Gazing down the row, I take note of the ponies peering out of the stalls, like they want to contribute to the conversation. We have new ponies this season, and it’s always a delicate balancing act on who to play first. The games are so fast, and the ponies work hard. Not to mention, it’s against the polo rules to play ponies two chukkas in a row.
We try not to play them twice in a match. But six chukkas, four riders, that’s a lot of ponies to transport.
Therefore, just like the Olympic relay teams, it’s always good to have the fastest ponies in the first and last chukkas. One of the key jobs for the grooms is to have ponies ready in case we switch out mid-chukka and to know which ones to pass over.
“How does this sound? Maverick, Violet, Exodus, and Messiah for the first chukka. Mars, Dandelion, Clover, and Lemondrop for the second. Then we see how we’re going.”
Juan nods, solemnly, his permanently furrowed brow deepening. “Agree.”
“Everyone else?”
They all nod in sync, and the grooms take off to ready them, passing a tournament official walking down the stable path with our tournament cards.
“Foxleigh Flyers, you’re up in thirty minutes on pitch number one. Arrive three minutes early. Any substitutions need to be filled on the card,” she says with no-nonsense brusqueness before walking away just as quickly.
We have just enough time to change into our team shirts while the first four ponies are brought out. When Ruby reemerges, she’s added navy and pale blue ribbons to her braids, and fuck me if it doesn’t knock me blindside.
“I thought it was cute.” She shrugs, mistaking my expression for apathy when in reality I want to drag her into the nearest stable and kiss her until her knees give way.
“That’s one word for it.”
Jack, Billy, Juan, and I mount up. Ruby passes my mallet to me, and we all walk down the path to the pitch to await our announcement. Diego sprints off to the stewards box to hand our cards in with no substitutions.
“Remember, strong wrists, elbows in, bump hard. Play tough, play clean. Don’t let up on defense,” I say. “Up to now, the matches have been a breeze. This won’t be. Tom Sadler’s on the opposing team, and he likes to ride hard down the left. Get between him and the boards. Hook him clean to get the ball off. Remember what we practiced.”
Ruby drops a kiss on Maverick’s nose. “Good luck, my boy.”
“Do I get one of those too?” I ask before I can stop myself, but it lessens the tension in my chest nonetheless.
She peers up at me, and after a brief pause, she purses her lips, presses her fingertips to them, then blows a kiss in my direction.
“You don’t need luck, though. You’re lifting that Cup,” she says, as our names are called, and we gallop onto the pitch for the semi-final.
The first chukka is polite—we get our bearings—and neither team scores. But by the second, we’ve switched ponies and all gloves are off. Billy scores the first goal, though unfortunately, it’s followed by a home goal off the hoof of Dandelion.
Ruby and Diego stand on the side, watching for any slipups and areas we can improve. They cheer and scream instructions, and even though the crowds are loud Ruby is louder. I hear every word.
By the third, we’ve leveled the score, and by the fourth, we edge ahead. For a team returning from injury, theGrasshoppers play better than expected, and the score is nail-bitingly close through the sixth and final chukka.
We scrape through the game by the skin of our teeth, the score of the semi-final ending 4–3 to the Foxleigh Flyers, and we walk off the field exhausted but relieved.
The ponies are handed off to the grooms, and we collapse into the clubhouse for a much-needed rest.
“Fucking hell,” Jack says. “That was too close for my liking. We should’ve played much stronger than that.”
I scrub a hand down my face. I agree with him, but I also don’t want to sound pessimistic or discouraging. Maybe we’ve gotten too cocky the past few weeks, with easy wins against weaker teams. The matches we’ve played definitely haven’t been as cutthroat, that’s for sure.
Instead of replying, I turn to Ruby and Diego.
“What do you think?”
I can see hesitation on Ruby’s face, teeth strumming her lip. I don’t know if she’s still intimidated by Juan, Jack, and Billy, or if she’s unsure whether she has anything worth adding.
“Ruby,” I say. “Say what you have to say.”
“Okay.” She narrows her eyes on me and takes a deep breath. “Miles, you hog the ball too much. Billy was open so many times, and you didn’t pass. Twice we missed scoring opportunities because of it, and by the time you finally took the shot, your angle was wrong, and it went wide.”
I blink. Guess she’s not intimidated, after all.
