The Larry-Dave Throw-Down.

Come on, picture it up on the marquee.

Imagine the raw, brutal possibilities in the ring, maybe in a cage.

The bad blood. The rage. The sweat. The jabs. The roundhouses. The head-butts. The really rich dudes giving one another the business they never wanted.

It's a big-and-bawdy matchup - the owner of the Jazz and all things automotive in Utah, all things Megaplex, and darn-near just plain all things vs. the owner of RSL and the St. Louis Blues - worth local politicians building a stadium to watch.

See it with me now: Michael Buffer on the microphone, introducing the heavyweights . . .

Ladies and gentlemen, in this corner, in the golf shirt, the khaki pants and the Nikes, the man who saved the Jazz, who bought them for a buck-fifty when nobody else thought they were worth a dime and then saw the franchise's equity sky-rocket to half a billion dollars, the man who yanked "Brokeback Mountain" out of your view, who sold you your movie tickets, your popcorn, your Milk Duds, your pre-movie Mayan meal, and who gave you a deal on your Lexus, on your wife's Land Cruiser, on your kid's used Subaru, the guy you know . . . LAAAA-reee "The Torpedo" Mill-EEEEEEEEEERRRRRRR!

And, in this corner, in the Armani suit, the Zegna tie, and the Prada lace-ups, the man who helped build the Jazz in their infancy, who bolted for New York, who ran the Knicks and Madison Square Garden, who soared to capital investment glory, saving Firestone and helping others extend fortunes in stocks and bonds, the man who brought Major League Soccer - such as it is - to Salt Lake City, who got shot down by a relatively unknown county councilman who said one thing to his face and the opposite with his stadium-funding vote . . . DAAAAAAA-vveey "Silky Smooth" CHEEEEEEECK-eeetttsss!

It would be a bit of violent perfection, an open-air physical manifestation of competitive backroom-dealings among the wealthy and powerful and the satisfaction and deep-felt frustration that emerges among winners and losers in such confrontations.

In a conference call Thursday, Checketts did not so much as hiccup when he was asked about earlier accusations he had hurled at Miller regarding LHM's role in trying to screw up his chances to get approval from political figures on funding for his stadium in Sandy.

"I don't regret my comments," he said. "What I find fascinating is that [Miller] would deny it. I have it on perfect authority. . . . He did not want me to get a better deal than he got at the Delta Center. . . . I've been crystal clear on what the reality is and I stand by it. . . . For some reason, he has lobbied against a soccer stadium there."

Checketts also took shots at the Salt Lake County Council, which he called a "dysfunctional group," adding that funding for his stadium's infrastructure, and for a huge adjacent retail-and-restaurant area, was gutted by "petty politics."

On Wednesday, he fired off on county councilman David Wilde, who cast the deciding vote against the $30 million in infrastructure funding, part of a greater package that would have sent $45 million to Salt Lake City and $15 mil for west-side parks and athletic fields, in part, because he wanted $4 million more for his own district.

Checketts ripped Wilde for killing what he sees as a $650 million development opportunity in Sandy over a mere $4 million.

Wilde shot back at the RSL owner: "The more negative things I hear from Dave Checketts, the more unlikely I am to change."

Neeener-neeener-neeener.

What the hell is this? A couple of stubborn toddlers in a sandbox, playing tug-o'-war over a big, yellow Tonka truck?

I've heard enough, and we've all - maybe even the disheartened Checketts - had our fill of the private-public brouhaha between the sports franchise owner and the elected fetchers here who are clogging up the process and boring us to tears.

For those who can just barely push themselves to liking soccer, mixing politics with soccer is enough to permanently shove them toward lunacy's edge.

Enough, already.

Enough talking, enough posturing, enough deal-making and -breaking.

Let's just brawl.

The Larry-Dave Throw-Down is the answer.

Take the gigantic gate from the blockbuster and use that money to fund the infrastructure.

By the way, for Miller's part, he said on a radio program Thursday that he was baffled by some of Checketts' comments, attributing them to his fellow owner being "worn out" and "tired."

"I was surprised when he said, 'It feels personal,' " Miller said.

He conceded that Checketts is "a bright guy," even "brilliant."

But, when it comes to the soccer stadium-funding plan, he said that, compared to his Delta Center deal, and the way it was executed, Checketts hadn't yet properly "shown the color of his money."

"Dave hasn't come forth with his money," Miller said. "That's what's missing."

On the other hand, Miller didn't bring up his newly negotiated sweet deal with his Triple-A Bees at Franklin Covey Field, where he pays $1 a year in rent for the facility, according to Checketts.

On the other hand, so what if Miller has expressed his opinion on the matter to local leaders? It's a competitive marketplace out there, right? Business isn't always concise and clean. And we all know what politics is.

Miller added, ultimately, that he hoped soccer would stay somewhere in the Utah market, but . . .

In Throw-Downs there's always a good head-but.

"[Checketts] has to do his part."

Again, I beg both the big-buck behemoths, in the blessed name of fat profit, let's capitalize on this dispute, let's sell this thing.

"I'm in," Checketts said.

Let's get ready to rumble.

---

Gordon Monson can be reached at gmonson@sltrib.com. To write a letter about this or any sports topic, send an e-mail to sportseditor@sltrib.com.