Finally, the Fan Has a Voice in the Booth

The sports world, as we know it, has imploded.

Tradition has been trashed. Values have vanished.

Somebody has made a crotch joke on “Monday Night Football.”

“I’m not sure there’s such a thing as minor groin surgery. Anyone has a sharp instrument around my genitalia, I’m thinking it’s major.”

Somebody has also made a pope reference on “Monday Night Football.”

“This is not the Vatican.”

Somebody has even tweaked his network’s idea of placing a camera in an official’s cap with, well, another crotch joke on “Monday Night Football.”

“That angle looked low. . . . maybe it’s the new cup cam.”

Somebody disheveled and irreverent has trampled through our den, and our weekly football treasure will never be the same.

It will be better.

Dennis Miller grabbed the microphone in sports’ most hallowed broadcast booth Monday like your TV-watching buddy in the next recliner grabs your elbow.

He was more naive then insightful. He doesn’t know the sport any better than that buddy.

But he grabbed, and pointed, and made an observation, and together you laughed.

Soon, you began waiting for that grab of the elbow. Listening for that voice.

Time flew. The boring became bearable.

For nearly three hours Monday in his first appearance in one of the most risky moves in television history, Miller transformed what should be sports’ highest form of entertainment back into entertainment.

The scene was the venerable Hall of Fame exhibition between the New England Patriots and San Francisco 49ers in legendary Canton, Ohio.

As Dennis Miller observed,, “Ironically, you cannot get any good Cantonese food in this town.”

Late in the Patriots’ 20-0 victory, fans in the historic stadium began doing the wave.

As Dennis Miller observed, “It looks like Jack Lord’s hair.”

The game featured several inspirational plays by rookies sacrificing themselves to make the teams.

Yet Dennis Miller talked about the sword of Damocles, the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, and the Rosetta Stone.

For those who don’t go back that far, he also offered references to George W. Bush, the “Survivor” TV show, and NAFTA.

And in case you still didn’t believe this was going to be a different sort of football night, in the second quarter, after the referee barked out one of those long and complicated penalty explanations, Miller spoke for us all.

“I can’t tell you how lost I am,” he said.

Leatherheads will hate him. With aw-shucks gushing and audible oohing and aahing, to hardcore football fans he is a bigger nightmare than instant replay.

But “Monday Night Football” is not about football. It’s never been about football.

It’s about taking this country’s most pretentious sport--how come every coach always talks about his football team instead of just his team?--and making it accessible to everyone.

It’s about, after all the other warriors have finished their epic weekend battles, fitting the game with a little music. A little dancing. A little relevancy to the rest of life. A little fun.

It’s also about money, of course. And for the last five years the show’s ratings had dropped. As impossible as it seemed, ABC was allowing this perfectly protected tableau to grow frayed.

Frank Gifford grew stale. Dan Dierdorf became overbearing. Deadly dull Boomer Esiason was hired in one of the worst quarterback acquisitions since Ryan Leaf, and the show simply fell asleep.

The problem with “Monday Night Football” was that it was only about, well, um, football.

Something needed to be done. So producer Don Ohlmeyer, a veteran of the glory days of Don Meredith and Howard Cosell, was hired.

And to Al Michaels, Dan Fouts and Miller were added.

The leatherheads can get their kicks from Fouts.

The leatherheads can get their kicks every other day, from ex-coaches spewing blocking schemes on post-midnight matchup shows to information experts throwing their mud every morning.

Monday night is for the rest of us.

At least in his debut, Dennis Miller seemed to connect.

Was some of his stuff painfully planned?

He even admitted it, saying, “Much like the Niners, I’ve scripted my first 15 comments.”

Does Miller also need a more informed, perhaps cynical view of the game?

He said Patriot Coach Bill Belichick--a renowned lout--was “genial.”

He said he couldn’t believe how hard the players hit.

So, yeah, a little wiser would be better. Hopefully, the more he is around, the closer he will look.

But with his inexperience, he raised the sorts of questions that we might raise.

Like, what exactly is a two-gap? (Fouts did not answer).

The closing was embarrassing, as Miller even admitted he had worked on a line to match Meredith’s legendary, “Turn out the lights, the party’s over.”

Miller’s line: “Start blow drying Teddy Koppel’s hair, this one’s done.”

Michaels responded by saying, “We love you man.”

When walking the high wire, these plunges will happen. But at least “Monday Night Football” is taking those chances again.

Now, if they can do something about this Dickerson guy. . . .

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at his e-mail address: bill.plaschke@latimes.com.