March 23, 2026 
Richie Vogel could not stop laughing.
We were at the press conference, sitting in the front row. We had been in the second row on the other side, but I was worried about visibility after being told by those in front of us that “Pete” would be arriving to occupy the empty chair in front of me and “Pete” was very tall, reasonably wide, and wore a big sombrero.
So I forced my colleagues to move to the other side, front row, where we had nothing to obscure the sight line to the four triumphant German riders and their chef d’equipe, Otto Becker.
We also had a beautiful view of the Longines League of Nations trophy, which sat on a white pedestal in front of a verdant display of ferns and purple flowers. The trophy is tall and svelte, with a base that mimics the hoof of a horse and ten rotated pillars of metal that stretch upwards and form the patterned shape of a horse shoe.
And we had a view of Richie Vogel, laughing. And Christian Kukuk, next to him, who also began to laugh. Soon, Rene Dittmer became infected and lastly even Otto Becker himself, who just a minute before appeared stern and serious in victory.
Meanwhile, Andre Thieme responded to a question about his longtime winter residence in Ocala, detailing the various relatives who visit him every season. He was not laughing.
“Vogel was laughing at Thieme talking so long,” came an uncharitable interpretation after the conference, but I refused it, ascribing the laughter to Thieme’s assertion that a house in Ocala was not enough for him, he needed to purchase a place in the Polo Club of Wellington.
“Who wouldn’t laugh at someone actually saying out loud they want a house in the Polo Club?” I said snobbishly. “I’m sure Vogel is imagining Thieme waiting in his new home for the handyman to fix something or the plumber to unclog a drain, both or either of whom are trapped at the servant gatehouse or whatever they call that little building at which a massive line forms every morning down the road while people wait for their appointments, satisfied in the knowledge that they are being saved from whatever-would-happen were traffic allowed to flow in freely!”
Members of the press, of which I am a fairly new addition, tell me that riders do not enjoy press conferences, that they hope to have them over as quickly as possible. I have never been told that riders find them hilarious and I have never seen a rider enjoy one as much as Richard Vogel.
I myself have never really enjoyed one and usually avoid attendance, despite admonishments from my editor.
But being a member of the press at the World Equestrian Center during the Longines League of Nations is another matter entirely.
First, when you arrive late and out of breath, a pleasant woman greets you, smoothly facilitates the acquisition of credentials, and gifts you a hat. Throughout the spacious room are places to work, with the warmup for the competition just outside the doors. There is coffee and drinks, snacks and sandwiches. At some point in the evening the caterers arrive with tenderloin and roasted Brussels sprouts, potatoes and creamed corn.
Your colleague spots a dozen miniature tartes au citron and is invited to take them all back with him ringside. (This is earlier, in between round one and round two). You later take two and hold them up to your chest, laughing at your swirled and pointed meringue nipples. Someone mimics taking a bite.
And during the press conference, enormous squishy cookies in a variety of flavors are rolled out. I’m eating one greedily as we discuss Vogel’s laughter.
So is my colleague, who told me these things at the beginning of the evening: “I don’t drink alcohol, I don’t eat sugar, and I’m faithful to my partner.” Earlier, I brought him to the hotel so he could imbibe a series of cranberry-vodkas in the Yellow Pony, the lobby bar notorious for drunken debauchery and equestrian hookups. Ringside, I watch as he eats three tartes au citron, including one that was my nipple. Now he eats a cookie.
But all of this is secondary to the reason we are here: sport!
Arriving at World Equestrian Center on this Saturday feels like being welcomed to a vast city dedicated to horse sport: it is a thrill. We arrive midway through the first round, delayed by bad traffic and farm duties back home. The seats are full and the plaza is decked with people. Inside the hotel, a constant flow moves through the corridors. The white that predominates the design of the buildings and grand arena makes the perfect backdrop for the regal purple of the FEI branding, appearing throughout in banners, signs, and flower arrangements.
The course is set by Alan Wade of Ireland for ten teams. By the end of round one, we have Ireland sitting on top with zero faults, followed by the Netherlands with one time fault, and then Belgium and Germany with four faults apiece.
Team USA, in dead last place with an astonishing and maybe record-breaking 49 faults, is eliminated along with the Swiss on 25.
We move ahead into the second round with eight teams.
The Longines League of Nations introduced a new formula that gives the second round tighter and more exciting: three riders from each team come forward with no drop score. A format perfect for a team that sports the current Olympic champion, number 4 in the world, and a guy who, although he does not yet own a home in the Polo Club, does have a horse, DSP Chakaria, who won the 2024 €1.5 million Aachen Grand Prix as well as individual gold at the 2021 FEI European Championships.
Both Thieme and Dittmer knocked a rail the first round, with Thieme earning the drop score with a slower time. The decision was made to bring Thieme and DSP Chakaria forward for the second round, where they delivered a clear round.
Why don’t we discuss the double clears? It’s worth doing for a course that threw down challenges throughout.
We had the triple heading into that narrow skinny 1.60m vertical, flanked by two regal silver hounds. We had the triple bar heading to the high vertical over a liverpool (that jump came down A LOT). We had that double near the end that began with tricky and fragile opening vertical. And of course, we had the water heading into a wide oxer.
For double clears we had, of course, our Germans: Kukuk and Vogel. We also had two Irishmen, Cian O’Connor on Chatolinue PS and Shane Sweetnam on James Kann Cruz. Roy van Beek of Belgium went double clear with an 11 year old grey gelding by Casallco, Cavoiro H. And the glorious Nina Mallevay of France and her mount Dynastie de Beaufour gave their 14th clear round IN A ROW to match the record held by H&M All In, who did 14 consecutive clear rounds at 1.60m with Peder Fredericson.
The second round demands endurance and consistency.
Team Netherlands dropped to fifth when Camilla van de Helle saw the gate midway through the round and decided perhaps she and her rider, Kevin Jochems, would be better off heading out rather than tackling that wall. A disagreement that when settled, resulted in a score of 20, with 12 time faults accumulated.
Bertram Allen and Qonquest de Rigo added an unfortunate 8 faults to the Irish team’s score, relegating their team to second, while Belgium put in solid performances for the third spot on the podium.
Back in the press conference, I found myself wondering, while searching for a question to ask (I only found “What are you laughing at?” and could not bring myself to ask it), if this whole thing would not be better were we given the chance to interview the horses. I, personally, have more than one question for Checker 47 and DSP Chakaria, and Dittmer’s Corsica X, who has been a longtime partner. And Vogel’s Cloudio!
Later that night, alone in my room, I find myself repeating over and over his name: “Cloudio, Cloudio!” What was it that Vogel said about this stallion, his lips forming a small smile? “He knows he’s a man, but he also knows how to control himself.” What more seductive description was ever given?
Cloudio, Cloudio! Would he head to the Yellow Pony right after the class like my colleague, dedicated to his temperance and sugar abstinence? Did he not mention a third virtue he adheres to? In the hotel lobby, we found ourselves at the entrance to the Yellow Pony—I, hesitant to enter, my colleague, rolling like a bowling ball into the crowd.
“He knows he’s man,” I said as he disappeared inside.
