The episode opens with something I'm more accustomed to seeing on paranoia-riddled, post-apocalyptic sci-fi shows: one car, being pursued by The Man vis a vis several squad cars and a helicopter. Were this a paranoia-riddled, post-apocalyptic sci-fi show, this would be the point in the proceedings where several jackbooted thugs in snappy black uniforms begin demonstrating the incontrovertible connection between big guns and even bigger worries about their manhood. Fortunately, this is CSI, so we get a bunch of cops yammering about a BMW filled with Victoria Secret's models instead.
Yes, really. All that chasing around was for two hysterical college girls joyriding in their skivvies. As the lead cop gives the command, "Rookie, clear the vehicle," I wonder if we're about to see a circle-of-life thing where yet another callow brunette meets an untimely end owing to the neglect of her supervisors at the LVPD. Instead, the cop displays the kind of sharp observational skills that Holly Gribbs could have used, noting the large bloodstain on the bumper.
Cut to Gil -- CSI lacks jackbooted thugs, but they do have their sharp-looking man in black -- and Brass walking toward the car. "Four-nineteen?" Gil asks, and all of us who have been playing along at home realize he's asking if he's been called to the scene for a murder. "More like a four," Brass answers. He and Gil get to the car trunk and open it up; Gil looks down, then looks over at Brass with a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look; Brass smirks back, then Gil grabs a flashlight and focuses it on the drunk. "Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless," he quips. Brass proves he's read up on the CSI Canon of Carnage by replying, "Sleepy Hollow." Cut to the...uh, cut-off head of a dark-haired male. Gil reaches down and opens the eye; the greenish-blue pupil is milky and opaque. "Vitreous humor is glazed over," Gil notes. "What does that mean?" Brass asks, leading me to wonder yet again how it's possible for him to have managed the CSI unit at one point and not learned a damn thing.
Gil, however, recognizes that Brass is only fulfilling his contractual obligation as Captain Exposition, and thus deigns to reply. "That means that six to eight hours ago, somebody lost his head. And then...somebody lost his head."
Cue the Who. I'd just like to point out that I'm now conditioned, in some sick Pavlovian way, to feel as though I should be recapping a CSI episode every time this song comes on. Needless to say, this conditioned reflex makes going to sporting events -- such as, say, the Yankees/A's game I attended when Tim Hudson very nearly beheaded Scott Brosius with a particularly vicious fastball mere minutes after this song played -- an exercise in cognitive dissonance.