In order to accustom them to the mallet, one rides for several days simply carrying it and waving it about, but not attempting to hit the ball. The pony jumps at first, and is very nervous, but gradually grows used to it, and after about ten days of flourishing the mallet round the head and tapping the ball gently he is ready for the game with its fierce scrimmage. As the warrior in olden times donned his armor—his helmet, breastplate, greaves, and shield—before going to war, and as his modern prototype, the football-player, prepares for battle with shoulder and thigh pads, head and ear bandages, elastic knee and ankle-bands, nose and teeth guards, so the polo pony is made ready for his part in the great contest, being booted to the knees in heavy leather leggings, which protect him from the blows of the mallet. A few ponies, the very nervous or stupid ones, wear blinders, but as a general rule they are played without them, and being able to see on either side gives them a decided advantage.
With the light English saddle instead of the heavy Mexican monstrosity which is universally used in roping cattle, the pony is led out, blanketed by the groom, who is as careful of the condition of his polo ponies as a jockey is of his race-horse. They are exercised regularly when not playing, and given as much food as they will eat, and the knowing little ponies are well aware of their true value, as one learns in hearing polo men talk, or in reading Mr. Kipling's story of the Maltese Cat.
As is the case in all fields of sport, the pony who plays for the gallery is not nearly so useful in the long-run as the quiet, sensible, steady ones who do not try to show off or play the whole game themselves. Sometimes the high-strung, nervous ponies are the very best, the quickest, and brightest, but they require most careful handling, and are apt to get flighty, to have "wheels in their heads," and to want to run, or they show every sign of equine nervous prostration. The dispositions of the ponies are as varied as those of the superior animal, man. They can be stubborn or yielding, uncertain or even-tempered, tricky or steady, plucky or cowardly, nervous or phlegmatic. They are ambitious, conceited, lazy, timid—in short, there is no human trait of character that they do not at times exhibit.
Some ponies play very well at first, and then seem to lose their nerve, and are never good for anything again.
When you know your pony's temper to be uncertain, the most cautious handling is necessary. At the first symptom of becoming wicked it is better to give in and get off.
A very fine polo pony belonging to Mr. Keene was entered in a contest in one of the horse shows. The ponies had to go in and out between posts in order to show how quickly they turned, and how well they minded the rein. After three rounds, and before the final one, Mr. Keene quietly jumped off and led his pony out of the ring. In explanation, he said that his pony had made up his mind to be nasty, and simply wouldn't go; he might spur or whip him till he was tired, but it would be of no use when he had once become exasperated and stopped short.
The same sort of temper was shown in a match at Newport. It was very close and exciting, when suddenly one of the best ponies on the ground balked. His rider could not make him budge. Time was finally called, and it took eight men five minutes to get that stubborn little beast off the field.
Outside of this uncertain temper, the most incurable faults in a polo pony are shying, and stopping on the ball instead of following, and not turning quickly enough.
They are plucky as a rule, but some ponies will play very well alone, be sharp, and turn and stop in splendid form, but will not go into a game with other ponies; the crowd seems to frighten and distress them.
Others will play a fine open game, but refuse a scrimmage, while a scrimmage is to some the cream of the whole game, and they will never give way, no matter how hard others bear against them, but stand like a Yale or Princeton line in the teeth of an onslaught.