Charlie Watts, the heartbeat of "The World's Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Band" (as they used to dub themselves), is gone; It hurts me, but now it really is time for the Rolling Stones to Fade Away

 The tom-tom echoed from the darkness that enveloped Legion Field. Counting Crows had just finished an expectedly whiny set, most of which, fortunately, was lost in the rumble of anticipation in the packed stadium.

"The Rolling Stones are in town, man," yelled a guy with yellow teeth, beer breath and a leather vest he wore bare-chested. He tossed his bucket of popcorn in the air, and it covered me. He didn't apologize.

"Blame it on the Stones," is how my friend, Kris Kristofferson, put it long ago in one of his blistering attacks on Middle America.

The tom-tom gave way to the voice of Mick Jagger, who, with Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood by his side, came out with the best version of "Not Fade Away" since Buddy Holly told us what he was gonna do.

The man who played those drums, Charlie Watts, died today.

I am devastated. I already was not happy that Charlie was not going to be a part of The Rolling Stones upcoming visit to Nissan Stadium. Health woes had sidelined him, and former Letterman drummer Steve Jordan is taking his place.

He was 80, but his death surprised me, even though I had been told that Mr. Charlie really looked pretty ill.

I guess the Jagger-Richards-Wood money machine will continue. But really, no one can take Charlie Watts’ place.

I have been listening to Charlie for six decades, since the 1960s, when I first bought Rolling Stones albums, the favorite of which is “Beggars Banquet,” the last full album with the original quintet.

There was band founder Brian Jones, bassist Bill Wyman, guitarist Keith Richards and Mick Jagger. And Charlie Watts providing the beating heart.

Of course, that lineup has changed over the years, but the core remained: Mick, Keith, Charlie and Ronnie Wood, who stepped in after Mick Taylor decided being a Rolling Stone would kill him.

It did kill Brian Jones before him, of course.

And Wyman, the only Stone I’ve ever had the opportunity to meet and speak with, retired. Darryl Jones, who is not on center stage, is a role player on bass. And he’s not Wyman, nor would Keith and Mick want him to be or sound anywhere near as powerful. He does not get his quarter of the million-dollar nightly guarantee. He’s on salary.

Hey, hee, get offa my cloud. There were only four real Rolling Stones – including Ronnie, who has more than paid his dues after assuming the guitarist role, to accompany Keef, in 1975.

 I first saw Ronnie when he was co-leader of Faces, with Rod Stewart holding microphone duties, back in the late ‘60s or early-‘70s when Smokin’ Joe Matejka and I hitchhiked through a blizzard to Des Moines (from Ames, Iowa, where we attended school) to catch them at the Iowa Armory. We slept in the back of our “chauffeur’s” station wagon later, because snow had piled up during the show.

But this is not about Faces today: It’s about The Rolling Stones.

Now there really are just three.

And only two of them, the school chums, Keef and Mick, who helped Brian Jones start his band, are still performing. Only three are alive, including Wyman, who enjoys the quiet, artistic life.

Personally, I think it’s time for The Rolling Stones to make a graceful exit.

Course, I’ll still be there if they continue. Which they probably will, until all of them are dead … which really probably isn’t that far into the future. Perhaps they'll keep going until Mick is The Rolling Stone, singular, something he tried for awhile, unsuccessfully. 

I’ll never forget those six decades of drumbeats and the jazzy sound of Charlie’s snare. Perfect counterpoint, a disciplined backbeat to what, when it began, was the music of anarchy. The tom-toms in the darkness of Legion Field are in my mental replay booth continuously, should I ever need to hear them.

Now, of course, it’s just show biz. Big paydays. Vegas-style, flashy clothes, and old men seeking the Satisfaction they found in their youth. Still fetching, of course. I still love this band and would rather see them -- with Charlie on the sticks -- than any other outfit. I'm an old man, and they give me energy, save me from a 20th nervous breakdown when I'm angry or sad and decide The Stones are my afternoon LP or CD (or even 45 rpm) antidote.

But, with the death of Charlie Watts, the heart of The Stones no longer is beating.

R.I.P. to Mr. Watts.

Thanks, old fellow.

Of course, you were only a decade older than me. And I really wanted to see you and hear you one more time.

You can’t always get what you want. From today on, it’s not ever going to be possible to get what you need. Not even if you try sometime.

Paint it black.