We all have a tendency to repeat conversations, themes and actions in our daily life. In fact, as we get older habits become more seared and grafted onto our personalities and we basically become rather predictable creatures for the most part. And therein lies the challenge - to continue to grow and learn and occasionally veer off course from our set ways in order to let the element of surprise not become a distant sense memory (I am making my way slowly to a point and it has something - at least tangentially - to do with sports).

This notion of echoing subjects of discussion came to light recently as the other night I was engaged in a beer soaked conversation with author and critic Devin McKinney (who is also a close friend of mine) regarding my previous articles that frowned upon the constant use of the best, greatest and all-time lists in sports. I didn't want to broach this topic yet again - as I believe I've said my piece on the matter - but a few other points emerged from our discussion that merited further examination.

McKinney queried why it was OK for me to always make clear, distinctive and declarative statements with utter certainty during our palavers when it came to rating rock/pop bands across generations and decades but with sports my spectrums of comparison are far more limited and defined. It was a fair question and albeit one that I wasn't able to convincingly answer - and still logically can't.

First of all, I told him, I can't define great art. It just is - the obviousness of what I deem to be art is just apparent. And that goes for what most decidedly isn't art but passes for such. It's all instinct. I know full well why, say, a Graham Greene novel is art whereas a work by Nicholas Sparks isn't. But I couldn't really explain in words that would fully satisfy my position. Yet with sports I can expound on endlessly about a coach's decision in a playoff game or the unorthodox serving of a tennis player or the narrative of a baseball season. The simple reason for the difference - though there are many intangibles present that indeed make sports worth watching, there are also significant numerical and achievement standards that are readily measurable and quantifiable.

I marvel at McKinney's ability to fluidly and lucidly write about a three minute song in such vivid detail or elaborate on why a certain film or novel is important. I'm mechanically unable as a writer to illustrate such thoughts with words. I find it to be a Herculean task to critique art. For me, art - be it music, painting, literature, architecture, etc. - is so elusive, it's beauty and majesty so ethereal that I can't imagine trying to define it. And I prefer it this way.

But that doesn't mean I can't hold opinions - be them of the knee-jerk variety or clearly stated - regarding such things as music. Just don't expect me to back up my grand pronouncements with hard evidence.

Art is also so much more personal, innate and taste driven than sports, especially if one is serious about it. For example, I'd have a harder time imagining a close friendship with someone who loves Justine Timberlake, swears by Oprah's book club and considers Sex and the City to be a true reflection of Gotham than someone who loves the teams or athletes that, in my fandom, I don't particularly care for such as the Boston Red Sox, John McEnroe and the Lakers. Hey, I often implore, I'm not prejudiced ... I count many Red Sox fans as my friends ...

With regards to rock bands, I offer up the not unusual argument that we live in a terribly weak era (hmmm ... isn't Federer dominating in an inferior era ...) and the best groups of the last 30 years can't compare with the two decades prior. If one takes the universally considered best bands that emerged over the last few decades, there are really only two that have survived and thrived - U2 and REM (again, I'm speaking more about mainstream acts now, as these are groups that were able to merge art and commerce. I know there are many other artists out there that get little attention that indeed deserve praise).

But when juxtaposed with the top bands of the 1960's and 70's, there's simply no comparison. It's nearly inarguable. Though I like both U2 and REM very much, if one puts them "up against" the Beatles, Stones, Dylan, Neil Young, David Bowie, Roxy Music, Pink Floyd, Velvet Underground, The Clash, etc there's just simply not much of a debate - and I'd be surprised if a substantial percentage of astute followers of music would disagree.

So then, one might ask, if sports are so much more tangible and art so incomprehensible why can't I state with as much equal and annoying bravado as I just did with music that Joe Montana is clearly the best quarterback of all time or Pete Sampras is the greatest tennis player ever? While part of me believes these statements to be accurate it's truly impossible to know how each athlete would fare in a different era with different equipment and against varied competition.

See, as I stated before art is ethereal, literally in and of the air. It exists on its own and is therefore more eternal thereby allowing the more dramatic and definitive utterances, however misguided, irrational or phony they may be; meanwhile sports are decidedly literal and terra firma - teams and players need opposition and combat to determine their greatness. So when comparing athletes across generations they'd have to compete in the same arena, something which literally can't happen.

It is said that up to 60% of our body is made up of water. I'd venture to guess that at least that much a percentage of our "soul time" - recreation and enjoyments - is divided between sports and art. Both provide endless enjoyment and fascination. Sports are more fixed and therein lies the irony in not being able, even with all the statistics and records, to determine all-time greatness. But in the end, it is all personal, righteous opinion anyway with sports and art debates. And often times - to borrow from Dylan's "Sara" - they're both "so easy to look at, so hard to define."