WE ARRIVED AT NEW DELHI'S Shanti Home hotel late at night, en route to Nepal, six men and a manager with almost zero experience about to belly-flop right into the 27th World Elephant Polo Championships. Thrilled to learn that he had America's elephant-polo team in his midst, and of course having no idea how important this actually was, Rajat, the Shanti's charming and mustachioed proprietor, gathered his staff in front of a statue of Sarasvati, the Hindu goddess of learning and the arts.

"I think there is a 100 percent chance that you will win, and to help your chances we will say a prayer," he said. Then a bell was rung, a conch shell blown, and Rajat announced—without bothering to ask if indeed there was a trophy or what form it might take—"The cup is yours."

He uncorked a bottle of champagne and continued, "In India, we have a saying that if you believe in your mind that you have already won, and you celebrate in advance, that you will win." He smiled, his white teeth sparkling in the moonlight. "It's like count your chickens before they hatch," he said, adding, "Whatever you do, you must do it with great aplomb." Then he finished his flute of bubbly, downed a few more drinks with us, and went to bed.

Now, this much should be told: Prior to our arrival in Nepal the following day, only one member of our squad had played elephant polo, in a brief exhibition. The rest of us had neither sat atop an elephant nor played horse polo nor spent much time atop a horse. We had "practiced" twice at a windswept parking lot along the beach in Queens, New York, in bitter cold, using mallets fashioned from PVC pipe and riding on top of SUVs in place of elephants. It was funny but not entirely helpful.

And so, last November 30, two days after Rajat declared our success imminent, we—the New York Blue, representing New York City and, without its knowing, the United States—began our long-shot campaign at the Tiger Tops Jungle Lodge, the oldest safari camp in Nepal. Our first opponent was the world's perennial number-one-ranked team, Chivas Regal of Scotland. That Scotland is best in the world at a sport that involves elephants is of course ridiculous, but it makes a little sense when you consider that Chivas Regal, a whisky, is the tournament's longtime sponsor and that one of the sport's two founders, James Manclark, is Scottish.

Our starting four were: me; Bill Keith, the deputy editor of Out magazine; Rob Forster, an investment-banking lawyer; and Chip Frazier, a recently unemployed hedge-fund trader. (On our bench: Bryan Abrams, a Playboy researcher, and Jeff Bollerman, an investment banker with Citibank.) The Chivas team was: the 13th Duke of Argyll, who has 29 honorifics and, if you are British and abide by such puffery, is to be called, upon first reference in a text, His Grace the Duke of Argyll, Torquhil Ian Campbell; Raj "the Silver Fox" Kalaan, a former star of the Indian national polo team and a colonel in the world's last mounted regiment; Peter "Powerhouse" Prentice, Chivas Brothers' vice president for Asia, a 20-plus-year veteran of the sport and a man whose business card bears, in letters the size of his name, W.E.P.A., for World Elephant Polo Association; and Indra Muggar, a Nepalese ringer who could easily play without the services of his mahout, as the driver-operators of the elephants are known.

Kristjan Edwards, 39, captain of the Tiger Tops team, son of the sport's overlord, A.V. Jim Edwards, and a Peter O'Toole lookalike who smokes like a chimney, shook his head the first morning when he heard that we'd drawn Chivas. "Baptism by fire," he said.