The seven ages of polo

My decision to stop playing seasons away from my family has been a long time coming. While objectives evolved over this time, for 26 years now my polo career has been a pretty single-minded pursuit. What was I pursuing?

In 1987, on graduating from college, I sought travel and fluency in a new language, as well as the adrenaline which always coursed through me during competitive sports. This brought me – then a 4-goal – to Argentina with a few phone numbers and the vague aim of improving enough to get to play a season or two professionally in Palm Beach.

Through the guidance of Juan Martin Zavaleta, I ended up on an overnight bus to Trenque Lauquen. The morning I arrived at ‘El Pucará’, after assigning me a saddle, two bridles and a racing crop, Hector Barrantes pointed to one of dozens of dirt corrals and gave me my marching orders: ‘There are your eight horses. Ride them every day and always have a reason for what you are doing.’ Aged 23, I knew I was starting late. But ‘in this sport, it’s not how many years you’ve been playing, it’s how many hours you’ve sat on a horse,’ Hector told us one night as we sat around the asado.

That winter, I got to play Florida on the 22-goal Airstream team with Alfonso Pieres, who was at the pinnacle of the sport. Even though my season was cut short by a crash that broke my collarbone and dislocated my thumb, playing with Alfonso opened up opportunities that set me on a path of rapid improvement.

In 1989, I married Shelley Onderdonk and decided to stop polo and seek more traditional work – Shelley was headed to Hong Kong for a two-year teaching fellowship, and I couldn’t continue my itinerant career. My Hong Kong textiles job came through my friend and polo patron, Brook Johnson, and did not last long. I bought two suits and studied the industry as best I could, but I never completed a ‘greige goods’ transaction. One day, weeks after our arrival, Shelley found me standing on a chair with a 52in Villamil, bouncing tennis balls off the walls of our Kowloon Tong apartment. When Brook phoned to invite me to play the following summer with him and Owen Rinehart for CS Brooks in the UK, I jumped at the chance.

In 1990, I played my first of five summers in England. We lost the quarter-finals of the Gold Cup in the 8th chukka on Lawns, with widened goals. After the season, I was raised to 8-goals. And I still didn’t own a horse.

At this point, I don’t think I was pursuing anything in particular, but rather responding to opportunities that allowed me to continue

and our four-month-old son, Dylan, travelling to Oklahoma with my groom, Fermine Carbello, and eight horses on the US summer circuit. And I almost got fired for asking to play a mare – Sue Ellen – to help my string.

The following winter, I drove my rig down to Florida. I left the farm with no job. Between Titusville and Vero Beach, I finalised a deal over the phone. But soon after, smoke started spewing from my trailer and I docked on the edge of I-95 to find an axle melted to the wheel hub. Much later, I limped into my Gulfstream barn rental with only one functioning axle and a plank propping up the defunct wheel.

At the national handicap meeting in October, I got lowered from 8 to 7. And the fast-track I’d enjoyed – particularly before I started making my own horses – was officially over. I was 32 years old and I had peaked.

This hiccup forced me to re-evaluate what I was doing and why. If I had fulfilled my potential, did I want to continue? I wasn’t sure what I was pursuing any more. Income? It was better before I owned my own horses. Adrenaline? I still got it from playing men’sleague hockey. My father’s admonishment that ‘you can do more with your education’ resounded somewhere in the back of my head. But we owned a farm in Aiken, I had 12 horses and, as for a different career, I wouldn’t have known where to begin.

Serendipitously, I received a phone call from Stiliani Chroni, known as Ani, a student of sports psychology at UVA, who asked for an interview. She flew to Florida and met my teammates Memo, Owen, Hector, Julio, Mike and me for what turned out to be her PhD thesis, Competitiveness in the Sport of Polo. Through hours of questioning, and hearing my own limiting answers, I became interested in what I could learn from her field of expertise. I had played sports – hockey and lacrosse as well as polo – my whole life and understood I was decent because I worked harder than others, yet I had done zero work on my mental game.

