When He's Sixty-Four

When I finally got the progeny all tucked in last night, a quick check on the Intehnets brought joyous tidings from the South--New Orleans had stunned the Pop-Jock Colts, and I'm sure Bourbon Street is flowing as I type, merely 10 hours later.

Here's my take: The Saints watched living legends Pete Townshend and Roger Daltry putting all men to shame in 12-minutes flat, and then came out 50-some-strong to answer one of rock's--and teendom's--ineffable questions: "Who the bleep are you?" Who the bleep are we? We're survivors. We're onside kick at the top of the Second Half. We're Special Teams, and we want our goddammed football back. Who the BLEEP are YOU?

When I was hanging out in college radio land, there was this guy named Holmsie (and not for nothing, isn't there always a Holmsie?), who went on and on about The Who. Tied up in Tears for Fears as I was, I didn't get it, and I never understood the sheer power of The Who until adulthood. Like the Fab Four, two of them have rocked on to the next life, and after last night's Super Bowl Halftime Show, I'm thinking of accepting Pete Townshend as my personal Lord and Saviour.

Cagey in Matrix-styled mirrored shades and topped with a cheeky porkpie hat, the lead guitarist for the greatest rock band ever was a walking wink; ever the sly one, Pete Townshend has consistently been up to no good, his whole life. The cat can play. He can still sing. He's 64.

No one can top him. Let's just run down the list.

Sir Elton's candle has flickered into Pop-Musical Theatre Irrelevance, Age 62

Aerosmith's Steven Tyler is back in rehab, and once he dries out needs to get back to the business of presiding as Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, Age 61

Pauvre Guillame Joel... you will always be the man, but for now, see Tyler. Age 60

Sir Paul. I'm so sorry, Sir Paul. You are THE living legend. A pharoah amongst songwriters. Your music is scripture. But you fell from grace quite a bit when you released a pro-war song for pity's sake. And then the one-legged lady hopped away from you. Honestly, what are we to make of that? Age, 67

Mick. OK, in fairness, this guy is a close second, but he doesn't play guitar. At least not like Pete. Age, 66.

Keith Richards. Title of Greatest Living Rocker only open to the living.

Robert Matthew Van Winkle. Thank you for tipping your Wal*Mart of Pensacola Valet Parking Attendents! Age, 42.

Pete Townshend oughta get the key to New Orleans. I may be the only one who knows, and I'm giving him full personal credit for motivating last night's dreamy deliverance. It was every bit as good as Prince singing Purple Rain *in* the rain. Hypnotic lights. Ejaculatory fireworks. Transcendent rock, nearly every lick a line of poetry. God Bless the British Invasion.