Jaunted

The resort we stayed at actually had its own polo field, an unmarked patch out beyond the pro shop and the helicopter pad. There were bleachers, but no one was sitting in them; instead, a hearty band of spectators, far outnumbered by the clump of riders and trainers, had planted themselves just north of the halfway point between the two goals which each were big enough for a rider and horse to enter. Instead of paunchy pale dudes, the players were native Dominicans -- we heard some of them worked at the resort itself -- four of which from each team took the field.

The game is easy to follow, with the added bonus of the perceived danger of having the hard white ball and the corresponding riders shoot towards you on the sidelines (with no protective fence). Play was interrupted in the late-afternoon sun not for fouls, but rather for water breaks. After all, the horses get thirsty! On the next field over, an impromptu soccer game was picking up, but it just didn't hold the same thrills.

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