High School Nights - INSAINZ - March 31, 2025

Santa Clarita: Third Space Energy

Winner stays. First to score. No exceptions.

It was supposed to be 4v4 — that’s the rule. But when forty-plus players packed into two courts deep in the Santa Clarita canyons, rules bent. So it became 5v5. Because everyone wanted in.

Driving in, we almost forgot we were in Los Angeles. Canyon roads. Quiet hills. No strip malls. No taco spots. At some point we asked, “Did we take a wrong turn?” Then the courts came into view — and it all clicked.

Freshly painted green and red, smooth and level, next to a municipal sports complex. Everything smelled like city planning. But this wasn’t your average community run.

A sign at the entrance read: “Rattlesnakes live in this area. Do not disturb. They will defend themselves.” Welcome to the canyon.

No goals? No problem.

Traffic cones turned into makeshift posts. Just streetball — king of the hill. Score and stay. Lose and you’re out.

At the center of it all was Alfredo Sainz, aka Fredo from INSAINZ Training — tossing the ball in and letting the game teach.

And it wasn’t just guys. Fredo somehow pulled off a 50/50 split — boys and girls playing together, same court, same energy. No separation. No exceptions.

One girl in a Barcelona jersey played like a street pro — vision like a 360 cam. Just when you think she’s trapped, she pulls back, megs a boy, and makes him face-palm in disbelief.

Another kid threw no-look passes and neck-feints like he was channeling Ronaldinho. And let’s be real — these kids didn’t watch him live. They watched clips. Because they love this game enough to chase it any way they can.

You could tell these weren’t kids new to the game.They had the gear — the right brands, the right fits, the right shoes pulled from the back of the closet just for this. The kind of setup that says: Club fees are paid. Schedules are full. The machine is moving.

But on this court?They weren’t chasing rankings or roster spots.They were chasing touches, vibes, pride — the stuff you can’t measure on a clipboard.

It wasn’t just a session. It was that “third space” we all need — not home, not school, but somewhere in between. Where the game belongs to the players. Where culture, chaos, and connection live.

You felt it between games. A Beats Pill tried to set the tone, but real life was louder:Teen chatter, inside jokes, post-loss excuses, next-round strategy.

And every time a team lost, a new one swarmed in — like seagulls to dropped chips.Loud. Fast. Hungry.

The stories were just as wild.

“Meet this baller,” Fredo would say, then we’d hear:“I train in Torrance.” “Practice in Long Beach.” “Orange County.” “Downey.”

They live in Santa Clarita (it’s in the cut) — but week after week, they leave their own zip code to play in the competitive circuit. It’s not a special trip. It’s just how things work.

That hit hard. Because for all the polished fields and planned neighborhoods in Santa Clarita, what’s missing is a place to just play. Freely. No uniform. No fees. Just a place where they can truly play.

Then two new groups showed up — strangers. Saw it on Instagram and pulled up.

We asked where they usually play. One said, “Oh, I play for Something FC.”

We laughed. Then asked again: “No, where do you play pickup?”

They paused. “Oh… yeah. I guess this is our first time at a real pickup.”

First. Time. Ever.

And they weren’t alone. Others gave similar answers and it started to sting:

“We used to scrimmage.” “We had to pay ten bucks an hour.”

That word again: Pay.

They didn’t even know free pickup was an option. That it could be raw. Theirs.

And when the system burns them out — which it often does — most won’t keep playing.

Even if they end up in a 6-a-side at 25, chasing fitness more than freedom — they won’t carry that spark.

That street spark.

The kind you get from sweaty pickup games, broken cones, and playing for pride.The kind Fredo played with. The kind we grew up on.

This is America — the place that birthed hip hop from block parties and poverty. That turned Rucker Park into basketball’s holy ground. That built baseball out of sandlots and sidewalks. That found escape in backyard football and alleyway skateboarding.

So yeah, maybe we’re ranting a little. But this night in Santa Clarita proved something:

Kids aren’t asking for much.

Just a place to mess up. To move. To try again. To feel the game without pressure.

That’s the kind of space that keeps love alive and produces the future phenoms.

And without it, they don’t just lose minutes on the ball — they lose the fire.

So what’s the fix?

More free space.

More fearless facilitators.

More Fredo’s