Polo match sounds, sights and smells grip my senses.
The huge vista of the polo field unfolds before my eyes. Green turf closely mowed.
Bright white wooden tables, chairs and tents stream along the sidelines.
Beautiful rich women abound. Floppy brimmed hats everywhere.
A young brunette, kicks off her black spikes. Sits. She crosses her long smooth tanned legs under a tight silky black skirt that rises well above mid thigh. The whift of intoxicating perfume wafts in the air.
Hustling tall trim men wearing creased cream slacks and snug blue blazers hug around. Right arms bent holding glass stems.
Pop! Pop! Corks fly. Champagne bubbles.
Smiling. Chatting. Hugging. Kissing.
Powerful polo ponies thunder high-speed down the polo field. Hooves flying. Dirt divots hang in mid air.
Aggressive and skillful testosterone laden macho men grip the animal’s reins.
Colorful hard wooden mallets wildly swing against the royal blue sky. Thwack!
Fast passes rip a white ball down the field. Smack! Winning goal. Chukker ends.
Pumped egos dismount from sweat stained saddles.
Nothing like the Sport of Kings in Buenos Aires.