Led Zeppelin vs. The Rolling Stones

More years ago than are important, Cecil and I engaged in a battle of music-related wit. Mostly because our light sabers were in the shop, and we couldn't drink on campus. Well, not legally anyway. But the topic -- which is the better rock band, Led Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones -- came up, and we went round after periodic round on the thing, until we both realized that the other was too stubborn to bother listening. And because nothing's better/more productive than resurrecting old wars, we decided to have it out, once and for all, to bury the hatchet if you will.

The 7000-word battle, after the jump.

bankmeister: When I think back to the summer Saturday in 1987 when I made a decision to ride my stepmom’s bike to the mall, two things come to mind: 1) It was heavy hot out, the kind of heat that Midwesterners know too well, the kind where breathing feels like a chore, when you spend a significant portion of every day pondering your level of comfort with each and every minute that ticks by. 2) I had no idea how much that trip to the mall would forever shape my musical life.

My sister and I were staying at Dad’s for the weekend, an activity that was probably in the peak of dwindling to non-existent. We were nearing that age of self-centeredness where every moment away from your friends felt like punishment, and you could hear the pain in Dad’s voice every time I would tell him over the phone that we weren’t coming over. I don’t recall telling Dad too many lies over the course of time. It wasn’t that I feared him, rather I loved him so much that lying to the old man felt like a betrayal bigger than Simon Peter’s. But I’d come up with some garbage reason that I thought was sparing his feelings, and, even through the telephone line you could tell he knew that I was full of it. I could feel his hurt through the receiver, but being as self-centered as I was, I always felt relief hanging up, like he was some client I dreaded seeing.

On this August weekend, though, we were over. I had some cash in my pocket, and I was determined to get to Musicland and purchase some cassettes. My library had grown very little in 13 years on the planet, and its contents at the time included: Rupert Holmes’ The Stranger, Barry Manilow’s One Voice, an ‘80s compilation called Hot Tracks, Olivia Newton-John’s Physical, and Michael Jackson’s Thriller. These were all on vinyl, and they had all been gifts. I owned one album that I’d purchased: Van Halen 1984. It was time to get the tape library rolling.

When my dad's second wife Elaine had given me permission to borrow a bike, I zipped out to the garage and spotted the only viable option of two-wheeled transportation: her clunker of a three speed that was quite cob-webby, a shade of yellow I’d never before seen, and boastful of a strangely shaped seat that had two wide springs suspended from the rear. I didn’t understand the function of those springs then, and still don’t. Back in the house, I shamefully learned that that was, in fact, the bike to which she’d referred, and –- take it or leave it –- it was the only working option as Dad’s had a flat tire.

I wrestled with the self-imposed immensity of my reputation being seen on this heap, and the $20 bill in my pocket may as well’ve been soaked in kerosene, it was burning that bad. I could take side streets, and hell -– I was in Missouri. My Kansas people would never spot me. Unscathed, I made it to Ward Parkway Mall, and trudged my sweat-soaked self into the blast of air conditioning, and before I knew it, I was holding it, the end-all, be-all of music in my hands. Led Zeppelin IV.

Okay, well we all know that “IV” isn’t really the title of the band’s fourth release, but that’s what it came to be known as. That and “ZoSo.” But I arrived at the idea that this was a must-own after sitting in Mrs. Caldwell’s seventh-grade Communications class one day. That week, each of us were displaying a skit for our classmates, an improv-ish kind of assignment, and when the dust had settled from the collection of performances, one stood out: Billy Chambers and Jon Brick impersonating Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. They had all of the props: wigs, headbands, a fake cigarette, all accompanying Brick’s unbuttoned vest and microphone, Chambers’ broom guitar. The tune they “played” was “Rock and Roll,” and when I heard it, I had no idea who the band was, nor did I know the names of any of the members in it. The only thing I knew as that I had to have it.

So I made my way home that day with two new albums, the second of which, I’m not ashamed to admit, was Billy Joel’s Innocent Man, a release that had a few tracks I was familiar with, and a sentimental purchase at that; the old man was a big Joel fan, and hey – Dad had a guitar in his basement and a music collection. Somehow, I was going to make this music thing work, whatever the thing was.

Led Zeppelin IV, though, was the seed of my life as a Zep’ fan, and it’s an understatement to say that I listened that album into the ground. “Rock and Roll,” “Black Dog,” “When the Levee Breaks,” “Misty Mountain Hop,” “The Battle of Evermore” -- which took me years to appreciate -- and yes, even “Going to California” and “Stairway to Heaven.” Hell, may as well include “Four Sticks” while I’m at it, but this sound of theirs, this start-to-finish awesomeness embodied in one album from some 16 years prior is where I began my journey down the path toward an enlightened sense of Ze(p), courtesy of these four English rockers. Funny sidenote about “Evermore”: While I was learning how to love it, I grew fond of the version Ann and Nancy Wilson recorded, which I think wound up on the Singles motion-picture soundtrack, but that’s a story for another time.

Cecil: I won't pretend to have such a particular, poignant background to my general dislike of Led Zeppelin. There's no sad tale, no indelible memory, no schoolyard beatdown administered to the strains of "Misty Mountain Hop." I just...don't really dig 'em.

That small statement is enough, as I have learned over the intervening years, to get you into an argument or 40. Led Zeppelin fans think of Led Zeppelin in hagiographic terms: it's not enough to admire their success and nod your head along occasionally with the radio, you have to acknowledge that they were The Best Ever. Failure to do so invites an endless ration of scorn tinged with disbelief. Really? So...you're saying you actually don't like them? Honestly?

I grew up with the work of ol' PlantPageJonesHam serving as a kind of youthful background track, thanks to the presence of my older brother and sister(s), and simply never really thought much about it. The tunes that really stuck in my head as a lad were Dylan, Neil Young. The Rolling Stones (a band that I could never, ever have escaped from, given my older sister Caite's still-going crush on Mick Jagger). Even Fleetwood Mac, for fuck's sake, although that's probably more a function of their ubiquity than anything else. I find any number of tunes by those artists, and plenty more besides, more compelling than "Black Dog" or "Whole Lotta Love."

Is that because so many other -- many, including my debate partner here, would add "lesser" -- artists have bitten their style over the years? I mean, I guess, but it's not like I was a big Whitesnake fan as a kid, either. For whatever reason, this near-universal appreciation of Led Zep just skipped me over. "Kashmir" leaves me cold. "The Immigrant Song" is best when sung by Jack Black, or not at all. That "you don't have to go, oh oh oh oh" song makes me violent in the guts. Every time I hear someone brag on that guitar-slop Satanist Page like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, I imagine God destroying a city populated entirely by adorable talking seals.

bankmeister: I see. So the Zep never jived with you. Fair enough. Talk about your appreciation for the Stones, a little more on how it started, and how it developed early on. Where had you gotten with them by, say, the high-school age, and then the college years.

And before you do, I feel compelled to respond to a few of your quips regarding the PlantHam. I’ve never been interested in parading around the country touting the Zep as the best ever. That said, there was a significant stretch of my adolescence wherein I whole-heartedly believed that, and rare was the occasion that one of their albums wasn’t blasting from the boom box in my room or the stereo in my rusty brown Corolla. As my music appreciation grew, I got way into Pink Floyd, and have had serious long-term affairs with both Dylan and Young. As it sits today, I wouldn’t say that one is better than the other; I appreciate each of them for what they are/were.

Thus far, my only bone to pick with you would be your claim that various Fleetwood Mac tracks gave you more musical erections than the litany of Zeppelin tunes that have been overplayed on the FM airwaves over the years did. To that end, I have three points:

1) Fleetwood Mac was an incredible outfit until Stevie Nicks came aboard. Everything after stinks up a house like chicken fat in your kitchen trash can that has to wait six days for the waste-removal truck to swing past, and even after it’s still a little foul. Specifically, I’m referring to the original lineup that featured Peter Green, Mick Fleetwood, and John and Christine McVie. They emerged in the late 1960s, have been associated with the London blues explosion, and for great reason. Specific music genres are not for everyone, and the blues is no exception, but if you’re into it, this quartet absolutely killed it. If you’re unfamiliar, their self-titled debut, and the follow-up, Mr. Wonderful are simply magical, as are many live recordings from ’68 and ’69, specifically two from Chicago and London. I’m not versed in the Mac of the early/mid ‘70s, but I’m aware, as is every other human that’s ever walked the western half of the earth, of the Mac of late ‘70s through today, and it is not good.

