I missed “Waterloo Sunset.”

What kind of wonderful world do we live in where an iconoclastic, irascible rock star who’s alienated almost all the people surrounding him can be featured in the finale of the world’s greatest sporting event?

Long as I gaze on, Waterloo Sunset, I am in paradise.

I was gonna watch the PGA finale. But with Rory McIlroy so far ahead, I didn’t see the point. That’s the funny thing about sports. The watching is the reward, once it’s done, not many care. And if the watching is compromised, the whole experience goes out the window.

I didn’t watch a single frame of the Olympics. Because I just couldn’t stand the sanitized jingoistic presentation. America may be the greatest country in the world, but why do we have to keep reinforcing the point, why do we have to be blind to all comers, why do we have to watch the Olympics through the eyes of a network so fearful of frayed edges, of alienating a country reared on apple pie, that it gives the impression the only people on the planet are us, and a few triumphant foreigners?

Olympic spirit?

Hogwash.

But I wanted to watch the finale to see Ray Davies. Because if he can make it to the big top almost sixty years on, then life is truly worth living, there truly is a God.

And speaking of God, speaking of the power of the public, which believes it has a say and oftentimes is ignored by the corporate behemoths for its own good, in some bizarre twist of the Jack Nicholson speech in “A Few Good Men,” outcry resulted in the closing ceremonies being streamed live.

Imagine that. A television presentation without commercials, without cutaways from Take That and other English acts Americans don’t know and understand. Just pure unadulterated kitsch.

That’s what I loved about the festivities. They shot low. Instead of making us feel inadequate, it was a big tent of imperfection, where culture and lifestyle ruled. The U.S. may have eliminated arts education, our culture has become money, but in England, despite a rigid class system, although statistically not as bad as in the U.S., the arts still rule, and music is triumphant.

The highlight for me was Eric Idle singing “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life.”

And in America, a newcomer like Ed Sheeran wouldn’t even get to appear, never mind perform Pink Floyd’s ethereal “Wish You Were Here.”

And Brian May wailed and the Spice Girls were both cheerful and laughable. And the whole thing made you smile because there was no pomp, no circumstance, just life.

And, of course, petty infighting could not be cast aside. The Gallagher brothers could not reunite, they couldn’t bury the hatchet for a greater good… Then again, that’s more of an American quality, we love to forgive, if we don’t like to forget. But when the speeches were all done, when the flame was extinguished, when I was just about to click off the YouTube screen, who appeared but the geriatric group that made their bones in Leeds, who disappointed at the Super Bowl, who’ve been running on fumes for the entire century.

I speak, of course, of the Who.

And, of course, it had to be on tape. Well, hard drive, it won’t be long before tape is an antiquated concept the youngsters don’t understand. But speaking of youngsters, they’ve got no idea that once upon a time, the music of their parents was dangerous. The Who finishing the ceremony with “Baba O’Riley,” otherwise known as “Teenage Wasteland,” is like Mitt Romney conceding he was right in Massachusetts, that health care is deserved by all. It’s like Lloyd Blankfein going to jail. Like Mark Zuckerberg copping to the fact that Facebook was built on the sacrificial lamb of our privacy. Like Roger Clemens admitting he used steroids.

You see the original foursome pissed on a slab on the album cover. Back when there were still album covers, when rock was dangerous and ruled the world, despite what those in power believed.

Yes, rock won.

It’s now OUR GENERATION!

Yes, even back in ’65 we didn’t think “My Generation” would last. It was just a trifle, an expression of angst. But here we are, a lifetime later, and it rules, it closed the Olympics.

I bet most people had no idea what “See Me, Feel Me” was all about, it hasn’t been whored out like the rest of the Who’s catalogue, but everybody knows the concept of “My Generation”…they could hear the lyrics and understand.

It was our generation. We were the best and the brightest. We fumbled so much. We cocked up the economy. We didn’t look out for our brother. We didn’t believe in love.

But we believed in music.

Unless you won a medal yourself, almost all of the achievements at these games will be forgotten, they’re already fading in the rearview mirror.

But not music.

Music is forever.

And that’s why it played such a huge part in the closing ceremonies.

Only music is that big.

Only music can truly unite us.