Cartier Queen’s Cup Final At Guards Polo Club
On the hottest day of the year, Guards Polo Club served up champagne, royalty and a final worth the sunburn.
There are hot days, and then there are Cartier Queen’s Cup Final hot days, when the Berkshire turf turns the colour of toast, the linen has given up all pretence of crispness, and the Pimms is being dispatched with something close to medicinal urgency. This was one of those days. Nobody was complaining.
Guards Polo Club had spared no effort for the occasion. Widely counted among the five finest polo tournaments on earth, the Queen’s Cup draws the sort of crowd that treats a picnic hamper as a form of couture: elegant, unhurried and rather well connected. Royalty was in attendance, naturally. Hats were bold. Champagne corks went off at a steady rate, and the real sport of the afternoon, spotting who was sitting next to whom, was in full swing long before the first throw-in.
On the field, the billing was irresistible: RH Polo against La Indiana, two rivals with no intention of being polite about it. For six chukkas, mallets flew, ponies thundered and the crowd leaned forward as one, glasses momentarily forgotten.
Then, in the closing moments of the final chukka, with Her Majesty The Queen and Prince Philip looking on, Adolfo Cambiaso did what the world’s number one player tends to do. He took charge. His team’s victory sealed the Cup for RH Polo and handed him his tenth Queen’s Cup win, a tally that makes the rest of the field look like they’re still reading the rules.
The silverware didn’t stop there. Tommy Beresford of RH Polo was named Cartier Most Valuable Player, while Cambiaso collected the Cartier Best Playing Pony award on behalf of Caraquenia, a graceful chestnut mare who, one suspects, did a fair share of the heavy lifting and has asked for no credit whatsoever.
Prize-giving, courtesy of the event’s longstanding sponsor Cartier, was gloriously relaxed. Protocol was worn lightly, and players stopped to chat with Queen Elizabeth as they collected their trophies, the kind of easy exchange that no amount of rehearsal can produce. It was British tradition at its best: steeped in heritage, but never stiff about it.
As the sun sank and the last of the champagne was dispatched with great dignity, the verdict was unanimous. In a calendar full of fine days out, the Queen’s Cup remains the one to circle in ink.