2) That said, classic-rock radio (CRR) was considered, at one time, the new sliced bread. Back then, there was nothing wrong with that, I don’t think, but classic-rock radio is also akin to heroin in that, if you enjoy the shit out of it, it could very well kill you. The world-renowned Mac that has sold millions of records and packed concert houses for over two decades is but one example. I imagine that their popularity exploded the way it did because they were producing rock n’ roll, but had a female front vocalist, which was pretty rare, unless you were part of an outfit called Heart, which, again -– we won’t get into now. I’m curious, though, if there’s an aspect for your Zep non-appreciation that’s largely attributable to radio, or, in other words: Would things have been different if you’d ever sat down with an album of theirs, and gave it three listens?

3) The third point touches on your assertion that many a brow has been wrinkled for supposing that bands that have come since Zeppelin’s heyday rip off the Led style, or don’t live up to them, etc. I imagine that there might be many out there that feel this way, but your mentioning of it is the first time I’ve heard someone make that point. I can certainly connect the dots and see how folks might feel that way over say, a Great White, but I do not. I don’t care if a band wears their BonJones influence on their sleeve. I’m probably not going to get into that band, but it won’t be because I feel as though they can’t get the Led out.

As for your final two thoughts there, I think we can all agree that “D’yer Mak’er” has, at one time or another, pissed off every male rock fan on the planet, but that’s another fold in the classic-rock laundry basket. In and of itself, it’s not a terrible song. If you listen to Houses of the Holy in its entirety, it fits in well, and if nothing else, it’s one of many Zeppelin songs in which you can appreciate the insane drumming abilities that John Bonham possessed. If CRR murdered hundreds of songs and artists, they Charles Manson’d a few dozen tracks in particular, “Mak’er” being one of them. Also, I’ll acknowledge the assertion that Jimmy Page worshipped the devil, and I’ll add to that that I expect more of you in this discussion. I mean, let’s agree that rented mules are rented mules, and if one feels so inclined, one can beat one. I’m not here to claim that Page is greater than/less than Hendrix. That would be foolish. I will, however, posit that he was 10 times the guitarist Keith Richards ever fashioned himself to be. In doing so, though, I admit we dip our toes in potentially murky water. Were the two musicians, independent of/along with, their associated outfits, ever even trying to accomplish the same thing?

Cecil: Fair enough -- although I should say first of all that I am nowhere near as big a Stones fan as you are a Zep fan, but seeing as they've been my proxy in this argument for so many years, let's keep this dance going.

I think the Stones are underrated. Which is ridiculous, yes, because they were the most popular band in the world for decades, and remain a huge cultural force in certain (aging) demographics.

But their best work (Sticky Fingers, Exile on Main Street, Let It Bleed, for starters) is the canon, some of the foundational material upon which our modern rocktopolis was built, and for whatever reason that seems to have been forgotten in the intervening years. Is it because of all the dreck that came after? The Steel Wheels, the "Emotional Rescue," the "She Was Hot"? I'd wager the casual classic rock listener doesn't think of the mighty, messy monolith that is Exile in its wholeness as much as they think of "Jumping Jack Flash."

Zep, on the flip, has entirely the opposite issue: they broke up after Bonham drank himself dead at the height of their popularity, and never had that looooooong slow decline into Burger King commercials, guest appearances on "Perfect Strangers" and a decade's worth of reunion tours. They left their (admittedly huge) fanbase screaming for more, and all of the remaining members' shitty solo albums and projects combined -- seriously, The Honeydrippers? -- couldn't dent the legacy of the original band. That they didn't have a chance to devalue their brand, their chest-hairy glory left frozen in classic rock amber.

As far as my personal journey as a fan? I've made mention of my sister Caite's enormous crush on Mick; her fake ID used to claim that her name was "Caite Jagger." Well, as a little kid, she was usually my babysitter, and that alone guaranteed that I'd be exposed to more Stones than anything else. I recall when Some Girls came out, probably their last good record, and having to listen to it constantly. As I grew into my own tastes, I realized that I'd glossed over their true glory years, and I challenge anyone to find me a rock band from any era with such a distinct musicality. Richards may not have been the equal of Page as an axeman, I don't think that's up for debate -- although I bet he could kill him in a shoot-heroin-into-your-face contest -- and he may have just been repurposing old Chuck Berry licks, but holy shit that guy knew how to write a fucking song. No filler, no wankery, just a brawling, bluesy pub fight.

(Also, perhaps I should clarify something I said earlier: I have no love for Fleetwood Mac, they just occupied a more prominent place in my young musical forebrain than Zep did. Who knows why. It wasn't like any of my thousand older siblings really liked them or anything. I guess it just shows the power of FM radio over a four year-old's mind -- something off of fucking Rumours was playing about every third song back then, but then, same with Zep. Maybe I've just repressed a real love of treacly cocaine-pop all these years.)

bankmeister: Okay. Now we're getting into the bloody, marbled meast of this thing, and it is from within this wall of fat and sinew that many flavors of musical debate can commence. And to keep it simple, we can chalk everything up to three c-words: composition, crunch, and collection. More on those in just a moment, but I think it's worth clarifying your statement about John Bonham. In my estimation, there is a seven-year window -- 1969-1975 -- in which Led Zeppelin was the most powerful band on the planet, and off the top of my head, no single outfit has ever put together six consecutive, mind-blowing albums in such a fashion.

Physical Graffiti came out in '75, and I'd put it toe-to-toe with any double LP ever released. It is simply magical. After that, you got Presence the following year, which was mostly unimpressive (though some insist it remains underrated), In Through the Out Door in '79, which was fine, but it's also where we got sappy CRR staples like "Fool in the Rain," and "All My Love." Bonham died in 1980, and two years later, they dropped Coda, which was mostly garbage. So for me, I wouldn't say that he died in the midst of their heyday, leaving fans screaming for more. For me, the proverbial load was shot with Graffiti, and things kind of made their way downhill from there.

I like/agree with the notion of their glory frozen in classic-rock amber, but it's important to appropriately arrange the details, in my opinion.

Once I had IV, though, my next grab was the self-titled debut, and I would then purchase their releases in order of drop date until my collection was complete. I have no idea how many hundreds of hours I've spent listening to studio Zeppelin over the years, but that's the approach I've always had: Invest in an album from start to finish, and then repeat roughly 75 times. Any cuts you catch on the airwaves are either added bonus or a shipment of grated nerves. There's no in between there, but particular tracks can leap from one end to its opposite.

That self-titled debut made its way into my hands before CRR had fully scarred me, and so it's safe to assume that "Good Times/Bad Times," "Dazed and Confused," "Communication Breakdown," and perhaps "Your Time Is Gonna Come" were already familiar. There isn't much to say about GT/BT or "Breakdown." They're not spectacular, but "Dazed" was a species previously unknown to the human ear, and "Your Time" gave you the nice gospel-y feel with fat organs, and again, Bonham just going bananas at the kit. For my money though, "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" and "I Can't Quit You Babe" were absolute gems, productions that shocked my brain like blanched Brussels sprouts being dropped into an ice bath. The soul, the goose bumps, the whole nine. And don't worry: We'll get to the songwriting credits in a moment.

It is virtually impossible to discuss II without pretending that nearly every minute of that recording has not crushed every shore on Earth like some sort of global tsunami, so we'll skip it, but I like to think that if a world without CRR existed, I could spend some quality time with this album, and really sink my teeth into its juicy flesh.

Led Zeppelin III always left me with a strange feeling, and it still does today. This is largely because I would sit in my room with these cassettes and stare for hours into the cover art of the album I was listening to, forging in my brain some sort of relationship with the music and the imagery. On IV you get the old man in the field with the straw bundle on his back. With self-titled you have the intimidating burning blimp, and with II you get burning-blimp silhouette, but in the background of some conglomeration of the band and some Mad Max extras and Hell's Angels. Really weird. But with III, it's like the cover-art dude was on vacation, and they just let some kids, armed with school-room supplies, get after it.

Also, I'd probably heard "Immigrant Song" 40 times before I bought III, and I had no idea it was Zeppelin, so for that haunty, hollerific rager of a cut to kick off the album, I was almost certain I'd purchased a fouled-up copy of the the release. Then it goes into "Friends," which kept up with the theme of the mismatched; the song's title never jived with the creepiness and bizarre rhythm of the cut. As for the rest of that side, "Celebration Day" never did much for me, and "Out on the Tiles" was a very fun/unique cut, and sandwiched in between the two is "Since I've Been Loving You," which might be the best blues-rock song ever composed.

So, the theme of the strange continues with this album when you flip to side B; you get one of the best half-albums in their history. Just amazing, even if you don't know what a Bron-Y-Aur is, or how you'd go about stomping it.

