THERE MAY ALWAYS be an England, but the Who, one of that country’s mightiest contributions to rock music, is about to drift off into the memories of those who saw what may have been the finest performing rock and roll band ever.

In a finale fitting the group’s epic career, a stadium full of Bay Area rock fans, some of whom have followed the band for almost 20 years, and many who weren’t even born when the Who first sang “My Generation,” watched the group bid them farewell in a 25-song, 2½-hour show that touched on every corner of the Who’s extensive recorded repertoire.

Performing on a large stage framed by the bottom half of the “H” in a gargantuan sign of electric lights that spelled out “WHO,” the band effectively gave a larger-than-life sensation to the performance. After more than 15 years of American tours, concerts by the Who have taken on the trappings of a ritual, with each careening leap by guitarist Pete Townshend and every microphone twirl by vocalist Roger Daltrey assuming the stature of sacrament.

The stage was set with “Substitute” and “I Can’t Explain,” the clarion call to begin the services once again. On Saturday, this was the final beginning, as the band will retire from public performances following the tour. But the generous program allowed the crowd to relish, one last time, the glories of this rock institution. Veteran fans could complain that the group concentrated on recent works at the expense of those from the band’s Periclean era that extended from the release of the vaunted rock opera, “Tommy,” through the magnificent “Who’s Next” album. But why bother?

Although the concert did focus on more recent works, the twilight show also included all the obligatory bits of Who scripture necessary to the band’s concert/ritual — a crashing “Baba O’Riley,” a powerful “Pinball Wizard,” a cursory but potent “My Generation,” a cataclysmic “See Me Feel Me,” a climactic “Won’t Get Fooled Again” and a rousing “Magic Bus.”

Photos by Steve Ringman

Pete Townshend was purely magnificent

Nor was the performance entirely bereft of delightful surprises, such as a rendition of “Let’s See Action,” a beloved but obscure 1971 single never released in this country; or the final number of the foursong encore, a rollicking, romping rendition of “Twist and Shout,” with bassist John Entwistle, supplying John Lennon-like lead vocals.

Townshend was a pure marvel, tagging the end of several more recent, less interesting songs with incendiary guitar solos that, time and again, saved the number. His madcap, joyous jumps and trademark windmill strokes on guitar took on the tone of litany.

Daltrey also was marvelous, his bellowing voice arching high and strong into some stunning passages on “Love Reign O’er Me.” Like Townshend, be could evoke a sense of sacred ritual by running in place or extravagantly swinging his microphone like a lariat.

Drummer Kenny Jones may be no match for Keith Moon, the late, lamented loon who added so much chemistry to the band, but Jones accounted for himself admirably, especially on drum parts where he had to stand direct comparison with the original. Keyboardist Tim Gorman, a Bay Area resident, colored the sound substantially, particularly on the more recent pieces.

FOR A SUPPORT ACT, the Who invited the Clash, the best of England’s new wave, a wave that wouldn’t exist without the inspiration and pathfinding originally provided by the Who. For the cavernous baseball park, the Clash streamlined its show for the greatest accessibility, managing to create a modicum of excitement with some numbers, such as the set-closing “I Fought the Law.”

A pack of slam dancers thrashed about in the cramped area immediately in front of the stage, sending rippies throughout the whole crowd on the field. But otherwise, the audience seemed only vaguely interested in the band. But the whole day — which also featured an opening set by T-Bone Burnett — belonged to the Who. Virtually any band would have paled next to the monumental, towering grace, strength and dignity of the performance given Saturday by the Who.