There has been some literature on the internet (you know what) this week that encouraged me to explore my feelings towards bike polo. At first I thought bummed things; I didn’t feel comfortable questioning the legitimacy of the activity which I hold so dearly. But I quickly realized I was becoming the victim of the law of attraction: Yes, I’ve spent many nights and years and dollars and beers, and polo may have burnt me out once or twice. But, being burnt out ain’t that hard of a problem to solve. I mix it up, take a break, go snowboarding, hang with old friends, switch to flat pedals. You’ll feel the love. I’ll feel the love.
I love EVERYTHING about it. I love the all bike polo people and all the bike polo places. I love all the bike polo clubs, all the bike polo companies, and all the bike polo rules (except high-sticking). I love all the bike polo blogs and all the bike polo forums. I love the bike polo #hashtags and instagrams, and I especially love the bike polo nudes. I love the places bike polo has taken me. I love Burlington, Vermont, Minneapolis, Minnesota, Vancouver, British Columbia, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Montreal, Quebec, Lexington, Kentucky and Seattle, Washington. I fucking love Seattle Bike Polo. I love that polo gives me an excuse to take a long road trip or a quick weekend to the other side of the continent, no matter how broke I am. I love traveling with my bike. I love taking my bike on an airplane. I love taking off my fork when I am packing up my bike. I love putting my bike together in the airport, but not as much as I love how stoked OTHER people are when they see me putting my bike together in the airport. I love not knowing where the fuck I am when I leave a new airport on my bike. I love how when you show up to pickup from the airport, you are hanging out with the same people you would have been if you’d lived in that city your entire life.
I love riding my polo bike. I love riding in a gang filled with all sorts of other polo people and polo bikes from near and far forming a mob spanning the street in the night. I love the whirrly sound the mob makes because everyone has the same sick freewheel. I love riding TOO fast on my polo bike, skitching across the Mass. Ave. bridge or up Pine Street. Thats a guaranteed adrenaline high. I know its not safe but I just love polo too much to wait any longer to get to the court and play. I love meeting a random polo player on the street because I noticed that they’re riding a polo bike. That’s how I started playing polo in the first place.
I love all of the polo people, even if they are from New York. I love the polo people with beards and shitty tattoos, and the ones without beards or with good tattoos. I love all of the polo people from other countries who have crashed on my couch and spoke with funny accents, and who did or would let me do the same at their place. I love all of the polo people who travel across the GLOBE to play polo. I love all of the polo people who lend me bike parts when mine get fucked up. I love the polo people who share tokes of herb. I love the polo people who share swigs of booze, especially when they’re from Kentucky. I love all of the polo people I will one day meet. But more than all of these tangible things, I love how much fucking PASSION all of these polo people have.
I love bike polo even when it’s dirty. I love cheap shots, unless someone gets hurt. I love polo heckles, especially if they cut deep. I love that I’ve lost significant amounts of blood playing polo. I fucking love when I get slammed cleanly into the boards, even more when it’s by Dirks.
I love playing pickup. I love all throw-ins. I hate dabbing. I love how stoked a new player gets when they score their first goal. I love that I can spend an entire day at the polo court and not get bored. I love that it gives me an excuse to drink outside because I love drinking outside. I love that shotgunning brings us together.
I love that reggae music sounds just a bit more irie during a polo game. I love when someone is doing a jay mid court and I go stop next to them and they hold it up to my mouth. It is the perfect pit stop. I also love saving the puff in my lungs and blowing it into the opponents face as intimidation. I love trying trick shots instead of taking wide open gimme goals. I love taking long shots and I love it even more when they go in. I love when there are only six players so you never have to stop playing. I love when we keep playing during downpours. I love that we played last week, two days after a blizzard.
I love that polo love is spreading with no end in sight. -Addison
(And to prove I’m not alone and full of shit here is a small collection of photos of other people who also love bike polo):