As for Houses of the Holy, I never got the naked-kids-on-the-rocks thing, continuing to enhance the sense of mystery I associated with this band, but it kicks off with "The Song Remains the Same" and if you don't get inspired with that opening minute, then there's something clinically wrong with you. "The Rain Song" follows and is drop-dead gorgeous from start to finish. "Over the Hills and Far Away" is still an epic track, even if CRR has mucked up its face with those nasty, grubby hands. I could take or leave "The Crunge," and "Dancing Days" is still pretty fun. We don't need to say anything more about "D'yer Mak'er," but I file "No Quarter" with "Dazed and Confused" in terms of raw, cock-out, spookified, blastable rock and roll. It's cuts like this that you realize there is one thing that's underrated in this band, and that's the versatility of John Paul Jones. This cut tells an untold tale of a cold, windy trek (somewhat Sleepy Hollowesque) to some dark sword-in-the-stone kind of place where there's death and decay all around, and it's all for minimal reward and redemption. And Houses closes with "The Ocean," which has always left me a little lukewarm. I also seem to recall having read something about this composition being tied in with Robert Plant's nearly fatal car crash, but I could be mistaken.

I won't get into Graffiti, because I could probably hunk together 5000 words about it, but if you've never sat down with it from start to finish, you're doing yourself a massively huge musical disservice. Back to those three Cs, though.

Composition: I think we can both agree that it's pretty rare when an outfit truly has a gift of consistently putting together top-quality productions. I argue that Zeppelin fits right in their in the discussions of -- Get your Top Gun quotebook out -- the best of the best. Years ago, when we kindled the flames of this debate, you dropped your rip-off-artist line on me, and it seriously shook the very foundation of my musical existence. I was instantly convinced you were incorrect, that you knew nothing, that it was impossible to smear this immaculate outfit. I also had, to a T, that you-actually-don't-like-them questioning sort of experience you touched on.

You gave some props to Richards for songwriting, and this, then, is the point in which I open the door to you to discuss the discredit that is, or should be, associated with the Zeppelin name for the various blues/attribution/legal/unoriginal episodes this band has experienced.

Cecil: I knew that once I started in on this, I'd be in a knife fight armed with a broken plastic spork. Your comprehensive knowledge of the Zep catalogue is most impressive.

But rather than try and rebut each of those opinions as if I had some legitimate beef with your particular taste in songs, I'll skip straight ahead to the last line and "discuss the discredit that is, or should be, associated with the Zeppelin name for the various blues/attribution/legal/unoriginal episodes this band has experienced."

First, I get it. Everyone takes from someone. I mentioned Keith Richards re-purposing Chuck Berry for a new generation earlier; that was no mere throwaway diss, it's the truth, and Keef himself has basically owned up to it over the years. The Ramones would not have existed without The Stooges or The New York Dolls, Radiohead without Kraftwerk and P.i.L., Guns 'n' Roses without T. Rex. The salient difference between those groups and Zep is that they didn't lose lawsuits brought by artists whose work they'd appropriated.

I mean, it's just facts. Plant lifted large chunks of Willie Dixon's lyrical work and then had to pay him for it. Their whole early ouevre, especially on I, is basically one big theft o' the blues. Page is, I think, still involved in a court case with some old folk singer who claims to have written Dazed & Confused.

But then -- and I am gonna make an attempt to neuter the reply I feel building on your end, here -- it probably doesn't really matter all that much, in the end. One could make a similar argument about Clapton. He pretty much swallowed the Delta blues whole and spit it back out in a different time signature. Does that invalidate his career? Only a fool would say as much. I may not be the biggest Zep supporter in the world, but I will, finally, here and now, admit that their sticky fingers were no dirtier than most of their cohorts, and the vast majority of their work is indisuptably of a sound all their own.

Speaking of that sound: it's always been the case, when we have this discussion, for me to say that the one Zep album I really loved was III, and you've always held that was one of your least favorite, if not the least. And you've hardly been alone in that: most hardcore fans seem to think that's their weakest work. Why is that? For my dollar, it's their best combination of songcraft and cock-out-rock-out. Weird cover, though, I do agree.

bankmeister: That was much less harsh of a response than I anticipated, and quite frankly, I'm pleased to hear you acknowledge that sound-all-their-own aspect, an idea with which I wholly agree.

As far as III goes, it just stands out in that six-year-window as the odd child, and by odd, I mean to attach zero negative connotations. It is, on the whole, a remarkable album that should stand in the shadows of none other of those seven albums, and certainly dwarfs In Through the Outdoor on the badassery scale.

Really, I think it's fascinating that that's the album you own(ed) and that your beef with the band has always hinged on original songwriting because their approach to this recording session was totally different than any of the other three of their first four albums. If memory serves, the traditional recording studio route was shunned in favor of some sort of Plant/Page rustic getaway wherein they took a few months to write down the bones of the album, while crapping in an outhouse, bathing in nearby springwater, and depending on lit wicks for light after sundown. But I think they put that skeleton on the musical chalkboard and then had the other blokes join them to flesh the thing out.

And at its heart, III moved away from the less-desired-by-some blues regurgitation experienced on the first two albums and into a more acoustical approach, which is not clear from track one, but unequivocal with the eerie “Friends”, the foot-stompy “Gallows Pole” the downright gorgeous “Tangerine” and so forth. Regarding what they accomplished in that approach, I’ll say that “Friends” has one of the greatest lyrics ever written: “Mmm-mmm, I’m telling you now, the greatest thing you ever can do now, is trade a smile with someone who’s blue now." “Tangerine” might be the best air-guitar song ever recorded, and if “That’s the Way” doesn’t make you wanna take your girl on a picnic and make love to her under a tree, you should have someone check your head; “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp” might be one of the most underappreciated pieces of music John Paul Jones

(always my Zep hero, by the way) ever wrote; and all in all, the album really just caught people off guard. You got a blimpful of CRR airplay with the first two, and “Immigrant Song” and “Tangerine” were the only ones that got any significant time from this record.

And CRR was the way that music was delivered back then. Well, that and vinyl. If you recall what I said earlier, III contains one of the best half-albums ever released, as well as the most solid blues-rock composition of all time. If I scoffed at III as a stand-alone the first time we had this debate, I’m sure I was just trying to get back into my rocker, having been knocked out of it by your hate-fueled stance. I dig III a ton. Make no mistake, but I think at best it takes, ironically, a third-place slot behind IV and Graffiti. Naturally, it’s possible that IV will always get such a high vote from me because it was my first impression.

But back to a larger scale, I’m starting to feel a white-flag-waving vibe from you, and I’m curious if you’re going to come out of your foxhole and fire off some intrinsic guns that suggest why the Stones should get the decision at the end of this 12-round bout. For me, Zep is one of the best outfits to ever walk the halls of rock. Plant’s presence and Page’s riffs go unmatched in the annals, so much so that Joe Perry and Steven Tyler should be ashamed every time the two band names are mentioned in the same sentence, and believe me, I’ve loved me some Aerosmith. I couldn’t tell you much about the personal life of John Paul Jones, but if I wagered a guess, I’d imagine he was a pretty humble, down-to-earth guy, and his talents in this outfit have always been a drip on the massive canvas that was, and I think the two frontmen even shunned him a few times in the past, an act for which they should be punished. And you can poke fun at Bonham’s charred liver all you want. He was a damn animal at the kit, the touchstone example of a rock band that is actually led by its drummer, as opposed to using one as a backbone.

What, say you, oh believer in closets occupied by condors?

Cecil: Well, as far as where the Stones should go when we order the Firmament, I'm sticking with "at the top." Because they were the fucking Rolling Stones.

I've made mention of some of their earliest, finest works, but I think the thing that really stands out about their career -- aside from its sheer longevity, of course -- was its consistency. For about a 15-year span, they just bashed out great album after great album and didn't really hit a low note until the '80s, when they picked up the disco baton on Emotional Rescue.

During that period, the Rolling Stones lost one member to drug abuse and the remainder were riddled with some of the most problematic substance abuse issues in musical history. By the middle part of the '70s they basically despised each other. And close to the end of that decade, for all of the quality and credibility of their musical catalogue, they had yet to see the truly massive commercial success that Zep (for instance) had*. Yet they still built a musical legacy that will stand against any.

*This sounds off, I know, seeing as the Stones have made more money than Croesus, and have like 14 different Platinum-and-above selling albums, but it wasn't until the late '70s/early '80s and the beginning of the big stadium tours that they really started rolling in it. Mick's naivete as a young man led them to sign one of the worst record contracts in history, early on, and to the best of my knowledge they *still* don't make anything off of some of their most famous songs.