To my ears, ‘sports psychologist’ had an awkward ring, so, after hiring Ani, I introduced her to teammates and friends as ‘my mental coach’. Fairly quickly, I latched onto a Reinhold Niebuhr quote about distractions: ‘Give me the serenity to let go of things I cannot change, the courage to change things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’ And, rather than being jealous of higher-rated Argentine players, I learnt to appreciate their skills and looked for what I could learn. My excuse of ‘how can I compete when they play 30-goal polo all the time? ’ turned into an asset: ‘Just think how good I am without having played the Argentine Open! ’ And if the Argentine Open was such a big deal in my mind, then I had to find a way to play it.

The details of my work with Ani could fill a book. But, in essence, it was about thinking effectively about whatever aim was in sight – and that target shifted over the years. Initially, it felt like being back in school, but I liked putting my mind to work. For the first time in my professional career, I committed fully. I was pursuing excellence and, eventually, a perfect 10 – even though it looked a way off.

For several years, I had it all. Shelley graduated from veterinary school and committed to travelling with me until Dylan reached 5th grade, when we felt a consistent school and peers needed to take priority. We bought a house in Florida and upgraded to a 110-acre farm in Aiken, where polo on Langdon Road proved an ideal venue for finishing horses.

I had a circle of support around me that was incredible. Shelley was with me as wife, mother and top performance vet. I had loyal grooms in Bento and Bete Da Silva, a mental coach, good teammates, and sponsors who understood my

objectives. Jonathan Ingram allowed me to buy horses I played in the 1999 Argentine Open; Michael Price loaned me his best horse, Jasmine, for the 2001 Florida season, and John Goodman backed me to bring my family and horses to Buenos Aires for the 2004 Argentine Opens with IPC. On the field, I partnered with Ruben Sola, Julio Arellano, Tiger Kneece, Owen Rinehart, Mariano Gonzalez and Miguel Novillo Astrada. And I prepared to the T for each match. I was also spoilt by the quality of horses I got to play: Hale Bopp, Pumbaa, Chloe, Amy, Bag Lady, Tequila and Jill. Take away all the excuses and it was easy to play well.

In the spring of 2001 with Templeton, we beat Outback in the quarter-finals of the Gold Cup – and I think it was Adolfo’s only loss of the season. The following year with Coca-Cola we won seven straight games to capture the US Open – still a personal highlight. During my first year on 10-goals, our 26-goal team did not win a game, but winning tournaments in Boca Raton and Santa Barbara felt like some validation. It was a huge privilege to play in the Outback and other 40-goal exhibitions for three years alongside the world’s best. My main concern in my first 40-goal was that no one would want to buy my shirt in the auction afterwards. Christine Cato, thank you!

In 2006, my handicap started to decline and my new pursuit became experiencing the surge I got from playing my best. In her short story about a bull-rider, Annie Proulx describes it as ‘that blazing feeling of real existence’.

Now my family was based in Aiken for the school year, Ani instilled the concept that quality not quantity was the new objective. I got selective about which tournaments I chose to play away from home and cut down from three strings to two. But ageing isn’t easy. Some of my strengths – like quickness – weren’t as strong. In 2009, Sapo shot by me to score a goal in a key 26-goal match – and I was on my best horse! Shelley’s ‘Honey, they’re half your age out there’ over the phone that night was the new reality. And getting the yips about taking 30-yard penalties became a problem – and a source of family jokes.

Alfonso told me about ageing gracefully: ‘Don’t fight the natural handicap decline.’ And, indeed, each year I went down, I had great opportunities – winning the US Open in 2006, losing the 2009 finals OT, and, recently, wins in Aiken and Santa Barbara. Today, being on the farm – and caring for our house, horses and children – feels productive. And being away for long seasons on my own – even with the ‘blazing feeling’ of playing, which comes as readily in an Aiken 14-goal as in the US Open in Florida – does not. Last week, Dylan left for his first year of college while I prepared far away for my next game. ‘Nothing but polo’ is no longer enough, now I know what I’m missing.

On New Haven Farm, we are naturalbreeding two to three of my favourite retired mares. I’m training their offspring, as well as the young players who pass through Aiken in the Team USPA programme. I’ve begun compiling boxes of notes and journals with the goal of getting some of these experiences down on paper. And I will continue playing quality polo when it fits with my new objectives.

While I don’t know what this new transition will bring, I prefer to take the first step myself and, as Niebuhr wrote, have the courage to change things I can – while I still can.

Left Adam playing for winning team, Mansour, in the 2013 America’s Cup, Santa Barbara, CA.