Polo: a game of two halves

For Britain's growing army of polo-lovers, the next two weekends should, weather permitting, be ones to remember. At Cowdray Park tomorrow, some of the richest and most beautiful members of the high-flying classes will gather for a day of champagne, socialising and sport at the final of the Veuve Clicquot Gold Cup. The following week, at the Guards Polo Club in Windsor Great Park, they will repeat the experience at the Cartier International Polo Tournament.

A splendid time should, in theory, be had by all. But the word is that, this year, a certain nastiness is threatening to blight the sport's big days.

The problem, in brief, is this. Polo, since the beginning of a bygone age, has traditionally played out its adrenaline-fuelled contests in enclosures reserved for society's upper crust. (And it is one of the world's oldest ball sports, dating back to 650BC.)

But society's upper crust has changed considerably of late, as the old aristocracy withers and growing numbers of self-made super-rich are increasingly seen as constituting high society. In theory, polo should welcome this, as new participants and spectators breathe fresh life and enthusiasm (and money) into the sport's musty jodhpurs. In practice, when the new breed of celebrities and aspiring socialites rub shoulders with Britain's old landed elite, friction can often result.

At a time where the hungriest social climbers can sign up to "introduction to polo sessions", requiring no previous knowledge of the game, an unprecedented democratisation of the sport has sent shock waves through some of the staider parts of the polo community.

Tomorrow's Gold Cup is a good example of the problem. The roll-call of expected guests includes members of the traditional upper class but also soap stars, minor celebrities and - spanning both sets - Boujis-worshipping socialites, known for knocking back cocktails and partying hard. In one corner, polo aficionados such as Lord and Lady Cowdray, Lady March and Lady Emily Compton are set to attend. They will come face to face with Billie Piper, Simon Le Bon, Richard Hammond and Jamie Redknapp, along with Otis Ferry, the artist Daisy de Villeneuve, Piers Brosnan and Rosamund Pike. The model Olivia Inge may glide on to the field during the day to replace (daintily) displaced divots, a traditional networking moment.

All this celebrity has provoked an old-fashioned, class-based "snobbery element" to emerge from the sport's upper echelons. One leading insider said the divide between "old" and "new" money is a source of considerable tension. He said: "There still is very much a stuffy element in polo. There are a lot of old military types at the Guards [Polo Club] who look at these people coming along with their millions and turn their noses up." He added: "I find it hilarious that these people condemn these wealthy people one minute and then shark after their money the next."

Another traditionalist questioned whether the polo Old School wanted their sport to be taken over by the sort of people who might normally spend their time at a suburban golf club with "their trousers tucked into their socks". And an anonymous player complained that "nowadays any old flash Harry who's made a few million can turn up and play".

David Woodd, the chief executive of the Hurlingham Polo Association, the sport's governing body, welcomed the increased number of participants coming into the game. But he also condemned the drunkenness associated with polo's broadened appeal. He said: "It's a game, it's a sport for the players. It's pretty challenging stuff. It's not about drunken parties. That's nothing to do with polo. Getting pissed isn't very nice and I don't think anyone can say that's a nice part of anything."

No one is naming names, but it is clear that the old guard considers that the blame for any over-enthusiastic partying belongs squarely with the newcomers. England's polo coach, Claire Tomlinson, whose two sons play for England and are friends with Princes William and Harry, complained about an undue obsession with the social side of the game: "You have got to realise that there are serious sportsmen involved. It's a 24-hour thing. You have got to constantly look after your horse, and if you can't you can get someone to do it for you. It's a full-time occupation."

Nonetheless, in a major polo event, sport is necessarily pitted against socialising. At the Gold Cup, for example, when the Venezuelan-funded team Lechuza Caracas take on the Italian-backed Loro Piana, as many eyes will be on the fastest route to the booze as on the game. Parties will continue into the evening. In this instance, however, the party-goers are as likely to be blue-blooded as new-blooded, with some celebrations expected to focus on nightclubs frequented by the roistering London toffs known as "the SW7 set".

Cartier, a week later, has a more open-house policy; and, as a result, more controversy. Although the Queen regularly attends, so do 25,000 well-heeled punters from all backgrounds. Here, in the luscious environment of Windsor Great Park, those attending will take in England versus Chile, before quaffing Pimms in exclusive enclosures. One of the principal shindigs will be hosted by London nightclub Chinawhite, attracting a distinctive shade of blueless blood.

