Jim Brown was the greatest running back professional football has ever seen. And he left at the peak of his career, in large part, due to a dispute over money.

Let me be the first to make the assertion that HBO’s incomparable Western series "Deadwood" is the Jim Brown of drama. We have never seen anything like it, and it’s unlikely we will ever again.

Oddly, I am at peace with Deadwood ending at just the current three seasons, with a promise of two more 2-hour movies to come. This way, nobody can ever claim that the show "jumped the shark" or collapsed under its own preposterous story lines.

Even better is that we can re-live the show from start to finish on DVD and not cringe at early episodes that might have missed the mark (Seinfeld) or be bored by things we already know (Lost).

Deadwood’s glory lies in the details. The rich, layered and often "too-hard-to-understand- completely-on-just-one-viewing" kind of details. Deadwood didn't spoon-feed you like you were some moron on the couch who needed his hand held through another CSI episode.

In fact, I can't wait to go back and remember when the only real dangers in camp were catching a cold or getting shot while playing cards. I want to remember when Al Swearengen was the meanest mother****** you had ever seen. I want to relive every glorious curve of creator David Milch’s visionary story arc.

Milch always wanted to make the actual town of Deadwood, the central star of the show, not any one person.

He succeeded.

The fictional camp of Deadwood, S.D. (not unlike the real camp and now city of the same name) was a perfect microcosm of what America was then, is now, and will always be: an aggressive, power-driven, money-obsessed, lustful, free-wheeling, fun loving, violence-laced society that somehow retains its civility and better virtues throughout it all.

Sure, there were lots of ways to die in Deadwood. Shall I count them?

Having your throat slit.

Being thrown off a mountain.

Being stabbed in the (pick your body part).

Being shot in the (pick your body part).

Being pushed onto antler horns.

Having your eyeball pried out and bashed with a board.

Being drowned in a tub.

Having a brain tumor.

Blowing your own brains out.

Bashing an Indian’s head in with a rock.

Getting run over by a horse.

And that doesn't even count the ways to ALMOST die in Deadwood, which were often worse than just buying the farm.

Like having a kidney stone treated with something called a "gleet." Or being dropped off in the woods to die of the plague. Best yet, getting kicked square in the temple by a horse.

Amidst all that savagery, Milch constantly showed the American impulse for self-betterment. Whether it was Joanie having her own whorehouse (then schoolhouse), Trixie with her accounting, Bullock as the Sheriff, E.B. Farnum as "Mayor," or even the Little "N" General with the livery -- the characters were all STRIVING for something more.

And the characters’ more generous personality traits were always right there beneath the muddy surface of Deadwood. As Charlie Utter said in that meeting about Bullock’s condolence letter in the paper: "It says that’s the kind of people we are, and we don't give a f*** who knows it."

In addition to being one of the most violent shows in TV history, it was also one of the most profanity-laden shows in TV history. Thank God it was safely out of reach from the FCC and snooty parents protest groups.

Throw in some gratuitous, late 19th-century whorehouse boobies, and what was there NOT to like about the show? The fact that Milch eagerly employed the two nuclear "C-Bombs" of modern English (both the four-letter one that women hate, and the ten-letter one which will start a fight between men) was brilliant.

Initially, some critics seized on the heavy use of these words (and others) to brand them a cheap attention grabber for Milch and HBO.

Please.

Do you think that in such an era of the Black Hills gold rush, with "no law in Deadwood," such words were NOT used with great regularity? I mean, come on.

I had planned to go back and assemble the definitive list of both the best lines in the show’s glorious three-year run as well as the best scenes. But, I quickly realized it was a project that would take weeks to complete properly.

For those of you who have somehow read this far, without having seen the show once, I bet you are asking this question: "Well Czabe, if Deadwood really was this good, how come they are canceling it?"

A fair question, but one that misses the mark.

For starters, the sets, the costumes, the extras, the animals, and the production costs were shooting through the roof as the fictional camp of Deadwood grew in size and scope.

This, not to mention the cost of renewing contracts for the massive ensemble cast.

At roughly $5 million per episode, you better have a show which makes people send extra money to HBO in their cable bill, just as a way of saying thanks.

And Deadwood’s ratings, while solid, never gained mass appeal. Which is fine. Because quite often, "the masses are asses." Like I said before, this show made you work. And it was extremely challenging to anybody who tried to pick it up mid-season.

There will be the obligatory arguments about which was better, Deadwood or The Sopranos. By most measures, it’s no contest. The Sopranos changed the television landscape. It gained widespread pop-culture cachet. Deadwood was merely a cult hit.

But as much as I love the Sopranos, the fact remains that Tony’s driveway never looked any different, the Bada Bing! was still just a strip joint, and Satriale’s never changed into a donut shop.

The world of Deadwood had a vibrancy to it which North Jersey never could match. The rules of Deadwood morphed constantly and subtly, as did alliances and enemies. Not so much in the Sopranos. If you were late with your monthly "bag," you were pretty certain to catch a beating from somebody.

How boring.

I watched the Season Finale of Deadwood in my basement with my heart pounding through my shirt. Weeks and weeks of tension had been brought to a boil masterfully by Milch and company. The fact that it all "ended" without a single shot being fired was perhaps the show’s most brilliant outcome.

I was actually dreading what looked like a certain gunfight to settle the score with Hearst and his Pinkertons once and for all. It would have been a cliche ridden old West shoot-em-up. I would have groaned at the sight of men ducking behind barrels and falling headfirst over balconies.
"It can't end that way!" I thought. "I can go to Universal Studios to see that schmaltz!"

Instead, the show ended up with the bad guy getting pretty much what he wanted, but the rest of the camp getting to live another day. It made perfect sense, don't you think? Most of the people who ended up in the Black Hills back then didn't do so by being reckless or cavalier about living or dying. They were survivors. They had to make uncomfortable bargains at every step of the way.

Letting Hearst ride out of town unscathed was just another one. He got Alma Garrett’s gold claim, while Bullock got to stand in the thoroughfare and insult him one last time. It was a bum deal, but it was the only one on the table at the time.

I certainly hope that HBO and Milch actually do get around to making the last four hours of this story. I say this knowing how fickle the network and the show creator can be. Smart counsel would say: "don't bother setting your TiVO just yet."

But even if they don't, the show can rest peacefully in my mind as the single greatest drama I have ever seen on television.

And like Jim Brown, there simply is no comparison to that kind of greatness.