Let's go to the tape: it wasn't their first record, but Out of Our Heads is probably the first real "Stones" album that wasn't mostly just old blues covers with a few originals, like on 12 x 5. It dropped in 1965, when a lot of young folks stateside were still busying themselves with The Archies, and then all of a sudden those fresh-faced American virgins found themselves ear-to-speaker with shit like "Satisfaction" and "Playing with Fire."

From that point forward, until the Goats Head Soup/It's Only Rock & Roll era, they didn't miss with a single record.

First, take a gander at the track listing on the A side of Aftermath (1966 and the first full Richards/Jagger effort): "Mother's Little Helper," "Stupid Girl," "Lady Jane," "Under My Thumb," "Doncha Bother Me," "Goin Home." One side of one album. Now look at the four album stretch after Satanic Majesties (which didn't get a lot of love when it was released but is widely considered visionary now): Beggars Banquet. Let It Bleed. Sticky Fingers. Exile on Main Street. I just can't think of a stretch of work by any musical outfit in our lifetimes that really compares, both in musical quality and cultural import. The cultural part is where the brightest line gets drawn, for me. Zep had a big tour bus and stuck fish in groupie pussy; the Stones had Altamont. They mattered, in a way that none of their contemporaries really did.

Now on to your contention that I'm packing up my knives a bit: you're not wrong. Fact is, the years, and the arguments, and the years of arguments, have led me to reconsider my Zep stance. This little exchange has allowed me to focus on why, exactly, that is, and the answer isn't flattering: in large measure I'd always torn them down because they'd been built up. Because everyone liked them, and I prided myself, when I was younger and even more stupid than now, on not liking the things that everyone else liked, because everyone else was just a lowing herd animal buying what their corporate masters told them to. Or something.

But when I think about their actual work, specifically the first several albums, and of those even more specifically II and III, I can't help but tell myself that I've been showing my ass all these years. Yesterday, a local sports talk radio show played the opening to "Good Times, Bad Times" as bumper music and I thought, You know, this song kind of fucking rocks. That's a meaty drum lick, and a legitimate rock god axe, and...maybe I better go to Itunes. I didn't, but still, I thought about it.

So, yes. I am finally, after going round and round about this with you for nearly two decades, ready to confer my personal stamp of Rock Music Legitimacy upon the bones of the most popular group of the '70s. Led Zeppelin may have stolen, yes, this is indisputable; but they also made great fucking albums. Jimmy Page was a monster, John Paul Jones a vastly underappreciated artist, Bonham the second-best drummer ever (after Keith Moon) and Plant sported a truly masculine chest forest.

But I will not give them classic rock primacy. That belongs to the Stones. And I will never, ever, ever ever ever, listen to "Stairway to Heaven" again, for even a few seconds.

bankmeister: We've managed to cover some ground here, and we got off track a bit from where I'd intended, but it's all been very solid. We spent plenty of time talking about composition, or, the first 'C'. I think, but correct me if I'm wrong, that we could fairly assign an even tie to the two groups on that one.

Crunch was the second 'C' I wanted to address, and I'm going to guess we'll agree to disagree on this, but I give Zep the from-the-top-turnbuckle, knockout-punch victory over TRS in this one, and I say so because, in my estimation, the Stones, as you mentioned, wrote a boatload of good songs, and some of them, many of them, could be deemed great. Hell, an immeasurable amount of listeners have deemed them great.

To me, though, their sound, and the energy that comes from it, has always been a bit flat in my opinion, which I don't prop up as an attack or an insult, but I mean, in terms of rockin' out with the twig an' berries exposed, that's what Zep does. The Stones definitely have their up-tempo moments, but it's always felt a little bit blues-based, or seasoned with some soul influence. And I'm not sure how much they ever strayed from it. Zep, on the other hand, just reaches out and punches your Adam's Apple when they're gettin' after it, even when they're writing and stealing blues, so I give them the edge by a landslide.

Collection, however, I don't think we even need to discuss. I mentioned a specific window in which released Zep material was certified awesome, and of course the death of Bonzo cut the coursed meal short. So, I think the Stones get the easy win there. Are those assertions accurate, or am I off in 'C' two?

You've dissed "Emotional Rescue" twice in this exchange, and that might be one of my all-time favorite Stones songs. I think it has flair, a nice poppin' bass, and a funk feel to it. What's up with your dislike of that track?

Also, if you would, talk about this not liking what others like(d) approach. Where did that come from? How much did that shape what you liked/approved early on, and how much has it shaped what you listen to today? Is it possible that such an approach can be potentially limiting?

Finally, Physical Graffiti. Have you ever given it a full listen? More than once? If not, would you consider giving it three full monties -- if I bought it for you -- and get back to me?

Cecil: You know, I probably haven't actually listened to Physical Graffitti all the way through in 17 years or so, so yeah, I'd definitely give it a re-listen. My brother always said it was their best, and as long as I skipped over "Kashmir" I'd be fine.

I admit I've kind of ignored some of the basic structures of this lil' debate, what with the collections and the crunches and so on. But I will definitely give you that second C: When it comes to simple lay-it-down-with-a-fury, Zep wins by a landslide. There's a reason every heavy metal band of the last 30 years puts them first when the inevitable rock journalist asks the inevitable "what are your musical influences?" question. Bonham is the biggest part of that, in my mind, because he just had that huge, thumping sound that (aside from his buddy K. Moon) was almost entirely nonexistent back then. The Stones, for instance, had/have a great drummer, but his style owes a lot more to jazz than, say, the echo of Spectral Death-Horses Raining Pestilence Upon the Unbelievers, which was more Bonham's thing.

Now, "Emotional Rescue"...here's the thing. I don't hate the song. It is, as you suggest, kind of a spare, funky little creation. What I dislike is what it meant: That eponymous album signified the for-real final decline of what had been the Most Important Rock Band of the Last Two Decades. There would be no further Some Girls, fine albums that could reasonably seen as a return to something approaching classic Stonesery. Rather, there would be a succession of thin, derivative knockoffs of past tropes. "She Was Hot." Steel Wheels. Mick & Keith's respective solo careers. Jan Wenner would breathlessly drop to his knees each time, of course, but it didn't matter, because the band he'd named his magazine after was gone. The thing that carried forward was, to clumsily borrow from Yeats, merely the form in the grass where once the hare had lain.

As far as the Opposite Day aesthetic I'd borne so long: I wouldn't say it's been necessarily limiting, really, since I do tend to have fairly Catholic tastes when it comes to music, but it's been an issue with discovering new things. As in, too often when I visit iTunes, I tend to re-buy stuff I'd owned years earlier -- some old Meat Puppets album, say, something by The Descendents, something by Public Enemy -- instead of jumping in the pool headfirst. So Pandora was a godsend for me. I could build a station, say Social Distortion, and come out with four new bands I wanted to check out. Or even four bands I'd heard of for years but never approached, because I'd never gotten past my initial will I like it?/I don't want to waste the cash barrier. Pandora, and I should also just say the internet in general. The power of worldwide peer-based review is priceless.

bankmeister: Certainly a fascinating series of takes, and I think we're rounding Conclusionary Bend here, so, final thoughts?

Cecil: In closing, this was fun, even though reading back through my cliche-riddled crap makes me realize how far away the boat has drifted these last few years. But that's no never mind.

The important thing here, at least from my perspective, was that this exercise allowed me to realize what a weak point I was making, to realize that I'd spent years playing the needless contrarian. Fact is, Zeppelin pretty much fucking rocks. And I'd always known that, but had let the ancillary issues, i.e. musical "legitimacy" (as if such a thing really exists), cloud my judgment. There's room enough for everyone in the pantheon and just because I prefer Exile to IV doesn't mean that IV doesn't rule.

Now I just have to convince you that Little Feat didn't suck. Come on, man, Lowell George!

bankmeister: Ha ha. Great points, and I think that what I can take away from this is this: I now realize that I have a ton of Stones to go listen to, a lot of which will be virgin sessions, so there's that little tidbit that kind of deflates my entire stance. And that's a stance, I should say, that was created on the defensive, so I won't claim to hate the Stones or say that they suck. Neither is true. In my glossary, though, they'll never steal first fiddle from the Zep.

Oh, and I know I told you that Phish covered Exile on Halloween '09, but did you know that Waiting for Columbus was '10's muscial costume?

