Luckily, since my pants barely allow me to sit down and I'm taking irony to a new level by making it ironic not to have an ironic mustache (even for girls!), I'm in the know. And now that I've been officially maimed and wounded, I'm in this strange club of bike fools for life. Indeed, the gaping wound on my knuckle shows that the pavement, my delicious [beverage] and my left hand are now true blood brothers. Well, sisters actually, but considering word on the street and proof on the Web is that a certain fixie-oriented Internet site (a source that may or may not help to organize these polo nights) are a bunch of sexist, yet slightly effeminate weirdos, we'll just go with brothers. (Seriously! They REJECTED my plea to become a member of their apparently secret society, which I've unironically dubbed Skull and Scones, because, as I was told by a source that shall go unnamed, I'm a girl. Hmph.)
And so it seems, not unlike the Wu-Tang Clan (but also not really like them either), DC Bike Polo ain't nothin' to f*ck with. You will get hurt. You will fall down. You will be laughed at.
But then you'll also be asked to come again. And the head of Skull and Scones will apologize profusely to you for having rejected your previous membership application, blaming it instead on some other dick who used to handle those requests. And perhaps most importantly, you will meet a crazy little blipster named XXXXXXXX who will put down his giant can of [beverage] just long enough to ask if he can "see your phone" so he can very conspicuously call his own phone from it in order to steal your number. (Sidebar: Remind me to record all future conversations with Sherwood, as I'm sure he would make delightful blog fodder.)
All in all, as dumb as it seems (and those are the words of the 6-year-old girl standing at the fence telling her friend, "That looks dumb!" as she pointed to the game), bike polo really was a good time. Then again, any time you get to chillax out of doors in sunny weather is a good time...
But getting back to the actual sport, allow me to describe it. A bunch of dudes ride around in circles on their special no-gear, sometimes no-brake bicycles, whacking a rubber ball between giant orange traffic cones with modified ski poles. Jesus, that 6-year-old was frickin' observant...
But like I said, it's an opportunity for you to chillax out of doors in sunny weather. In fact, it's a whopportunity, which means I suppose there's a moral to this story: If you're a girl, don't be intimidated (or is that intimihated?!) by the Skull and Scones boy's club. There's a bike for everyone to ride around on like an idiot while you harm yourself and 6-year-old's mock you from afar. See you guys every XXXXXXX and XXXXXXXX at XXXX XXXX near the intersections of XXXX and XXXX!
"Laugh at yourself first before anyone else can." -- Elsa Maxwell