Snapshot of a game

By Brittany Perotti

Thud. Bang. Slap.

The players slam against the boards. Their mallets crash into each other with a clank. The sound of quick-clopping hooves pounding against dirt rings off the metal walls.

The arena smells of wet dirt - a testament to the pre-game ritual of watering down the field. The watering prevents dust from choking horses and players.

The giant animals - from bays to chestnuts - crash into each other, sandwiching players and ponies to the wall.

"It's hockey on horseback," says University of Connecticut polo coach James Dinger.

A fresh set of horses is rotated in for the next chukker. The riders and horses line up on either side of the midpoint of the field. The horses flip their lips and blow air through their noses.

They are impatient to start.

The umpire, also on horseback, stands in front of the pack - six players total. The ball, no larger than a softball and made of now-dirtied white leather, is in his hand. It is pounded by the 160-gram mallets throughout the game.

The umpire tosses the ball with a quick, snapping underhand motion. It rolls to the ground.

The game begins.

In no more than a few seconds, the race is on. The players lean over the horses, looking as if they are going to fall off. Somehow, they hold on with their legs.

The players dash toward the goal. They hold wooden mallets up high in their right hands as they race after the ball. They hold the reins in their left hands. Their bodies bob and flow with each stride of their horses.

A metal cage protects their faces as they shout to their teammates over the noise of the horses' heavy bodies pounding the dirt.

They prepare to hit the ball. Their mallets swing in a clockwise motion around their arms. Smack. The ball crashes into the boards with a thud.

The horses are excited by the game. Their heads thrash wildly.

Assistant coach Marc Tufts assures spectators that the horses love crashing into each other. Their energy betrays their 20 years of age, a fairly advanced age for a horse.

Spectators' shoulders tense. Their eyes are wide while they watch, letting out an "ooooh" each time the horses slam into each other. Sometimes, the onlookers hold their breath.

National champion banners hang around the arena. Last year's has not yet been displayed.

The players chase down the ball, bodies leaning over like jockeys. They are playing in the widest arena in New England.

This is UConn polo.