Not A Real Sport: What Bike Polo Taught Me About Showing Up

July 03, 2025

Written by Clint O'Hanlon | Photos by Joelle Miller

Bike polo didn’t come from a rulebook. It didn’t descend from elite institutions or start with TV rights deals. It began on the streets - specifically (as the lore suggests), the streets of New York City, where a crew of bike messengers hanging out on b-ball courts between jobs picked up broom handles, some kind of ball (maybe even an empty beer can?) and made something up. No refs. No officials. Just a flagrant disregard for their own safety, some exceptional bike-handling skills and a penchant for not taking themselves too seriously.

It was scrappy. It was rough. It was dangerous. And it was probably glorious.

Now, things are a bit different. Bike polo has governing bodies with each international region organised by their own volunteer-run association. There are tournament formats, (fairly) complete rulesets, seeding processes and even court standards for regional and international championships. But at its heart, bike polo remains what it’s always been: a sport built by the people who play it. A labour of love held together by cable ties, twisted spokes, busted mallets and pure, sweaty enthusiasm.

It’s a sport that still carries a joke that’s half self-deprecating, half defiant: “Not a real sport.” It’s a phrase you’ll hear at every tournament, yelled after a spectacular fall or mumbled while rubbing dirt into a recently de-skinned knee. It’s code. A wink. A way of saying: this is ours. No one gave it to us. We made it.

And making it together is what makes it matter.

"THAT DAY TAUGHT ME SOMETHING SIMPLE BUT LASTING: YOU DON’T WAIT FOR PERMISSION. IF YOU WANT SOMETHING IN THIS SPORT - OR IN LIFE, I GUESS? - YOU MAKE IT HAPPEN."

ENTER: ME

I’d played 15 or so years of Rugby League in my youth. Even played for some junior development squads for an NRL team that shall remain un-named. But eventually I couldn’t ignore the most deplorable aspects of organised, men’s sport. And so one day I just stopped playing.

I found bike polo in Sydney in 2015. I’d recently returned from a stint in Amsterdam, where I fell in love with cycling and building bikes. I’d heard about it before - “Oh you love cycling, you should play this sport my friend plays.” - but it always sounded ridiculous to me. Then I was spending time with a good friend who was recently single and needed a hobby. “We should try this ‘bike polo’ thing”, he said.

Okay. It was a sign. I looked up Sydney Bike Polo. I built us both (arguably terrible for the sport) bikes. We went to try it out. My mate never played again after that first night. And I was hooked.

Within my first year, I found myself in Timaru, New Zealand, playing in the World Championships on a wildcard team: The Budgie Smugglers. We didn’t make the main card (not even close), but I saw the international community come together for the first time in a tournament that was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best version that had been seen on the world stage. I wasn’t good at the sport, but I was obsessed. I realised quickly that what I’d been missing was the camaraderie and community of team sport.

In 2017, I went to Worlds in Lexington, Kentucky. Playing with The Scavengers. Again, we played the wildcard bracket. Again, we didn’t qualify. But I also helped manage and supported one of Australia’s strongest teams at the time. They were knocked out in the early finals and I learned then that contribution comes in many forms: logistics, sideline coaching, emotional support, late-night pep talks. It all counts.

In 2019, I flew to Córdoba, Argentina for a third wildcard appearance on the World Stage. This time on a team named CNN. Same result for us. Absolutely decimated, never devastated. Still, I helped another amazing team from the sidelines, offering a calming influence to some hot-headed but exceptionally skilled players. Still, I kept showing up.

Because that’s what bike polo rewards: showing up.

SLAYERFEST & SAYING ‘YES’ ANYWAY

Not long into my polo journey, I volunteered to run a local tournament: Sydney Slayerfest. It was an existing event, but I had a vision: more heavy metal. More energy. More theatre. I wanted to put my stamp on it.

Some of the old guard were not impressed. In hindsight, maybe they thought they were looking out for me? “No one will help you,” I was told.

But I’d been putting on events professionally for years. “I don’t need help,” I said. “And I want to do this for everyone.”

So I paid a young, local busker to shred metal tunes on guitar throughout the day. I leaned hard into the vibe. It was pretty ridiculous. It was pretty fun.

It was pretty bike polo.

That day taught me something simple but lasting: you don’t wait for permission. If you want something in this sport - or in life, I guess? - you make it happen. You carry the cones. You charge the speaker. You ask the busker’s mum if he’s allowed to play the gig. You just do it anyway.