Cecil: You didn't, but that's funny. They're forcing it on you. You have no choice but to consume. Consume the Feat.
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Baseball in the MayTime: Speculation Row

About once a season, the crafty Cecil and I sit down over some sweet tea and edamame, and we chat about baseball. Okay. Fine. It's cheese-filled brats and Pabst Blue Ribbon, but you get the drift. Typically, we have an agenda lined up for these chats, and we stick to it, ironing out all of the crucial (in our minds) details about the subject, and our opinion-offering is never scarce. This is not one of those times. Not to worry. We have, somewheres beyond the jump, plenty of opinions, and they'll come at you like a drag bunt, so in case you're playing us deep, this is your warning to be prepared. No matter where you're positioned, though, we invite you to join us, and please -- feel free -- to ransack our attempts at intelligence in the comments, or just lose yourself in the vastness of text as if the whole thing were a three-hour freshman Western Civ. lecture on a dreary Tuesday morning. Enjoy!

Bankmeister: Been a while since we talked diamond ball, and I’m excited to get back into a fresh chat with you. I caught this really impressive interview with Mark Teixeira the other day, and you’ve mentioned him recently and what his presence has meant to your fantasy baseball clubs in seasons past, as well as how you feel disappointed to’ve not tagged him as a keeper for this season. In one of our previous chats you talked about your brain and baseball as a kid, and how, given that you were a stat junky, fantasy baseball would’ve been awesome had it been around back then. Couple that with your impressive ability at scouting college football players as they prepare to transition for the NFL draft. I’m curious as to what your tendencies are with young baseball players coming out of high school and college. Do you invest time in studying them as well? Had you heard of Tex’ before he was nabbed by the Rangers? Did it surprise you that he won Rookie of the Year in 2003?

Cecil: Honestly, I don't do that much research on the MLB draft. I mean, I read a bit about it in advance, of course, but we all do that.
The reason, beyond the fact that football simply occupies more of my adult headspace, is that the baseball draft is always a bet on the come -- these kids are usually teenagers, straight out of high school. There are a few college players, sure, but most of them are 18 years old and won't matter to their big clubs for a few years, if they ever do. Plus, the thing is like 34 rounds, which makes for crazy reach picks -- I think the Rockies drafted Michael Vick, for instance, when he was at Virginia Tech.

All in all, the MLB draft is a mess without the instant gratification provided by that of the NFL, where you can see pro-ready players contribute to your favorite team relatively quickly. Baseball is like hockey in that regard.

B: Okay. To get more specific then, did you have any thoughts on Teixeira from 2003-05, or say, before he was on your fantasy team? Were you interested in him or his stats, or how he might help the Rangers become a contender for the A.L. West? I mean, I know it’s Texas, so who cares, right? But I’m curious what your initial thoughts about him were, and if you had any opinions about his trade to the Braves, and of course, his eventual signing with the Evil Empire. With regard to the interview, the two topics discussed that were most interesting to me were a) switch-hitting and b) losing.

Tex’ was asked about the development of his switch-hitting abilities, and how, playing in Little League, he was almost always a dominant force. In the early years, his dad suggested that he toy around with batting left-handed when his teams were ahead in games, when he was having a lot of individual success at the plate. Then, when he was around 14, he became “bored” with hitting righty, and his dad urged him to get serious about it, which he did, and of course, became good. He went on to say that hitting from both sides in the Bigs can be a challenge because there can be stretches where you face starting right-handed pitchers several days in a row, and then the opponent starts a lefty, and he has to go back to the right. As he points out, it can take a few at bats to get your right-handed swing back in a rhythm, especially since it tends to be more of a level swing, or even a chop. Left-handed swings, he says, are more of an uppercut, the proverbial golf swing, if you will.



I was intrigued by this because my grandfather insisted that his first-born son switch hit from an early age, and my uncle, in turn, showed my mom. It skipped my aunt, but their younger brother learned as well, and some combination of them all taught me and my male cousins to switch hit as well. Given that I wasn’t talented or disciplined enough to play ball beyond high school, I never “got bored” at the plate hitting right-handed, but with practice at a young enough age, I didn’t feel like developing my left-handed swing was that difficult.

And all of this makes me wonder why there aren’t more switch-hitters out there now. It seems like they became very mildly prevalent in the 1980s, but I don’t feel like we see a ton more switch-hitters the better part of two decades later. Is my observation off? Would you say that there are lots more today? If the answer is no, why aren’t parents of talented baseball youth at least attempting to instill the ability in their kids, especially if the kids we’re seeing in the MLB draft are in fact that much younger than those entering the NFL’s?

C: Before he was on my team, I thought: switch-hitter with power. Guy with a hard-to-pronounce name. Could eventually be one of the best players in the league.



After, I thought: why isn't he better?

Not to be flip, but he was one of those dudes who never seemed like he was going to live up to the potential. He had a great end to '05, but the next year -- or maybe the one after, I can't remember -- he was as cold as ice, and I was growing increasingly willing to sacrifice my love of having him as my eternal keeper.

But then, after he was traded to the Braves and ended up in LA, it seemed to click for him. He seemed like he was growing into his vast potential -- seriously, who else in the Bigs has his combo of glove, power and intangible "intangibles"? So of course, with the guy finally coming into his own, I let him go.

That may or may not work out for me. The guy I kept instead was Evan Longoria. Early returns are in my favor.

As far as the switch-hitting, I agree with your perspective. I don't have any numbers in front of me, but it sure does seem like there are fewer and fewer. Is it because of specialization? Too many parents want their kids to do one sport and one sport only -- could that mindset be a part of it? Fear of failure is a powerful thing, and parents with dreams of big league contracts might not want to risk a kid's development by allowing him to experiment and learn from failure. I don't agree with that, but it certainly could be a factor.

I taught myself how to bat lefty, because I didn't have anyone to help me -- by the time I was 10, my Dad couldn't walk on his own, and my mom had too much stuff going on to throw tennis balls to a deluded nerd like myself. It didn't carry over to my games because I was afraid of trying it, but I could definitely swing lefty, and still can.

But you're right, you definitely have to learn early. And you need to have people around you willing to help.

B: Agreed. People willing to help is certainly a must.

What about left-handed pitching? Obviously, neither of us are doctors, or scientists, or anatomists, but somewhere in the vein of adult influences on potential young baseball talent, comes the debate of arm strength. It seemed like, when we were growing up, the only pitchers you faced were righties; when a southpaw took the mound, you were like – what happened to this kid? I think you could make the argument that the increase in big-league lefties in the last two decades dwarfs the increase of switch-hitters, but as you said, I’m making such claims sans stats. When boys are born to sports-fan fathers, you oftentimes hear jokes of the put-a-baseball-in-that-kid’s-left-hand-before-every-bottle variety, but, in your estimation, is that happening with any legitimate frequency? Are there lefties out there that became lefties because of influence, in cases where they might very well’ve been a natural righty? And since we’re cruisin’ Speculation Avenue, what are your thoughts on the alleged fewer-and-fewer switcheroos versus a growing, albeit slowly, number of lefties?

Your Cubbies, perhaps are a good model in that they have lefties slated in the two and five slots with Ted Lilly, and Sean Marshall, respectively. The Royals, however, have an all-righty rotation. And Old No. 7’s Sox have only Jon Lester as it stands right now with their four-man swing. How valuable is it to have one or two lefties in your starter mix?



C: You're right on when you say speculation, because I honestly have no idea what the stats are as far as how many kids are born left-handed, or if there are more left-handed pitchers in the Bigs these days versus fewer switch-hitters or the price of tea in Beijing (although I could actually probably find that out relatively easily, but I'm lazy and hung over).

It's my perspective that teaching a kid to bat lefty is easier than teaching a kid to throw lefty, only because I look like a floundering porpoise when I try and toss a baseball with my sinister hand. My guess why? Because batting is more a matter of hand placement and stance: if you practice the fundamentals enough, you can do it.

But re-training your body's natural instinct to favor one hand or the other is a much, much more difficult proposition. Not that it can't be done -- left-handed kids have been forced to be righties by narrow-minded adults pretty much forever -- but editing Mom Nature's genetic blueprint isn't easily accomplished.

I think that the shrinking number of switch-hitters -- if that's even true, but we're assuming it is for the benefit of this conversation -- is more a matter of parents and coaches who buy into the modern youth sport culture of specialization. Do one thing and one thing only. The number of lefties is probably static, because I doubt more left-handed kids are being born these days. But I could be wrong.

B: Alright. Enough speculation for now. Let's talk championships for a minute. In one of our previous chats (Editor's Note: It's not exactly mentioned there, but hey -- free pub'.), you mentioned the 1984 season, and cursed the Padres, I believe. Imagine for a minute, that your Denver Broncos hadn't ever won the big dance. What would the comparison of longing for a Cubs WS championship look like in comparison to a Broncos SB championship. I mean, you already mentioned that football occupies much more brain space. But do you, or can you, get as excited about a big post-season push from ChiC in the same way you can for Denver?

