the 7 ages of pol0 My decision to stop playing seasons away from my family has been a long time coming. While objectives evolved over this time, for 26 years now my polo career has been a pretty single-minded pursuit. What was I pursuing? In 1987, on graduating from college, I sought travel and fluency in a new language, as well as the adrenaline which always coursed through me during competitive sports. This brought me – then a 4-goal – to Argentina with a few phone numbers and the vague aim of improving enough to get to play a season or two professionally in Palm Beach. Through the guidance of Juan Martin Zavaleta, I ended up on an overnight bus to Trenque Lauquen. The morning I arrived at ‘El Pucará’, after assigning me a saddle, two bridles and a racing crop, Hector Barrantes pointed to one of dozens of dirt corrals and
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gave me my marching orders: ‘There are your eight horses. Ride them every day and always have a reason for what you are doing.’ Aged 23, I knew I was starting late. But ‘in this sport, it’s not how many years you’ve been playing, it’s how many hours you’ve sat on a horse,’ Hector told us one night as we sat around the asado. That winter, I got to play Florida on the 22-goal Airstream team with Alfonso Pieres, who was at the pinnacle of the sport. Even though my season was cut short by a crash that broke my collarbone and dislocated my thumb, playing with Alfonso opened up opportunities that set me on a path of rapid improvement. In 1989, I married Shelley Onderdonk and decided to stop polo and seek more traditional work – Shelley was headed to Hong Kong for a two-year teaching fellowship, and I couldn’t continue my itinerant career. My Hong Kong
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textiles job came through my friend and polo patron, Brook Johnson, and did not last long. I bought two suits and studied the industry as best I could, but I never completed a ‘greige goods’ transaction. One day, weeks after our arrival, Shelley found me standing on a chair with a 52in Villamil, bouncing tennis balls off the walls of our Kowloon Tong apartment. When Brook phoned to invite me to play the following summer with him and Owen Rinehart for CS Brooks in the UK, I jumped at the chance. In 1990, I played my first of five summers in England. We lost the quarter-finals of the Gold Cup in the 8th chukka on Lawns, with widened goals. After the season, I was raised to 8-goals. And I still didn’t own a horse. At this point, I don’t think I was pursuing anything in particular, but rather responding to opportunities that allowed me to continue
david lominska
While growing older in the game may bring its challenges, it also brings illuminating new insights, says former 10-goaler Adam Snow
