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When I lit out from Oklahoma for the West Coast in the 1980s, it would be exaggerating fairly wildly to say I had a plan. I was a young writer who wanted to go closer to where I thought things were happening, as opposed to, say, making things happen where I was. But there you go, being in your 20s.
At any rate, I took a job in San Diego. Greatest decision of my life for a number of reasons, one of whom I’m married to. But I also inadvertently tipped open a side door to sports heaven, one that I had never contemplated but for which I’m eternally thankful: the morning start.
Here’s how it works. On your average Sunday where you live this time of year, you get up and do whatever you do, and at some point around lunchtime or the early afternoon, the NFL comes on and you watch. But not me! My standard kickoff is 10 a.m. I get the glorious California morning plus the early kicks. I’m barely to lunch before the “late” window of games goes off. And if I want to watch all of Sunday Night Football, it still wraps up around 8:30 p.m. A perfect day.
It’s just unreal. I’ve never stopped loving it, even though I didn’t think about it once before I moved here. And now that the NFL lines up international games everywhere, I can start my viewing Sunday at 6:30 a.m. if I care to. (I don’t care to, but hey.)
I mention all this to talk about baseball, which is silly, seeing as we are rapidly approaching the complete and total takeover of the sports landscape by football. I mean, we’re almost five weeks in on the NFL season. But today is a great baseball day, right here on a Tuesday. It starts early afternoon for most of you, and at second-coffee time out here in sunshine land. Love that for me.