And right back into the speculation, how do you think the two compare? That is, how does a lifelong Chicago native feel about a Cubs championship versus one for the Bears? Obviously, the Bears have one, and made the SB again a couple years ago in the Great Bloach conspiracy season, but is it plausible that settling for a pennant is much larger in baseball, whereas a division title in football doesn't mean squat?

C: First, screw the San Diego Padres.

While I don't want to imagine that, the comparison of longing would probably not be equal -- as much as I love, and have loved, the Cubs, I'm too far removed from the daily hurlyburly of local Chicago sports to feel the same way I would about the Broncos in the same situation.

Also, Chicago's history of losing is so well-documented and accepted that it's almost a perverse mark of pride. Cubs fans might pretend that they get crushed by each successive failure, but deep inside there's this feeling of "ah, well, whatever." I mean, if your team sucks consisently, and spectacularly, for more than a century, you develop a thick carapace of cynicism to fight off the depressions.

My guess is, a lifelong Chicagoan, assuming they live on the north side and don't subsist on a diet of trash can leavings and cigarette butts, would probably be more excited about the Cubs. If only because the Bears have won one in recent memory. Not that that city wouldn't go dogshit crazy if the Bears won again, but the aurora of success still hangs on that franchise. If the Cubbies took home a series, Wrigleyville might actually collapse upon itself like a dying star.



And yes, I do think that a pennant in baseball still means more than a division title in football, for one major reason: the concept of a "pennant" still resonates. It makes you think of bleachers and popcorn and flags a-snappin' in the breeze. Even if it means the same thing as a conference championship in football and is no harder or easier to attain.

B: Okay. At this point, we have forgone any sort of seamless transition, but the topics are of importance on some level for some guy -- maybe in Wrigleyville -- on some computer in some basement. And the topic I'm leaning toward is losing.

It's not a pleasant topic, one, if I may, that you're not all that qualified to comment on, given that, you just mentioned being removed from the hurlyburly as far as your baseball team. Add to that, that the worst your football team has gone in your (recollectable) lifetime is 6-10 (I think); that is, you've experienced great success as a fan of the Denver Broncos, and you've had a moment or two with the Cubbies, with winning the pennant, etc. I'd even throw in the Rockies' WS appearance for shits and giggles.

But, the impetus for this exchange was the Teixeira interview, and perhaps the most profound part of the whole thing was his bluntness with regard to losing. He said -- and I don't recall exactly how the question was posed -- without hesitation, that the losing was far and above the hardest thing about coming into the league, regardless of personal successes, hype, signs of hope, etc. As a Texas Ranger, it was brutal for him to lose, and lose, and lose some more. Now, not being in the hurlyburly of Texas Ranger baseball, I can't speak for any of the fans that were closely following that team through those years, and I don't know how much, if any, of his frustrations he voiced to, or how much of his non-verbal signs were picked up by, the media.

Removed from the situation now, however, he has no beef talking about it point blank. I'll ask you to compare, if possible, that scenario to one of our oft-discussed/beat-to-death topics here inside the House of Georges: Tony Gonzalez and the trade that finally came to be.

You have Tex', his potential, and his hype, and no matter the strides he made, his club blew, day in and day out. Based on what he said in the interview, it wore him out mentally, and it's plausible that it affected his performance on the field. We already looked at Gonzalez's career numbers to date, and for varying and obvious reasons, he flourished much more quickly. It was in the most recent one and-a-half to two seasons, though, that he began to express his frustrations, analyze his consistent giving to the team/playing to the most of his potential, and exhibit his desires to be given the chance to play for a contender before his time was up.

What if Teixeira had come into the league, began mashing out of the gates, and, within 10 years, shattered a number of records and made himself an arguable candidate for the best of all time in his position. But say around year eight or nine -- and he's still a Ranger -- he began saying that he saw his window closing, that he wanted to win a playoff game and have a chance to win a championship, and the Rangers still sucked. Like, they're in rebuilding mode phase three, sub-category 12. Would it be more accepted? Would he garner fan empathy? Avoid the labels of crybaby and primadona? I mean, you could even throw in breaking an RBI record for first baseman, and being upset about not being given the opportunity to break it at home.

Ultimately, this is football versus baseball, and that makes it goofy, and of course we're talking about one of your least-favorite football players. But what it Tex' had gone through the same scenario, and the team/fans really wanted to keep him around because they loved his game, he was the face of the franchise, etc., but his patience had worn thin, and he wanted to be traded to a contender?

C: The Cubs' history of losing applies some mystical mathematical lever to all of the other teams -- football, basketball, hockey, cricket -- claimed by the squad's fans. So while the Broncos have been largely awesome in my life, the Nuggets are recently competitive and the Colorado State Rams own a majestic history called the mid-to-late '90s, Chicago's National League entry weighs the ledger to the negative.



The Broncos have had a few bad ones. They went 5-11 in 1990, 6-10 a few times and only won two games in the first strike-shortened year. Still, that's obviously pretty damn good. So, yeah, I don't have the intimate relationship with the loser's Nehi that you do, how it tastes like ashes and bile. I imagine it must be damned frustrating to be the fan of, say, a squad like the '94 Chiefs. Or the '97 Chiefs. Or the 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008 Chiefs. Or the Royals in general. I've been unfamiliar with it, unaccustomed to its face (and yes, I did just drop that My Fair Lady science). Well, at least up until recently. I suppose I'll have to develop a thicker skin and a greater tolerance for Polish vodka.

Players beg out of situations they don't like all the time for a variety of reasons: contracts, changes of scenery, wussiness, whatever. Doesn't bother in me in the slightest. I even understand those who claim on one hand to be all about the their fans, the city, etc. when in fact they want to beat ass out at the first opportunity and move to South Beach. Pretty sure Shannon Sharpe never lived in Denver in the off-season. And, of course, I have sympathy for the star athlete, the (debatably) best ever at his position who wants to finally win after years and years of losing, even if it means breaking a few local hearts in the process.

Yet there is a fundamental flaw in the question you pose: the two principals are not equal. Mark Teixeira hasn't won a Series, no, and he played on some terrible Rangers teams. Even assuming your scenario, this isn't 1954 baseball, this is Scott Boras baseball -- Tex is in the prime of his career right now and arrived last fall at the seemingly inevitable confluence of his free agency and a deep-pocketed, desperate buyer. So go to it, kid, make that cheddar, as Lenny Dykstra would say. I bear no ill will to Mark Teixeira.

Neither, though, do I give a flying fuck at a rolling donut about Mark Teixeira. Mark Teixeira could stand next to me in a broken-down elevator with no power for two hours and I doubt I'd recognize him. As a player, he's caused me some mild headaches as a fantasy owner (although early returns suggest I was right in keeping Longoria instead), but never beaten my team in a big game with a memorable hit or called Cub fans a pack of drunken, howling apes or anything, so who, really, gives a wild rhino's ass about Mark Teixeira?

Tony Gonzalez is a different story. Tony Gonzalez has caused me great heartache. Tony Gonzalez has made big catches in big games, scored touchdowns at important moments. Tony Gonzalez re-wrote the great #84's records. Tony Gonzalez played college basketball in Berkeley when I spent a lot of time there, working at a call center and smoking crystal methamphetamine, so I got to hear a lot about Tony Gonzalez before I ever heard a lot about Tony Gonzalez. Tony Gonzalez doesn't eat meat, is married to a rapture-inducing babe named after my favorite month of the year and saved a guy from choking to death. Tony Gonzalez.



So you'll understand, then, when I say: Tony Gonzalez can wrap Tony Gonzalez's lips around the tailpipe of eternal failure known as the Atlanta Falcons all he wants. I don't begrudge his passive-aggressive exit from your team; he had the juice and he earned it.

But I root for Tony Gonzalez to wear, for the rest of life and career, a little scrap of red & white cloth with the phrase eternal loser embroidered upon it in golden thread.

B: Very fascinating. Really. Every last bit of it. I didn't actually intend for you to imagine that you had some emotional tie to Tex'. I guess Ryne Sandberg would've been a better example. Or perhaps the suggestion that Sharpe's experience mirrored that of Gonzalez's, but that would've been too easy. And dumb. You did, nevertheless, answer my question, and even if it means you picture him inhaling carbon monoxide with said thready cloth affixed to his personage, it means something.

But football and Tony Gonzalez, believe it or not, were not the point of the exercise. I guess I just found myself shocked, perhaps because you seldom hear it, at the brutal honesty with which Tex' relayed his feelings about losing, and just how damn miserable it was. I also understand the differences between baseball and all else, and that free agency can mean get your dough and get out. I just wondered if a Rookie of the Year award and a Gold Glove flanking two MVPs might instill a bit of that see-this-thing-through in the kid, but I personally could look no further than the whole Carlos Beltran deal as a similar, backyard situation.

