“Polo is back at the U” the flyer read. Pinned on the bulletin board in the barn where I board my horse, it advertised a champagne bunch and polo match to raise money for a new pharmacy building on campus. Because I’m not what you could call an avid participant of college sports-I’ve been to one football game in three decades-I knew this was an event I could get behind, albeit not too close to the behinds of the polo ponies lined up for action.

Back in the day, the U had its own stable and polo team. Organized by riders from Fort Douglas, the sport was abandoned in the forties when, wouldn’t you know, the Army started using Jeeps instead of beasts to cart ammo around. Reincarnated as a fundraiser, polo’s raison d’etre couldn’t be more perfect.

Thanks to history and Ralph Lauren, polo attracts, as it were, the well shod. Tickets for the champagne brunch cost $100 a pop and around 350 sold. Being horse poor, (meaning my horse has nicer shoes than I do), I got in for blogging about the event. (Thanks Chris.) There I was with the wellest of the well to dos. I know this because the women wore hats as big as those worn on derby day in Kentucky and men opted for blazers over crisp, white shirts. In short, the only guys wearing polo shirts were astride a horse.

And those horses. Watching them galloping at full tilt down the field, stopping on a dime, whirling, bumping, leaping, thumping, well, it was exciting enough for watchers to pause mid-gulp ‘da bubbly. Even a devoted Peta-ite would have to admit that these polo ponies dig their jobs. Of the many factoids associated with the sport, I learned that 85 to 90 percent of the horses used for polo are mares. This is because they give their all-all their heart, soul, athleticism, and desire-doing what they love. The riders-seven men and one woman-many from Argentina, are equally devoted to the sport. Well, you would have to be as polo is ranked the second most dangerous sport, meaning more people die each year playing it than swimming with sharks.

At halftime, I joined my husband in the general admission ($10) bleachers adjacent the grand tent. There we watched the stomping of the divots, a practical tradition wherein eager spectators stomp the sod torn up by galloping hooves and pitched mallets. Filing out eagerly onto the green field of this perfectly orchestrated event, they looked happy, content, and ready to live another day in the knowledge that a good cause was had by all.

Note: The College of Pharmacy’s Dean’s Demons won over Mark Miller’s 4Runners by a count of 15-11 in six chukkars.