Postcard from ... Argentina

I have come to see a man about a duck.

Actually, I’ll be seeing about 30 men and all on horseback. On this fresh, autumnal day in the Argentine countryside, 30 kilometres north-west of central Buenos Aires, I have come to watch my first match of the country’s little-known national sport, pato (Spanish for “duck”).

After eight years of visiting this country and over two years living here, I still don’t know what to expect from this rarely mentioned team game. Having once heard it described as a cross between polo and basketball has left me none the wiser. And then there’s the astonishing fact that pato gets its name because it used to be played using a live duck as a ball.

These days no feathered friends are harmed in play, but some Argentines say that keeping this archaic game as the national sport is still like, well, like flogging a dead duck. Last year, a bill was presented to the national congress asking for football, the country’s number-one obsession, to be installed in its place. No official response has yet been received, but sportswear brand Topper led the campaign, airing a celebrity-endorsed television advert and collating 350,000 signatures.

Now, as thousands of football fans from across the continent are preparing to descend on Argentine soil for July’s Copa America, I decided it was time to check out a competition of a much smaller scale: a six-team pato tournament.

Today’s games are being held in the grounds of the small military town of Sargento Cabral, as this is where the Pato Federation was given land for an official pitch. After crossing an outlying field, with insects buzzing in the long grass and a couple of stray dogs following at our heels, we find a young man sitting at a picnic table, collecting the 10 peso (£1.50) entrance fee. Although there’s no one else here, the ticket proudly proclaims Pato: deporte nacional in bold letters. Walking up to the sidelines, we find a sparse gathering almost entirely made up of players’ relatives. My equally bemused Colombian friend and I are clearly the outsiders, but the atmosphere is more down-to-earth than polo. Instead of a polite clapping and nodding, the umpire makes an occasional joke to provoke raucous laughter, while one enthusiastic woman seems to have formed a cheer-squad by herself. “Vamos!” she screams, throwing her hands to her head in exaggerated frustration whenever her team fails to score.

So what does a pato game look like? Pretty frightening. Instead of a duck, the game is played with a football that is put inside a six-handled leather harness. With four horsemen on each side, the idea is to pass this – the pato – between team members and throw it through the hoop-like goal. Occasionally two players from opposite teams grab it at the same time and there’s a tussle.

At other times, the player slips almost entirely out of his seat as he stretches to scoop it up from the grass. That’s the scary bit, as it all happens at an incredibly fast pace and you’re almost sure he will fall.

As new spectators, we find ourselves repeatedly gasping, then laughing with nervous relief as the player regains his poise and hurtles onward down the field.

Originally, back in those duck-as-a-ball days, the game had no pitch but was played from estancia to estancia. “I don’t think the duck lasted very long,” one player tells me.

With the sun shining and the sky cornflower blue, you feel an urge to do as the locals do and sit around leisurely drinking mate (the beloved herbal drink). There’s also a simple restaurant with communal tables where you can get stuck into a large chunk of meat.

It is a shame that pato is so far off the tourist’s radar. It is not a poor man’s sport, but neither does it have the obvious pretensions of polo. I can see why football would be the popularist, more inclusive choice for the nation, but it is quite remarkable that Argentina lays claim to a sport that is so unique, with such a bizarre and fascinating history.

Long live pato! And long live the ducks that no longer need to be sacrificed for the good of the game.

For details of ‘pato’ tournaments, see www.fedpato.com.ar.

The annual Pato Open takes place in December in central Buenos Aires. To catch a countryside training session, contact: www.insidethepampas.com