Watching Sports On The East Coast Is Simply Inferior

So I'm wrapping up the first week of work for the new gig, and everything is going pretty well. I like my new coworkers, there's lots to keep me busy, enough new stuff to keep me up at night, the opportunity to build my own team and forge my own role in a place with a lot on the ball. The weather is the perfect NoCal bright; dry heat and not an unbearable amount of it, the chance to wear my good sunglasses and not feel like I've packed them for no reason, and everyone wants to put food and drink into me without my having to pay for it. Short of the inevitable end of the trip mild flu / all over body ache that this much forced social behavior seems to brew up inside me, and the usual pain and suffering that is a new health plan and IT minefield, I'm good with all of it.

And tonight, in the post-work bar food and drink fest in a nice little room near the train station, with plenty of pool tables and big screens, I'm reminded of the final little coup de grace over how, on some level, I'm going to regret buying a house in New Jersey for ever and ever.

It's the A's game. In New York. And it's going to extra innings; lots of 'em. Way too many, really. The stands are emptying out, notable even for the distressed property that is Shea. The players are looking wiped out beyond all endurance. How could I possibly be awake to watch this? Oh, right... because it's happening at 9pm my time, rather than midnight in the east.

(They wound up losing, by the way, snapping their longest winning streak of the year. It's as if they knew I was heading out soon, and wanted to make it OK. Or something. Moving on.)

Just like how the NFL ends when the sun is still out, and you don't feel like a total slug for blowing your day watching it. Just like how the early NBA game for your favorite East Coast laundry happens over a thoroughly sane breakfast, and the night games for the Western teams end when you want them to, rather than challenging your commitment to not being old and tired.

Everything -- and I do mean everything -- is better for the sports fan on Pacific Time. Want to ignore the Yankees and Red Sox? Even their interminable games are more than half over by the time you get home from work, making them 50% less regrettable. Can't stand the zombie-like shuffle of watching SNF/MNF NFL action? You can catch the first half in the break room at any humanely run start up, and be done with the whole thing by the time the kids go to bed. Want to crush your fantasy league with daily moves? Stream to your heart's content with the information that only late night closer carousel moves can bring you, and scoop up the best available starting pitchers via the waiver wire that is suited to your time zone, and yours alone.

It's really just better. And like many things about living out here, it's damned deadly difficult to want to give any of it up, or live anywhere else.

My flight leaves tomorrow at 7:15pm PST, and I get back into my part of the world at 6:02am. Can't, um, wait.

Now, when do they want me back out here again?