The next topic I wanted to address involves, well, some speculation. But before I get to it, who would be able to recognize anybody in a broken-down elevator with no power for two hours. Isn't it dark?

Just had to ask.

Seriously, though: the closer. Over the last two-three seasons, I've heard lots of baseball guys talk about the incomparable difference between 1970s and '80s baseball with baseball of today, for the sheer sake -- obviously there are others, but humor me -- of the different approaches when it comes to pitching. The experts, if you will, say that the starters of today can never be compared to the starters of our youth because the starters back then pitched, like, a ton more.

I mean, today you have quality starts and pitch counts and middle relievers and setup guys and closers. Granted, there were some of those things happening back when, but simply put, starters back in the day just had to gut it out. What do you suppose was the impetus for such a transition, and what five-year time frame would you peg for its onset? We know that closers have been around for some time, but when did pitching become such a decompressed, structured entity? Or has it alwasy been, and we just were not aware of it? Was it the abundance of Tommy John surgeries, and wrecked arms everywhere?

Also -- and this one's puzzling -- the debate between keeping a guy as your closer, or shifting him into the rotation. I imagine that it's a club-by-club evaluation, but on occasion, you see a club with say, a good one and a good two in the rotation, and a guy that's really coming into his own as a closer. Almost as soon as the buzz starts circulating about this might-be closer kid, there're discussions of sliding him into a starter role. Thing is, closers don't go every night, and once in a while they've gone two, maybe three nights in a row, but they've got to have rest before they're available for their next appearance.

What I don't get is, if you throw for one inning on consecutive nights, but can't go the third, how are you supposed to go for five and-a-third (at minimum) every four-five starts?

C: Yes, probably, if only for no other reason than every time I hear Ryne Sandberg's name I burst into tears.

As far as the elevator: they have those little blue emergency lights, right? Or maybe only the high-class kind. Would you meet Mark Teixeira on a lowbrow lift?

Your question, though, brings up serious issues that serious bloggers would likely murder us all for mistaking in any way, so I'll have to tread carefully. When did complete games begin to give way to saves, and, later, holds? I say it really started with Marshall. Mike Marshall.

There were certainly "closer" types before his turn on the '70s Dodgers -- Hoyt Wilhelm and Elroy Face spring to mind -- but Marshall was the bridge between the old long relief guys and the current incarnation. He pitched, as I recall, in like 100 games one season. Maybe more than one. That's flippin' unbelievable. Gossage and Rollie Fingers were contemporaries, but their roles more closely mimicked what we have today, even if they did go longer than one inning. I'd say, just off the top of my slightly hung-over noggin, that the five years between 1968-73 really saw the biggest shifting of gears; you could argue that it might be '72-77 and be just as accurate.



How'd it start? Your guess is as good as mine, although I think you've hit on the most probable notion: situational managing, combined with the obvious reality of dead arms. Remember that baseball isn't a sport that learns quickly. My god, just look at the kerfuffle over so-called "moneyball," with guys like Tracy Ringolsby ready to draw pistols over what amounts to nothing more than smart player evaluation. Rest assured that if something has been done one way for a long time in the Bigs, it's likely going to keep being done that way for a long time.

Your final point is a complete mystery to me. I think it just goes to the idea that we touched on earlier: specialization. Except in this case, instead of tunnel-visioned parents trying to raise future Kobes and Tigers, you have tunnel-visioned managers and executives overthinking pitch counts. I, personally, believe that starters are more important than closers, and have no idea why anyone would need to coddle a guy who might only be throwing two-thirds of an inning. Mike Marshall does not approve.

B: Conveniently, I know nothing about little blue elevator lights, nor am I familiar with a lowbrow lift, unless it's one of those old-fashioned deals with the dual gates in front.

I was, nevertheless, wondering how we might possibly transition towards the last topic I had in mind, but alas, you've solved the problem for me: "Rest assured that if something has been done one way for a long time in the Bigs, it's likely going to keep being done that way for a long time."

The topic then, is the one and only Allan H. "Bud" Selig. It seems that we can't have a diamond chat without mentioning the commissioner, and today is no different. I'm going to hand you and I both a three-part assignment. We'll both promise to keep our eyes on our own paper, and have the confidence to complete the task with relative ease.

The task is this:

1) A 500-word (on the nose) synopsis/editorial of Selig, his tenure, or both.

2) A haiku about the man or the game under his watch

3) A prediction on the year his term will come to an end.

Know, friend, that I am totally serious about this. There will be no make-ups, extra-credit opportunities, or hangover excuses accepted. Ready? Write.

(Editor’s Note: I place my contribution first, as it will certainly be inferior.)

B: Synopsis: Of all the many instances in life wherein the cliché (or some form of it) “I could do a better job than that” is uttered, Bud Selig is the ultimate embodiment. That is, his position as Major League Baseball’s commissioner – now technically in year 17 – has been nothing shy of absurd. He will, assuming he holds the office through 2012 – and his latest contract extension says that he’ll do just that – fall just shy of Kenesaw Mountain Landis’ longest-ever tenure of 24 years, and that one only stopped ‘cause he died in office; that’s how dudes held offices back then. And that fact literally makes me want to weep. David Stern and Gary Bettman have taken their lumps, no doubt, but they’ve also overseen some pretty important transitions in their respective sports. Meanwhile, the NFL’s commissioners have repeatedly handled many important issues over the years in what is, the most high-profile post of the four majors. Bud Selig, on the other hand, has hidden behind every door, and let a splatter of diarrhea fester into a living, breathing shit-storm that has taken over the proverbial bathroom of the entire game. And all of the rest of the baseball figures have stood by and let him take the lumps. He’s an idiot for not addressing issues when they first surface, and a fool for letting his idiotic ways turn his rep and his image into that of a mental midget.

I struggle to think of a professional in the public eye that has conducted business with less ownership and integrity than baseball’s commissioner, and while some have been critical of NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell’s actions and decisions while in office, I applaud them. It seems that commissioners' tenures come and go, and they are, after the fact, labeled in the name of one or two major things that were accomplished while said leader was in office. For the sake of his humanity, I feel sorry for Bud Selig; he was obviously not the right man for the job, nor could he (perhaps) have seen the issues coming that he would face. To squander responsibility and dodge multiple truths in the fashion that Selig has, is an embarrassment to the sport. Having said that, it will likely be easier for his predecessor to be more successful; he couldn’t possibly be any worse. I will, nevertheless, take great joy in the day in which said successor takes the oath, for it will blaze the trail to long overdue change. The nearest comparison I can draw to Selig would be our late president, George W. Bush, who, even Republicans will admit, was an absolute disaster. The obvious irony there, is that both are former owners of MLB franchises. The only difference being that W. returns to his native shithole Lone Star State, while Selig remains a relative of the Badger State. I posit that there is no irony in the suggested origin of the word badger: corn-hoarder, for Selig has acquired and stored his share.

Haiku:

Allan H. Bud, you
Ho-less pimp in fake projects,
May you flip burgers.

I imagine that he actually trolls around through the contract, and is out, after heading a replacement committee, in 2012.



C: Synopsis: Bud Selig is a guy. A guy who looks like he's eternally taking a really satisfying crap. He used to sell cars and was frat brothers with the General Manager (I think?) of the San Diego Padres. He lives in Milwaukee, where he once owned the Brewers, a historically boring team with great in-park promotions, like people dressed as sausages who race each other and Bob Uecker.

He is the Commissioner of Major League Baseball. His tenure has been marked by such highlights as a tie in an All-Star Game, the sudden unwelcome relevance of said game thanks largely to his big thinkin' and the regular delivery of flatbed trucks loaded with $100 bills to the various doorstops of baseball's ownership group.

Along with the MLB Player's Union's Don Fehr, Selig is largely seen as the guy who enabled Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, Sylvester Stallone and Eight Belles to jack themselves up with steroids and escape any kind of "official" sanction from the League office. This, of course, is nonsense -- the enabler was Andy Dick. And also the makers of those big intramuscular needles, who should all be tried like war criminals and executed in the street.

Bud Selig sits in the stands like he's someone, chats on he cell like he got someone to talk to. Bud Selig has presided over an administration that continues to keep Pete Rose out of the Hall of Fame (that was just for you, Admin). For that matter, he's also shitting on Shoeless Joe Jackson. He should kick Ty Cobb out and put Joe Jackson in. Also, George Brett. Just because. We can fill his spot with Ed Kranepool.

