The Days Of

It came back in a flash, when I was cleaning out a dresser drawer. Tucked away inside the small dark area, within a handmade leather belt buckle, with a hand painted picture of Mike and me on the front of it , swinging at a ball, our number…22, were memories of Mikes & my Polo days.

I held the belt buckle gently in my hands and admired the craftsmanship of the stamped letters, “Ranchers Daughters Polo Team” and the laced edges. Then awed by the good shape it’s still in after 25 years even with the wear and tear of me wearing it. I turned it over and the initials J.M reminded me who made it, Julie Milazzo dated 1984.

I remembered the pride I felt wearing it. I was a polo player. Teamed with Mike, my ½ Arab Quarter horse (who I received as 15th birthday present, when he was 6 months old). He and I were the team of choice from the three horses I used to play polo. We played center or forward 98% of the time and he usually played all the chukkers too.

Mike, somewhat lazy, except when playing polo, morphed into a different horse, when his 1500-pound, 16 hand frame came alive with zeal at the thought of the game. He loved the game of indoor Hockey on Horseback. He loved running and chasing the ball. Hitting the other players hard, sometimes even when I didn’t want him to. I trusted Mike totally, not really needing the reins to guide him, as he followed the ball, watched the walls, let me hang off his side as I reached for the ball, and he kept an eye on the other players, while I concentrated on getting the ball to the goal. He told me through his body what was going on around me so that I could act accordingly. What a great partner he was.

He and I were voted MVP’s, if I recall, 3 times, playing a 90 minute game of speed, chasing and hitting a ball, running hard, riding other players off and getting the ball through the goalie. It was a game of breathing heavy, sweat running from my brow and he and the other horses getting covered with lathered sweat, even in 20-degree and sometimes colder weather, making a fog hover around the arena lights giving it an mystical hue.

It was the days of no fat and hard muscle on our bodies, cantering Mike and my other polo horses at least 4 miles a day. Days of loading three horses 3-4 times in week in the midst of winters snows and cold, trucking, blanketing, and putting hoods on them to keep them warm, to take us all to practice and games. It was the days of cooling horses with 3-4 layers of cooling blankets, removing the top layer when it could no longer wick away the moisture, till their coats were dry, before trucking them home, so they wouldn’t catch cold.

It was the days of much liniment, (for both horse and rider), sore muscles, carefully wrapped horses legs, chaps, spurs, gaming reins, tightened helmets, dirty jeans and faces, wrapped polo mallets, and camaraderie after a hard game of competitiveness. A game that made friend’s adversaries on the polo field and adversaries…team players.

It was the days of running your horse at 30 mph hitting the ball trying to make a goal, doing tail shots, under the belly and neck shots. One hit shots down the wall, bank shots, stopping the other players mallet, elbowing, riding off and sitting in the penalty box (I may have been in there a ‘few’ times) for unnecessary roughness, hooking, crossing the line of the ball, or talking back at the judges.

It was the days, when your horse was your partner and your partner always came first.
It was the days…of fun, late nights, and early mornings and days of going to work after a practice or game, wrapped and bound because you played to hard, sprained an ankle, jammed an elbow or jaw, got hit by a mallet or a spur raked down you calf. It was the days of black and blues, many visits to the chiropractor for you and warm compresses for your horse because you and he took a tumble while running full speed after the ball. It was the days when not only you cared about your horse, but your horse cared about you and did his best when you and he fell, not to land on you, resulting in a sore back for him.

It was the days…of when Joe said, “Uh…no way. What…you nuts… I’m not going for the ball, Kellie and Mike are coming for it. They’re like a freight train coming full steam ahead. I ain’t getting in their way, trying to take that ball. They can have the goal”.

I think even Russ McCray (he and his wife owned ‘The Ranch’) might be spending time in heaven with Mike, because it was the days of, when the first time Russ ever saw Mike play polo, his words were as he rolled a cigarette… “Well… I’m impressed. I would have never in a million years, thought that THIS horse, usually a ding bat Arab, desert donkey, and I know horses, could do what I just saw him do. Stop, spin, follow the ball and run like the wind. Yes I am impressed, very impressed.”

So here’s to you Mike, a high hoof… to one of the best partners I ever had in the, (I don’t know if I could do it now), fun days OF.