Ironically, much of the increased diversity of polo spectatorship has resulted from the involvement of three polo-playing royals: Princes Harry, William and Charles. Harry has been keeping a low profile since he was refused permission to serve in Iraq. In normal circumstances, however, where the princes go, the paparazzi follow. And, in turn, where the press pack hunts, the would-be celebrities who want to be hunted cluster, seeking their attention.

The sport's celebrity-happy image has not been harmed by the involvement of the model and socialite Jodie Kidd - who, through a business venture called Prêt a Polo, has tried to marry fashion, polo and partying. Her father, Jack, often hosts one of the most coveted enclosures, the Players' Marquee, at Cartier. The photographer Richard Young, who has been a member of the exclusive Guards Polo Club for more than 20 years, said he would be looking out for big-name personalities. He said: "If there are big Hollywood names, or big British stars such as Jude Law and Kate Moss, I will be very excited. Cartier put on a fabulous do every year."

Some warmly greet polo's new-found diversity. The author Jilly Cooper, whose 1991 "bonkbuster" Polo did much to demystify the sport, said: "It's a laugh. The more celebs, the better. It's rubber-neck heaven. The game is so lovely, the horses so gorgeous, the players so brave. The more the merrier. The more people who like a sport, the more money goes into it. The players are like actors - and they have to pay for everything themselves."

To accompany the sport's broadening appeal to spectators, there are also many more people now playing the game.

Before the Second World War it was dominated by military men. But at the end of the conflict a large question mark arose over its future, because many leading players had been killed. The grounds of the governing authority had been sold over to agriculture and ploughed up to help the war effort. At this point, experts credit the game's revitalisation to one man - Lord Cowdray, the owner of Cowdray Park. He opened up his grounds to a wider, non-military audience, although it remained a mainly upper class pursuit. However, in recent years the number of players has grown much more quickly, and the demographic diversified. In 1997, about 1,700 people played. Now it is closer to 3,500. Many clubs, including the Royal County of Berkshire, Beaufort, Guards and Cowdray Park, are full up or have long waiting lists for membership.

Around 40 private secondary schools play the game, with 10 private preparatory schools partaking. London's booming economy, with its super-wealthy City fatcats and recent influx of foreign businessmen, has helped fuel an interest in what remains a very expensive sport. Irina Dobbs, a Russian based in London, organises exclusive polo events for the super-wealthy. She claims that a burgeoning polo scene in Russia is being recreated by Russian expatriates in the UK capital. She said: "It's a luxury sport, it's something new for us, and is very social. For Russians, equestrian sports are very important, and rich people like giving money to it."

The luxury gifts company Red Letter Days organises a one-day "Learn to Play Polo" event, costing £449, for those keen to pick up on polo.

At these well-to-do gatherings, launched earlier this year, those attending practise the discipline and theory of the sport, first on upturned milk crates. They then ascend on to a "pony" - as horses are referred to - in a small paddock for familiarisation purposes. Then, a chukka is played, followed by a relaxed viewing of a professional match. (Each game is divided into four to eight seven-minute time periods known as chukkas.)

Robert Burke, a seasoned coach based at Ascot Park Polo Club, where the Red Letter polo day is held, claims to teach engineers and train drivers as well as millionaire businessmen alike. He said: "It's not more expensive than any other horse sport. It's definitely becoming more accessible to a new social stratum ... And around 40 per cent of those interested come from overseas," he continued.

However, the outlay for those wishing to consider the game more seriously is extremely expensive. The cost of hiring a horse is from £100 per horse per chukka, with up to eight chukkas per game. Those wishing to buy a horse will spend from £3,000, to be supplemented by livery costs, shoeing, transport and veterinary expenses. On top of that, kit including whites, boots, pads and gloves can cost upwards of £400. Club subscriptions range from £600, rising to as high as £3,000, annually, and the annual HPA fee is £100 for a UK adult.

Many remain unconvinced that the sport is as democratic as its horn-blowers maintain. One polo mole laughed when reminiscing over his time at Eton. "They made it out that anyone could play polo but most of those there were members of their national team," he said. "Most of the boom has been fuelled by New York bankers coming over and pushing for their children to learn it at school. That's hardly democratic."