Around the Orange Belt: A look back at winter sports

Now that it’s fairly safe to say that winter is behind us (knock on wood) and the groundhogs are out and about, I’d like to take a moment to share some observations about my first winter in Porterville.

Snow soccer??

Alright, I realize this town hasn’t seen snow since... the Ice Age... but if we were living in any of some 48 other states, there would still be lingering patches of snow on the ground.

Which means the soccer season that just wrapped up here would’ve played through the blizzard months of December and January.

I’m not sure if it’s because we live in California and everyone assumes we don’t have a true winter season, but this isn’t Southern California, folks. It still dips into the 30s around here.

At the beginning of the soccer season in December, I politely voiced my opinion on a local radio show, saying, “Whoever thought of playing soccer in the winter should be shot.”

And after covering numerous soccer games in the past three months, I feel not only validated, but I would like to increase the severity of the punishment. That person should be dragged behind a shed and beaten before getting shot.

These poor kids are playing in shorts small enough that the middle of their thighs are frostbitten by the end of their games.

I believe in Northern California, soccer as a cause of death ranks somewhere between typhoid and choking on sourdough pizza. I mean, it’s rare, but should it be happening at all?

Most of the kids’ parents don’t even show up. Too cold.

And forget about having cheerleaders or regular fans.

A couple of months ago, I attended a girls’ soccer game between Lindsay and Exeter that ended in a 0-0 tie.

I stood for nearly two hours in the freezing rain (my legs wouldn’t bend to sit down) and I don’t remember praying so fervently for a game to end.

When the clock began winding down and still no one had scored, I said to myself, “Somebody better kick that ball into the net or I’m gonna come down and kick it in myself. There... Exeter wins. We can all go home now.”

But guess what? No one scored.

And instead of the usual extra period of overtime, the coaches agreed to call it a game and end in a tie.

Wait, what? All that for nothing?

If I and the five other people in the stands have to freeze for an hour and 45 minutes, somebody will go home a loser, dang it!

Afterward, I talked to both coaches, who said something to the effect of, “We didn’t think it was worth the risk of playing longer, just so someone can win.”

Well, isn’t that sort of a red flag if a sports game has to be called off because kids’ lives are at stake?

OK, no one was on the verge of death (except maybe me), but the simple solution of moving soccer to the spring or fall — where it’s played in pretty much the other 49 states, Puerto Rico and Guam — seems only a slight inconvenience to make. And well worth it, too.

It’s no wonder the rest of the world thinks we give a flying rat’s tail about soccer — we’re shoving an outdoor sport into the winter!

The curse of the rookie...

As a self-proclaimed rookie in this business, I fear I’ve already developed a death touch for my topics of choice.

I recently wrote a feature about Strathmore’s girls’ soccer team, which had scorched through its regular season at 23-2 clip.

They were given the No. 1 seed among a five-team playoff bracket and home-field advantage throughout.

In other words, they were a shoo-in to get their first Valley Championship.

Just days after the feature came out, they were the victims of a monumental first-round upset. I don’t even remember who beat them.

That said, I would like to apologize to the Spartans and to any future team I do a feature on. 

But if you see me coming, recorder in hand, don’t bother running. I am simply the grim reaper of sports writing and I’ve come to collect your success.

Drama king of queens

There were the epic hardwood clashes between Porterville and Monache.

There were a few dehydrated wrestlers who passed out on the mat because they tried to make weight.

And there were some pulverizing, blood-inducing Ultimate Fighting battles in a tent. (Or was that a scuffle between Porterville and Monache parents?)

But this winter wouldn’t have been the same without Richard Miranda and his Strathmore girls’ basketball squad.

Now here’s a guy who must be used to interviews, because he knows how to tell the media — and our readers — what we want to hear.

His Spartans, he’ll tell you, were a middle-of-the-pack team who barely deserved to go to the playoffs.

And for a couple of weeks, even though Strathmore had long-qualified to play in the postseason, Miranda repeatedly threatened to boycott the playoffs because they were stinking up a few games down the stretch.

For once, there were probably at least nine people in Porterville who opened the newspaper while eating their Cheerios and said, “I wonder if Strathmore will go to the playoffs?”

As it turned out, Miranda was right. The Spartans weren’t ready and they lost in the first round to an 8-15 Immanuel squad, who must’ve held a gun to the commissioner’s head to allow them to play.

How else does an 8-15 team qualify for the playoffs?

But winter’s over. Bring on spring!