"TRYING TO SPLIT “WORK SELF” AND “REAL SELF” JUST WATERS DOWN BOTH. THE MAGIC FOR ME IS IN BEING ALL IN. EVEN IF IT’S RISKY. ESPECIALLY WHEN IT’S RISKY."

THEY CALL ME ‘CAPTAIN VIBES’

Polo Camp is another amazing example of showing up for your community. Started by three long-standing, integral community members who wanted to amplify the things they love most about bike polo. 2025 saw the coming of Polo Camp VIII and it has, in my humble opinion, become the wholesome heart of the global bike polo calendar year. A space to learn, grow and celebrate each other. A South Coast paradise where new players are welcomed and celebrated, old players are humbled and the sport remembers the best parts of itself. It’s nothing short of magical.

One year (maybe Polo Camp II?) I brought a big sound system, DJ decks, disco lights, a dress-up box and a van-load of beer and someone jokingly referred to me as ‘Captain Vibes’. Okay sure, I’d packed some party into the van, but the vibe was already there and built by incredible people who believe that the “community” in community sport isn’t just a bonus; It’s the point.

Anyway, Captain Vibes stuck. And I came to see that energy, that intention, as my real contribution. Not just to keep the party going, but to make sure everyone felt they belonged in it.

VIBES DOWN

Then came COVID. Two years of cancelled tournaments, closed courts and personal reckonings. I stopped playing. Not just because of the pandemic, but because of some personal conflicts within the community that led me to step away entirely.

At first, I thought I was protecting myself. But over time, I realised I was cutting off access to something I truly needed: camaraderie. Shared purpose. Physical joy. The strange, wonderful rhythm of team play. Without polo, something important in me was missing.

So I came back.

LOSING. LEARNING. LEVELING UP.

Returning wasn’t glamorous. I was out of shape. My game was rusty. I got decimated in game after game and tournament after tournament. But I kept at it. I trained harder. I rode more. I worked on my mental game.

Eventually, I got better.

Then one day, I was asked to play on a team not just for the vibes - but because I brought something to the court. Not the best. Just a solid, reliable player with years of sweat (like… a lot of sweat) and some learnings in his legs.

That team became Gang Gang Gang - named after the Gang Gang cockatoo, an Australian native, on the off-chance that we’d qualify for Worlds. In May 2025, we played in the Australian Hardcourt Championships in Melbourne.

And that off-chance became a reality, with us tying equal fifth and qualifying for the main event at the World Championships in Tainan, Taiwan set for November 2025.

After years of wildcard brackets, I’d finally made it to the top tier. Not by cutting corners, but by sticking around.

NOT A REAL SPORT. NOT A REAL JOB. NOT A REAL LIFE.

We say “not a real sport” like it’s a joke. But what we mean is: this isn’t about medals. It’s not about money. It’s not about a podium place. It’s about making something together and making it matter.

And that’s not just a sports lesson - it’s a life lesson.

In my work life, I’ve found myself applying the same principle. When I show up fully - bring my weirdness, lean into my true energy and help bring that out in others - I make better things. I help build stronger teams. I enjoy the process. Work can become play.

Trying to split “work self” and “real self” just waters down both. The magic for me is in being all in. Even if it’s risky. Especially when it’s risky.

WHAT YOU PUT IN IS WHAT YOU GET OUT

Bike polo may be the perfect mirror: what you put in is exactly what you get out. If you show up half-hearted, it reflects that. But if you turn up consistently, with effort, humility and generosity - you get something transcendent in return.

You get friendships forged under floodlights. You get failure, oh fuck yeah you get failure - but also feedback, and growth, and redemption arcs. You get to be part of something that exists because you care. Not despite it.

In Taiwan this November, I’ll ride with a team I love, wearing the name Gang Gang Gang like a badge of honour and carrying with me every court, every loss, every post-game beer that got me here.

And I’ll be bringing the vibes.

Always.

"BIKE POLO MAY BE THE PERFECT MIRROR: WHAT YOU PUT IN IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GET OUT. IF YOU SHOW UP HALF-HEARTED, IT REFLECTS THAT. BUT IF YOU TURN UP CONSISTENTLY, WITH EFFORT, HUMILITY AND GENEROSITY - YOU GET SOMETHING TRANSCENDENT IN RETURN."

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