Bad days of polo just happen. Days when you want to say goodbye to the sundry pleasures of the mallet and go back to your small artisan coffee shop to serve out watered down cappuccino to hairy knuckled “underground” artists. I’d be comfortable in saying that it’s nobody’s fault but your own 9/10 times, and that you’ve just got to suck it up and take the punches.
For reference, please see my last pissy post about such a night.
While I don’t consider myself a polo superstar (superstars, for instance, would know how to pedal), I do think after a year of playing I should have the basics of the sport down.
Now, I’m not saying that I play horribly all of the time. Most nights I do pretty well for myself and, at the very least, carry my own weight on the team. But Wednesday night was literally the WORST NIGHT OF POLO I’VE EVER PLAYED OMG 4REAL.
Any play I tried to pull off failed – every pass jumbled and every shot missed. It literally got to the point that other players were attempting (I’m sure with only the best intentions) to coach me like it was my first time out. I couldn’t even get my bike to go in the direction I wanted. It’s one thing to mess up a few plays – it’s something else to think of yourself as the Hindenburg every time you try something other than sitting on the bench.
In retrospect it’s nice to know that I’ve always got a spot with the Washington Generals.
The worst part is upsetting my club. I mean – I actually back-talked Lumberjack. Who does that?!
The only thing I had going for me was knowing – the entire time – that I was being a jerk. It’s not a victory to know, kids, but it helps.
By the time I left I was fine. Horse and I grabbed some food and had an interesting encounter with a rather socially awkward person, and he made sure to not talk about my play at all (which, when you are already hating yourself, is a great idea).
Anyway – I guess this is half “accept you’ll have bad days and that’s ok,” and half “accept you’re a little git sometimes” sort of post for me. Thanks for playing along.