salkeld squad saying they had a field and wanted a scrimmage. The field was at a remote club called Knepp Castle and we were given the postcode to enter into the satnav. As the satnav led us down absurdly narrow roads that are only typical of England and Middle Earth, I became
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sceptical of its accuracy when I remembered a previous debacle that had led me to a Windsor Castle pub in London while trying to find Windsor Castle, but on this particular occasion it steered us in the right direction.
From the first throw-in, we recognised that this was no ordinary polo game
As we pulled up to the field we saw the familiar faces of Luke Tomlinson, James Beim, and José Donoso. They introduced us to their teammate, Nick Clarke and we all exchanged warm greetings. Everyone we met in England was so welcoming. Given this was our first real scrimmage, Will and I were eager to demonstrate what kind of players we were. Unfortunately, that day we demonstrated we were the kind of players that did not belong in the Gold Cup. Early in the game I was slow to turn and embarrassingly T-boned José and things sort of spiralled downward from there. To say we lost the practice would be a gross understatement. At times, we could feel the Salkeld squad’s embarrassment for us. Walking off the field, all I could think about was Nick Clarke blowing past me scoring goal after goal. As we drove away, Luke Tomlinson said reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, it’s
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just the first practice. It can only get better.’ I was less than reassured and began to wonder what I was doing in England. Later that week, after recovering from our less than stellar practice performance, Will and I went to watch the opening matches of the tournament. We had both heard a lot about the intensity of the Gold Cup, but of course wanted to see it for ourselves. Just a few months earlier we had played together at the 20-goal level in Florida and seen most of the 26-goal matches that year so we felt pretty confident about how high-goal polo was played. The first match we attended was La Bamba de Areco against Les Lions, the Pieres brothers against Merlos brothers. From the first throw-in, we recognised that this was no ordinary polo game. The players played with an unmatched intensity and physical determination that we had not seen in Florida that year. Sebastian Merlos threw bumps the way that only he knows how. The kind of bumps you hear from the sidelines and make you cringe. I distinctly remember thinking to myself, ‘We have to play these guys?’ At the half, I turned to Will and said, ‘We are in deep s***!’ His only response was, ‘These guys are crazy!’ Needless to say, we both started to question what exactly we were doing in England. After many rain-soaked days and various stops and starts for practices, the day of our first game arrived. Coca-Cola v Dubai, Coca-Cola v Cambiaso, Coca-Cola v the best player in the world. This was both the moment I waited for and the moment I dreaded. As Will and I drove to the field that day you would have thought we were driving to our own executions.
