bow

Jimmy Page phoned, just now, to say he’s had enough of Tim Tebow. True, most of our time together in the seventies remains a blur, but I know for a fact he never liked Denver, from back in the day, both I and II, but it’s Tebow he called to talk about. I guess England is like eight hours ahead, if that’s even where he is, he didn’t say, and his voice, always a bit sluggish, was especially weak. Jimmy sounded really drained, like he’d just picked himself off the floor after that opening touchdown pass in overtime. Like he still couldn’t fathom how the Steelers could blow coverage on such a basic inside pattern to some second string receiver. Jimmy kept coughing, clearing his throat: “Tebow, enough fucking Tebow.” I haven’t heard Jimmy so seriously annoyed since those assholes at Atlantic tried to make him put a name on the album after III. “This train must be stopped, that faithful grin wiped off his face.” I knew Jimmy meant next weekend, and I knew he was giving his beloved Patriots full license to wound Tim Tebow, to spill his guts all over Foxboro Stadium if necessary, leave the field dripping in Tim Tebow’s blood. Jimmy didn’t have to spell it out. Boston helped break Zeppelin early on, long before the press or the rest of the country caught on, so Jimmy was counting on them. But he told me, Jimmy did, that he was not above taking care of things himself they way he used to. He’d let Tom Brady and company take their best shot first, play by the rules, but, if they failed, that would be it. The Denver Broncos would not be allowed to get any closer to a Super Bowl XLVI in Indianapolis appearance than the AFC finals. No amount of cheerleading or additional half time dancers gyrating like g-rated strippers would make it so. No amount of flashbulbs going off could curb this man’s will to act. Not then, not now. He said as much, and I know it from the road. I don’t doubt for a second he’ll dust off his old guitar bow and other instruments, reach deep into his bag of tricks. I know everything Jimmy Page remains capable of, so let’s hope this shit ends peacefully next weekend in New England.