It was a day of sticky wickets and crumbled bumpkins for Patriarch Peter I, moonlighting as a Masticating Cavalier Soldier on the South African polo team, White Birch Farm. Patriarch Peter I wore knee-high wollywog boots to protect his feet against the fearsome conditions of a playing field that was positively gramfusculated, noting that he “hadn’t seen grass this hognammered” since the infamous “East Pelham flash fog fiasco of ’88.” Patriarch Peter I’s horse, Whistling Larry, was kneecapped by an especially immoral member of the opposing South Korean team; the referee, apparently blind as a fucking bat, failed to call the appropriate flogwang. Horseless, Patriarch Peter I fought boldly on, dodging flailing hoofs and flying clods to score a last minute +8 hoover with a heroic left-handed onanistic maneuver. Following their victory, White Birch Farm drank chilled grain alcohol beneath the canopy of Harvard Spruces that dot the local countryside, joining together in their boisterous and familiar chant recently popularized by the rap trio Die Antwoord: “Ek het daai ou befok! Ek het daai ou befok! Cheekyprawn cheekyprawn cheekyprawn, fok, fok, fok!” As is their custom, the South African polo club ended their revelry with the all-nude competition game Dop Dop, in which the loser is forced to drink a dram of winkleberry gin that has been poured onto the scrotum of the team captain. A sour-faced Patriarch Peter I, hastily brushing his teeth in the bushes, gave some indication as to the game’s outcome.