Apologies mean nothing when the damage is done

I've been a huge Who fan since I was 12 and shoplifted cassette copies of Who's Next and Live At Leeds from this cool used record store across the street from the Valley Fair Mall in Appleton. If you know me, you probably know this is far from being my best shoplifting story. (If you're in the dark I'll give away the ending: I got busted taking something back that I stole because I felt guilty. What that something is, and the circumstances surrounding how I stole that something, will have to wait until we meet again in a less public forum.) Anyway, if it's not most entertaining theft, my Who swipe is certainly the most momentous, since the music contained on those four sides of plastic-covered magnetic tape would go on to form the basis of my understanding of what rock 'n' roll is supposed to be.

As an unabashed classic rock fan, I'm used to picturing my heroes not as they are but as they were. For instance, when I think about The Who, I picture this:



I also picture this:



I try not to picture this:



We all get old. I'm not going to knock Messrs. Townshend and Daltrey for their phlegmy cover band medley during the Super Bowl for ageist reasons. I thought they were pretty awful, but for reasons (mostly) unrelated to their questionable bladder control. (The "mostly" exception is Daltrey's voice, which is worn and torn worse than teenage wasteland these days.) I learned not to worry and love the two-man Who tribute act The Who has become nearly eight years ago, when Townshend and Daltrey overcome the truly horrid ickiness of the Tweeter Center in Tinley Park, Ill. (not to mention the very recent death of John Entwistle) to perform one of my favorite concerts ever. (Notice I said favorite, not best.) It had been my dream for years to see The Who live, but I was actively out to hate it before "The Who" went on. The $9 beers, the $40 T-shirts, the dead and seemingly forgotten bassist--this show was pushing all my cynic's buttons hard. And yet ... c'mon, we're talking about "Can't Explain" and "The Kids Are Alright" and "Baba (fucking) O'Riley" here. You don't let yourself get in the way of that kind of greatness, and I quickly gave myself over.

So, here's my sincere rebuttal to anyone who says the old Who can't still bring it. (Amazed this is from eight years ago. Looks like The Who is dragging me down with 'em!)