Stadium’s the wrong arena for a marriage proposal

IT’S time to address a serious problem in this nation, a problem that is perhaps as big a concern as global warming, the national debt and terrorism. I speak of the out-of-control trend of men proposing to women at major sporting events.

What was once an occasional annoyance has grown into a pandemic, with public address announcers routinely interrupting NBA, NFL, major league baseball, soccer and hockey contests to direct our attention to row whatever, “where a gentleman is about to pop the question.”

Please. I have difficulty getting excited when people I know become engaged, let alone the couple in Row 75. Granted, I may be in the minority. On the several occasions I’ve been in the crowd when a dude popped the question, thousands of fans immediately broke into applause. I am the lone voice of dissent, standing on my cheap seat at the back of the arena screaming, “Statistically, it’s doomed to fail!”

The fad of proposing at sporting events reached its nadir in 2004 when the reserved, publicity-averse Star Jones was proposed to during the fourth quarter of the NBA All-Star game at Staples Center, still the best argument for leaving after the third quarter I’ve heard yet. Her guy, Al Reynolds, presented her with a rock of five carats. To a working stiff, that’s roughly the same size as the overhead Jumbotron.

I guess I take umbrage at the attention-seekers because I’m a sports purist and resent this gratuitous diversion. I mean,

few other audiences would stand for such nonsense. Crowds at rock concerts? Try interrupting “Enter Sandman” at a Metallica concert for a marriage proposal. The guy is likely to spend the rest of the evening bound and gagged in the mosh pit.

Don’t tell me baseball should be treated with any less respect. Back in the halcyon days of Ruth and Gehrig, nobody interrupted a contest for a marriage proposal. If a man tried to propose to a woman during a game in 1910, Ty Cobb would’ve leapt into the stands and knocked the ring out of his hand before using the hapless fan’s face to clean his cleats.

In present-day Los Angeles, the trend gives already commitment-shaky men an excuse: “Honey, I’d love to propose marriage, but I want to do it right, and that means waiting until L.A. gets an NFL franchise. Pencil me in for fall 2011.”

And ladies, beware any guy lowbrow enough to propose at an Arena League football game; it’s quite likely you’ll end up honeymooning outside of Laughlin.

You don’t even have to be at an event to witness the proposal. Often televised games cut from the court or field to show a fan on bended knee. I long for the old days when you only saw a man on his knees at a sports competition when an athlete had lost a contact lens.

I’m all for love and people finding that special someone, but the novelty of these proposals is gone. Besides, moments this tender merit being shared

in a place where there’s not a soul around -- say, a movie

theater.

But that runs contrary to the rationale behind sporting event proposals. This is all part of the “look-at-me,” reality-show age we live in -- when going on “Dr. Phil” to tell the world we stink is celebrated, because it’s better than being anonymous. Wave to the cameras, here comes your seven seconds of fame.

Of course, the guy could be simply betting his gal won’t say no in front of thousands of strangers.

Perhaps we need a rule. Anyone who makes a spectacle of getting engaged at a sporting event and the marriage doesn’t work out, has to return to a

sold-out arena and jointly announce to the crowd they’re splitting up.

For that, I’d even start a wave.

Brad Dickson may be reached at weekend@latimes.com.