Polo anyone?

I've already discussed how we're not cut out to be yankees. But that didn't stop us from going to a polo match on my birthday.

It was a perfect indian summer day, so we packed up a picnic, the dog and the whole family and off we went to tailgate and watch the event - just for kicks.

Dylan didn't drink the wine, but Dorothy, Bob and I did. I like a sport where you can drink wine.

It was really relaxing. The horse owners were all yankees. And the horses and their handlers were Argentinian. Polo horses are small as horses go, so they can maneuver on the field. My friend Lauren says that polo horses are trained to go against all of their basic instincts so they can charge in a group, go after the ball and deal with those polo mallets flailing around. They apparently will do anything their rider tells them to do - sometimes to their detriment.

No wonder this is a rich man's sport. A typical polo horse can only make it through one round of play - called a "chucker." The match that day had seven chuckers. So you don't need a horse to play polo - you need HORSES.

Brownie was funny. He didn't mind the horses but if they came close to our picnic he'd get all ferocious and bark. Just trying to protect us, I guess.

The most amusing part of the day was at halftime where they invited all of the spectators to come out and stamp down the divits.

This is a divit.

But to me the act of watching a bunch of people wandering around randomly looking down and clumsily pushing the grass around looked exactly like a field full of zombies.

Sweet horses. I used to ride when I was younger. Made me want to do it again.