Words: Jamie Barber
Photo’s by Sam Cooper http://thepigeonemporium.bigcartel.com/
Damon, you have some splainin’ to do. As much as I hate the draconian enforcement of rules, your stickers had mixed up a storm of anarchy. 1st of July 2012 will go down in history as one of the most frantic and hilariously fucked up days of polo. Mallets would be broken, nemesis would be formed and I would be voted the worst captain in the history of Australian bench minors. Clearly I had picked the wrong day to quit drinking.
The day started out relatively tame. The word was out for polo to start at midday, something went wrong on the space time continuum and there were over 10 people when I got to the court at 12; if this wasn’t a bad omen, I don’t know what is. After a month of rainy Sundays, people were keen to have a hit. The age vs beauty tournament was scheduled for 3pm, so we made haste and smashed out a couple of league and pickup matches.
Entry was 5$, people gave their age and we divided everyone into 2 teams. The aim was to raise some cash for the ‘Aftermath’ bench minor tournament. It was to be the old and wise , captained by the effervescent Andrew (Andy-Tightpeeny) Tipene versus the young and the Beautiful captained by none other than Jamie (the people’s champion) Barber. I had 12 trusty warriors at my disposal, ranging in age from 20 to 27. Rules were discussed and promptly forgotten, our armor was applied and we mounted our steeds for battle.
It was instantly apparent I was the wrong man for the job of captain. We quickly ceded 5 goals to the goal scoring machine that is Domenico and Handsome Rob. We clawed back 2 goals before the first quarter was finished to end 5-2.
The second quarter started much better, with Elliot Wykeham slotting in a 1 touch masterpiece through some geriatric’s goalhole, giving us the steam to add another 3 unanswered goals to the score line. It soon became apparent that these fools had resorted to doping as the score line started to widen. I could not give Andrew the satisfaction of winning. Something had to be done. We snuck an extra player on to the pitch and then quickly brought the numbers back to three. The referee was too busy changing the continence pads of our aged adversaries and the ball found the back of the metaphorical net, a decisive goal for your beautiful heroes. (NOT SURE OF THE 2nd QUARTER SCORE.)
The 3rd quarter was the ladies time to shine. Smoking goals from Ali, Phoebe, Kristine brought us within a few goals of our elderly enemies. Morag pulled off arguably one of the finest can openers of all time, making Handsome Rob and his lifelong partner Dom dab and letting Ali punch one through. Someone slipped a few Viagra in the Oldie’s prune juice however and soon they were starting to score a few more unanswered goals.
It was obviously time for more cheating. We had Kristine Phoebe and Morag line up for the beginning of the last and arguably most intense quarter. My final ridiculous plan had the girls quickly charge for the sideline rather than the ball for a full team substitution. My previous rouse had proven that our oppositions Alzheimer’s ridden brains could not deal with much more confusion and that goals could be scored. Against the advise of my safety adviser Dylan, I went ahead with the plan. What happened next was a reminder of why Leftie’s shouldn’t joust. Leftie Ben collided with Scottie. Two became one in a horrific scene of carnage. Luckily Ben’s panty dropping visage had been left intact, unluckily Scott did not manage to break another hip and played on. The goal difference was too much to claw back and our wizened elders were left to take home non existent trophies.
On behalf of everyone in Brisbane, we can’t wait to have everyone up for Aftermath, you will have a hell of a time.