In this ongoing series, Marathon a Trois takes a look at famous trios from history, and examines what lessons RO$$, Sam, and Gordon can learn from them.
In this series' previous installment, Marathon a Trois examined the similarities between our three intrepid marathoners and the "Big Three" currently leading the NBA's Miami Heat. There, the parallels were clear: Three rich, famous, and handsome athletes that haters are crazy jealous of coming together in a previously unheard of act of cooperation, accompanied by unheard of levels of media hype and fanfare. Perhaps the personalities of the respective trios weren't perfect matches, but the background stories are so strikingly similar that comparisons between the two were inevitable.
But what could Sam, Gordon, and RO$$ possibly have in common with one of the most successful rock bands of all time? Well, one could easily argue (and many have) that, even more than running together, Sam, Gordon, and RO$$ are primarily in the business of collaborating to make sweet, sweet music. The deft interplay that's ever-present in the way they effortlessly control their pacing, stop for water/bathroom breaks, and make fun of people they don't like on their runs is akin to that found within the world's more accomplished symphonies. Second, at various points Metallica and Marathon a Trois were both such legendary partiers that they were known as "Alcoholica." But the main lesson to be learned from Metallica's experience pertains how -- and how not to -- soldier on when faced with the loss of a core member.
The line-up on Metallica's 1983 (the year in which Sam, RO$$, and Gordon were all born) debut album, Kill 'Em All, was James Hetfield on vocal and rhythm guitar, Kirk Hammett on lead guitar, Cliff Burton on bass, and Lars Ulrich on drums. (Note: we'll be skipping the Dave Mustaine part of Metallica's history here -- too complicated.) Kill 'Em All failed to crack the Billboard 200 in the year of its release, but has since gone on to sell over 3 million copies and is now considered one of metal's classic albums. Their second album, Ride the Lightning, released only one year later, improved upon many of Kill 'Em All's strengths and confirmed that Metallica was one of the best young bands in the world at that point.
But it was their third album, Master of Puppets, that took the band to new heights and forever cemented Metallica's legacy. Upon its release, the album went gold with no radio or TV airplay, an incredible achievement in an Internet-less era. Of all of Metallica's albums, which collectively have sold something like a billion copies, Master of Puppets is the one you'd be most likely to find on greatest-albums-of-all-time lists. Metallica soon set off on their Damage Inc. world tour, ready to scale ever greater heights.
But the tour would ultimately be remembered for the tragic death of Cliff Burton. Driving through rural southern Sweden early one morning as the band members were asleep, their tour bus skidded off the road. Cliff was thrown from the bus before it landed on top of him, crushing him to death at a too-young age of twenty-four.
At this point you must be wondering, "What in hell does this have to do with Marathon a Trois?" Well, readers, Marathon a Trois was not always a trio, but was once a great running foursome. Their dear friend Oliver Tassinari, who thankfully is still very much alive, kicking ass and taking names on a daily basis, was once an extremely good runner -- a Heps champion, a team MVP, and a Penn Relays medalist. But, far from being done in by a swift act of unspeakable tragedy, Oliver's running career was instead felled by a punishing work schedule and the humbling knowledge that the mountains he'd climbed in the past were so high that there was no feasible way he'd ever top them again. (Beer and Cheesy Gordita Crunches played a part as well.)
Much like James, Kirk, and Lars in the immediate aftermath of Cliff's death, in the summer of 2005 RO$$, Gordon, and Sam were confronted with the reality that Oliver's running career was suddenly six feet under the ground, never to be resurrected. It wasn't uncommon, in tear-laden phone conversations, for any one of them to suddenly scream "WHY?!?! WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN?!?!?! WWWWHHHHHHHYYYYYYY?!?!?!?"
It's been a rough four-plus years for our three heroes. Sam bravely carried on as if nothing had happened, continuing to run actual track meets. Sure, he hasn't equaled any of his old PRs, but his performances have been no less impressive. Things haven't been as easy for RO$$ and Gordon. Both toyed with running to and from work, and half-assedly running marathons where they were destined to stagger through the last few miles like newborn giraffes. But now, as everyone who is reading this knows, they have reunited, ready to take another shot at the big time.
So what can they learn from Metallica? Well, after Cliff's death, the band brought on Jason Newsted as a replacement (Jeff?), and promptly recorded and released their fourth album, . . . And Justice For All. Justice emphatically answered any questions fans might have had about how the band would carry on without Cliff; it peaked at number six on the Billboard charts, and might be Metallica's best album. Clearly, RO$$, Sam, and Gordon should be encouraged by this, and should confidently strive to make the Pittsburgh Marathon their own . . . And Justice For All.
Unfortunately, from there things only got worse for Metallica. Sure, their self-titled fifth album went on to become one of the best selling albums in world history, with just about every song still garnering regular radio play, but it totally sucks. Everything they released after that sucks even more. And if Sam, Gordon, and RO$$ ever end up agreeing to have themselves filmed for a documentary (presumably titled Some Kind of Douchechode) where they do little more than whine about each other in therapy sessions, then please, readers, track them down and shoot them in their heads with the biggest gun you can find.
So it's clear that the men of Marathon a Trois must proceed with caution on their Pittsburgh adventure. As Metallica has shown us, when a talented trio is forced to deal with the sudden loss of a close friend, the line between genius and self-parody can be thinner than Paul Tergat.
Whenever I think of Metallica, I can't help but go back to freshman year when I lived across the hall from this J-frosh meteorology major who was obsessed with the band. His name was Dan Stern, and Oliver does a fantastic impression of him. Dan could play most of the incredibly complicated guitar riffs from Metallica's songs but little else. The obvious analogy is that I can do little else athletically outside of running. While it's depressing in an introspective sense, thanks for the excellent post, Ross.
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