February 10, 2025 
A menacing face hangs over the arena—huge eyes hollowed out by shadows. It is Ben Maher, looking as grim as anyone ever has.
Flash! Boom! Pow! Bam!
A veiny hand adjusts a tie in a closeup of a chest, another head appears. A serious expression, the features made monstrous and stark in the glaring overhead light. It is Christian Kukuk.
Sizzle! Slam! Yowza! Poof!
Lights flash and green rings the arena on the LED screens. A hush comes over the crowd at Wellington International as another gigantic face fills the jumbotron.
“Oh, no, not Vogel,” I say, wondering how I can maintain my legitimacy as a truth-speaking columnist with these nearly-anatomical studies of human skin destroying any claim anyone has ever made about this or that rider being “cute.”
This is serious sport and perhaps ugliness emphasizes it. Still, I wonder why the producers of such graphics have not considered a filter or flattering lighting.
Bang! Boom! Blaze! Twinkle!
Kent appears. Even he, the dude who nails cool every time, manages a corpse-like appearance on the ’tron.
But what does Kent care? Before the night is over, he and his mount, Greya, will have nabbed the top spot: Winners of the first 5* of our Winter Equestrian Festival season.
Incidentally, this columnist is a member of the super-secret Team KPF fan club, the Kent Dolls. The club has in its possession a hat autographed by Kent after his Grand Prix win in La Baule, France. It also is looking to acquire the first-place blue ribbon awarded to Kent and Greya this Saturday.
That ribbon was gifted by our favorite rider to the ever-present #girlsquad; that roving band of young show jumping fanatics whose persistent presence got them not only the ribbon, but a photo with the man, himself—in which his hands are touching two of the girls’ shoulders!
In our sport, it is the mark of a top rider to immediately hand your winning ribbon to a young child. This delights the child, everyone the child knows, the crowd, the commentators, the show organizer, and anyone around who’s even vaguely soft-hearted. Additionally, the donation gives the message that you have so many of these ribbons that you can afford to give them away willy-nilly.
Kent can afford to be very generous.
Although our club is exclusive and boutique, it may consider extending membership to those that can bring the goods. So pony up the ribbon, girls, and you might find yourself invited into the inner sanctum, where we sit in leather armchairs, smoke cigars, and talk about Kent. The walls are matte-black, just like Kent’s Stephex, and the letters KPF are there, just barely visible; like when you adjust the brightness at the beginning of a video game.
Zap! Zow! Ka-blam! Crack!
Only a few days prior, the Kent Dolls got together to celebrate our hero’s ascension to No. 3 in the world, swapping with Ben Maher, who sunk to the fourth spot.
What separates them is a mere 46 World Ranking Points, something that the Bennonites—the super-secret Ben Maher fan club—took great pains to point out to us in a very arrogant and what I judged to be rudely-worded missive delivered to club headquarters on the night of our celebration.
How I wished I had slammed the door in the face of that messenger! But it was only when I broke the wax seal and unfurled the parchment that I registered that this was not a note of congratulations, but a provocation.
So it was with much satisfaction that we greeted Saturday Night’s result! A victory secured with no less than half the World’s Top 10 on the starting list. No mean feat, that.
But it turns out that very few people like cold meatballs. In the VIP, instead of our usual meat-and-cheese charcuterie board, we were greeted by a small mezze platter, which included tiny pita breads, those grape-leaf-wrapped whatever-they-are, olives, tzatziki, and the cold meatballs that no one would touch.
This columnist was delighted and ate no less than four of the ’balls. There’s really no accounting for taste, as the producers of show jumping graphics consistently show us!
If you are interested in joining the Kent Dolls and can afford the initiation fee (if you have to ask, you can’t), contact Club Secretary Marie Zingg at marie@kentdolls.com. We have no information at this time on how to join the Bennonites. Sorry.