The public view of baseball is that Bud Selig is a toady, a lickspittle. The public view is that he makes the owners a lot of money and doesn't care how he does it. The public view is that Bud Selig has probably never indulged in steroids himself, but his game is asterisked anyway. The Public view is, in this rare occasion, right the fuck on. Way to go, Bud. You could have been another Kenesaw Mountain Landis, but you couldn't even top Bowie Kuhn.

Remember Fay Vincent? Fay Vincent was booted in a coup, partly because he called out Selig for collusion. Vincent even went so far as to refer to it as a "280 million dollar theft." Bud apparently didn't like being called a thief, even though Bud is one, so Bud and his fellow plutocrats worked it so that Bud himself, the cheat, ended up with Fay Vincent's job. Gotta say, nicely played.

Bud thinks everything is A-OK, even though Bud has presided over the biggest crisis of public confidence in baseball since 1919 and exhibited the leadership of a small, uncarved block of wood. In fact, it's easy to imagine Bud looking in the mirror every morning, poppin' a flex and a flip of the combover and thinking you've still got it, you old stud horse, you.

Haiku:

He Wears Spectacles
Glasses Make You Look Smarter
But Not In This Case

The year Bud's term comes to an end: 2011.

B: Very well done, Chief. Like always, it's been a pleasure. We'll have to take in a game one of these days.
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Thursday Think Tank

Yes, it's only a visit, but it's worth noting that USC E.A.-humper Ray Maualuga is slated to visit with the Chiefs today. This of course means next to nothing in terms of distinct draft-day possibilities, but
it should be noted for various reasons. Reasons such as:

1) The rough focus of this blog is the rivalry between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Denver Broncos.

2) It's no secret that Cecil is the House of Georges' draft wizard.

3) The last time I mentioned Maualuga's name, Cecil mentioned that the Chiefs basically don't deserve him.

4) Alleged "brainy trusts" already have a quarterback, which, may or may not've ticked someone in Dove Valley off a bit.

5) The last sentence of that post reads, "Maualuga’s other visits include trips to see the Browns, Dolphins, Chargers, Titans, Falcons, Saints, 49ers, and Rams," which translates to "not Denver," and that rules and stuff. Of course, there's always the token remember-that-this-is-Pro-Football-Talk caveat.

Ultimately, though, it's just a visit. And if there's any accuracy to PFT, it's one of nine visits.

Your assignment, handsome/abundant readers, is to, in the comments just like you always do, let us know how important pre-draft visits are, and how many Maualuga licks you imagine it takes to get to the center of a Kyle Orton.
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Tradition Tuesday: Nothing Worse Than Saying "Bye"

The rough focus of this blog is the rivalry between the Kansas City Chiefs (heralded by Bankmeister) and the Denver Broncos (championed by Cecil and Old No. 7). It may seem unfair that it's two versus one, but once KC gets that second Super Bowl win we'll even out the delegation.

Seven years ago we started The Tradition, in which Bronco fans travel out to the Truman Sports Complex with their team, and Chief lovers return to the Rocky Mountains with theirs. We tailgate, we talk massive amounts of shit, our wives are occasionally assaulted by rival fans, and we almost always watch the visiting team lose. It's a grand old time.

Here at the HoG, we're going to keep The Tradition going with Tradition Tuesday--a weekly state-of-the-rivalry address.

If there's one thing I can't flippin' stand about football season, it's the bye week. It's sort of a semi-hypocritical thing, right? We all cherish our days off, but don't want our teams' players to get any r and r. I say "semi" because most of us --at least the HoG, anyway -- don't play a game for a living, or have to buy bigger homes in which to store our countless piles of dollars. Philosophy aside though, it sucks. The early, afternoon, night and MNF games chug along and none of it involves the only team that matters: mine. So heading into bye-week Sunday, I typically make all of these grandiose plans for projects around the house, none of which get done because -- shocker -- I wind up watching football all day anyway.

And, shoot. By the time MNF airs, one day from when my team takes the field again has already been chiseled away. That, of course, only leads to the worry of how they'll be coming off the bye. Insert any of the season-appropriate questions: Will the momentum of the pre-bye win carry into the post-bye game? Did all the players fly off to various parts of the country to eat drugs and guzzle booze? Did they catch some of the gift that keeps on giving (Editor's Note: see Ron Mexico and Lima Time. Be-LIEVE it!?)

Course, guys like Seven'd say that momentum doesn't exist and all of those factors are horse dookie; get out there and play the game. I, however, cannot. I will not. Prime example: The Kansas City Chiefs, in the 2006 playoffs, take almost three full quarters to get a first down. By the end of the "contest," they'd netted one touchdown and a two-point conversion. Fast forward to this year where they lost all four pre-season games plus the opener and week two. Now, obviously, a lot of time passed in that span, but one must at least consider such an interesting intangible. Conversely, Jason Elam, after his week off, snapped his losing streak and notched another W for Shanny on Sunday night.

And that brings me back to the task at hand: The Tradition. Yes. The Broncos are right back in the AFC West thick of things. In an astonishing bucking of all trends, they'll have consecutive prime-time matchups when they host Brett Favre and the Green Bay Packers on Monday night (Note: Wow. Look at this! This is really neat! They'll have two more Monday night games and a late-season Thursday nighter, too. More than a quarter of their season on national television, a genuine reaping of the rewards for not making the playoffs. Amazing!). And then, they'll tickle the little nephew with Jon 10-win Kitna and the Lions, just before rolling into Arrowhead. This matchup will be the first time in four years that the Broncos have traveled to KC first, which, if superstition is like momentum, may affect their preposterously atrocious winter record at the 'Head. On the other hand, the Chiefs haven't won at InAmVesCapCo since the Iron Triangle members were all single, and by "single," I mean not wed, Cecil's wife.

That said, all you HoGnation loyalists had best be ready to geek out with us here on these old IntraNets. Obviously, by "geek out," I mean that I'll post a solid five better-than-stellar posts, while Seven cranks out a solid post-World-Series orgasm paragraph and Cecil continues to find a random picture to pretty up his monthly appearance. Enough about us, though. Our teams have some interesting developments going on.

Apparently, this guy told Phil Simms and Jim Nantz that he'd be embarrassed if he told them all of the things physically wrong with him that are results of six weeks of football. I say six because he told them this the day before he went out and got tossed around like Lindsay Lohan's poon at a rehab clinic, courtesy of Warren Sapp and the Raiders D. Incredibly unsavory. Simms and Nantz kept talking about the wind during Sunday's game, and I couldn't stop thinking about the countless hours I've spent tossing around the ol' pigskin. I was unable to finger a single memory where my pass was wobbly and eight yards off the mark because of the wind. I love Damon. He's been great for us in 15 games over the last two years. He looked beat up on Sunday, yet managed to get out of some serious jams and hit guys for big plays. I just hope our O-line can get it together and get this guy some protection.

This guy? Oh, yeah. He's back. Granted, he had a couple of negative plays in Oakland, but he also hammered out a crucial eight-yard run late in the game. To each and every one out there that said he'd never make it, that it was all about money, help yourself to a warm bowl of hangover diarrhea. Never doubt three-one. In other news, party in Denver: T-Hizzie's got the hooch; Brandon Marshall will drive and supply the liquor. Woo-hoo! And of course there's Sergeant Shenanigans himself. Yup. He was able to stave off the kharmic fate of the totally legal timeout. Thanks, buddy, for being so smart that you can't even cheat right.

God bless us.
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Our AFC West, Vol. 1 Concessions

The House of Georges has thrown a slew of potential features out there. Few have seen success. I'm into this one. I can sink my teeth in it and I haven't even read the entire description. Nor do I know the price. I am, however, sold on it. Thus, I'm offering commentary in the form of a post regarding the feature's first installment.

Regarding employment under A.J. Smith, I couldn't agree with Cecil more. Seriously, though. I pity da' fools on his payroll. What a jackass that guy is. If I was Marty, and he waited 'til all other coaching vacancies were full, and then fired me, I'd be like: "Run 'at by me again."



I can appreciate the fact that Schottenheimer tried to play the non-finger-pointing game. I further appreciate that Donnie Edwards did not. In addition to that which was reported by Cecil's new favorite source, Edwards also recently told Joe Posnanski of The Kansas City Star (my only favorite source) that "(The Chargers) had something great going there (...) But egos destroyed it. Well, not egos. Ego."

And that's all I have to say about that. Could you compile a more bizarre foursome of National Football League general managers? A dick, a dementia patient, a puppet who's strings are operated from below, and a shrewd camel-mule hybrid. That's our AFC West, alright. Check back in for inconsistently infrequent updates.

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