Now that’s what I call a polo pony….

Ever played or watched polo?  You know, the frightfully civilized game of the rich and famous…lots of deeply tanned, god-like, glamorous people, girls daintily treading divots in their Ferragamos, drinking Pimms and Veuve whilst the chaps gallop up and down on a succession of terribly expensive ponies whacking a little white ball.  Yes, that’s it…polo.

If so, good for you – can I borrow your private jet sometime?

If not, all is not lost.  I’ve found a slightly cheaper alternative.  Elephant polo.  The dress code is much more relaxed (trust me you don’t want to go anywhere near an elephant polo field wearing expensive shoes – the divots you’ll find there are best avoided or you’ll find yourself up to your knees in a pile of something unmentionable).  The ball is a common soccer ball and the mallets are about 5 meters long and bendy and about as easy to use as a golf club made out of drinking straws and a bowling ball. 

You have an elephant driver on board with you (a bit like a Melbourne taxi driver in that he’ll go pretty much the opposite direction to the one you want no matter how loud you scream, shout and point) and the pace is much slower.  In fact it’s possible to have an afternoon nap and read the first three chapters of War and Peace in the time it takes for the elephant to reach the ball.

Apart from that, it’s every bit as exciting as the real thing and I don’t think I have ever laughed so much as when I was on the back of that elephant.  It’s not a game for the feint hearted – 6 elephants heading for the same soccer ball can be a little intimidating – not to mention the risk of 6 complete idiots trying to master the use of a 5 meter bendy mallet without falling off.  On the plus side, falling off is harder than you think and can be less painful than anticipated if you’re lucky enough to land in one of the aforementioned ‘divots’.

Add to the mix the magic of a ride through the hills to the sound of a distant flute on the way to the polo field and the fanfare of a full marching band when you arrive and I guarantee you one of the most memorable sporting experiences of your life.

Who needs to be a millionaire when you can simply hop on the back of your elephant daahhhling.

 

New York New York

I wasn’t sure of the best way to incentivise 70 people to go for a jog around Central Park before breakfast on a cold wintery morning in March.  It was a toss up between offering them free access to a waffle stand or a post run ride in an ambulance.  The waffle stand was cheaper

As part of our ‘see New York like a New Yorker’ plan, day 3 was spent indulging in a range of sporting activities.

It started with a little light exercise in the park whilst our puffing guides pointed out the sights (well OK, the guides were pretty fit, we were the puffers).  There were random encounters with the infamous New York dog walkers struggling with their possies of pampered pooches (all wearing tshirts with our client’s logo on the back – the dogs that is, not the dog walkers) and  our client’s mascot was spotted doing star jumps and leg lunges of Jane Fonda like quality on a nearby hill.   And, as previously mentioned, if the exercise hadn’t done us enough harm, then the ‘waffles with everything’ nearly finished the job.

Undeterred by aching muscles and indigestion we forged on.  Next stop…a private session on the ice rink at Rockefeller Plaza.  Surprisingly few wipe outs, one subsequently diagnosed fractured coccyx (but that was the other trip manager so doesn’t count) and just the odd pair of wet trousers later we had to face our toughest challenge….avoiding the St Patrick’s Day parade madness.  I don’t think it’s an olympic event…but it should be.  You have to dodge, skip, run, jump, reverse, slow, slow, quick quick slow and that’s just in getting past the first pub.  The other street sport is in in not losing half the girls into the shops.  I should get a gold medal in that.

And to complete our sporting day…. a Knicks Game at Madison Square Gardens.  Wow…there’s never a dull moment at those things, you can’t even go to the bathroom in case you miss a competition or the t-shirt cannons, or your name flashing up on the boards.  Of course, it’s possible to do the whole corprorate box thingy but it’s soooooo much more fun being out in the war zone, buying your own dogs and beer!  It’s funny though,  everyone seemed to just disappear when I suggested working off the hotdogs with another run around the park the next morning.