So, I'm supposed to write about Dennis Miller?
|  | | Dennis Miller, right, and Al Michaels are paired together as part of the new team for MNF producer Don Ohlmeyer, center. |
Isn't that about the same idea as John DeLorean trying to tell Warren Buffet to sell Microsoft back in 1990? Yo, W, man, I've partied with this Gates cat. Strictly nerdsville, man. Hop onto my car stock. It's as hot as Roseanne Barr in a thong at Cannes.
For the love of Mike, we're talking about the Joe Montana of comedy. I mean, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but the idea of Miller's genius visiting us every Monday night, the idea of Miller, the comic god, speaking to the Hank Williams Jr.-cheering, lager-swilling louts in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, is about as congruent as Mike Ditka giving the keynote speech at Steve Young's Latter-Day Saints Youth Brigade opening night bonfire with pre-religion Deion Sanders and pre-tabloid Frank Gifford trolling for phone numbers from Moms in station wagons.
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CRASH COURSE IN MILLER 101 |
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Here's a sample glossary of what you might hear from Miller, the direct descendant of Groucho Marx and George Carlin:
If a QB is sacked: "That guy got hit harder than Mariah Carey in Jennifer Lopez's Grammy dress walking past a builder's convention at happy hour."
If a wide receiver is blasted on a crossing route: "That sucker came over the middle weaker than George W. Bush going for the soccer mom vote by offering free orange slices and carpool validation at the ballot box."
If a head coach waffles on a timeout decision: "Yo, Patton. Take off the thigh-hugging Bill Clinton jogging shorts and put on the Vince Lombardi ugly mask. You've got to kick a little ass about now, Custer, so how's about making a decision while Methuselah still qualifies for Social Security?"
If a kicker lines up for a game-winning field goal: "Hey, look, it's up to Rahim. Or Sergio. Or Boris. Whatever this cat's name is. All I know is, if he misses it, his owner will have the INS on this cat's ass faster than Dom DeLuise at a Krispy Kreme last call."
And if a team wins the Super Bowl: "Hey, millionaire. Save us the Disneyland rap, OK, shillmeister? We know you'll be goosing Cinderella in the dressing room anyway and asking Snow White if she wants to come back to your limo after the parade. You just won a championship, OK, chief? Now act like Otto Freaking Graham and, for the love of Johnny U., put your trophy in your den, pop a beer with your boys in private and let us treasure the memory without some book deal being rammed down our throats like a Dan Patrick product/commercial/website. Oh, wait. I can't say that? ABC and ESPN and Disney are all related? Screw this, then, I'm going back to HBO. At least I can drop an f-bomb or two there."
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What's the guy going to say? He's going to be absolutely freaking brilliant, OK? Take that as gospel. It's as sure a lock as a Philly cheesesteak concession going bankrupt at a k.d. lang concert, all right? You want to know why that last line was so epic? 'Cause it came straight from Miller.
I hold in my possession all three of his books: "The Rants", "Ranting Again", and "I Rant, Therefore I Am." I might as well be Heston on top of Sinai holding the Commandments, save for the forgotten commandment about every human's right to an anti-lock Magnum.
A friend and I have often discussed surrendering our day jobs, donning cheap blue suits, buying Schwinn 5-speed bikes and pedaling door-to-door around the country, offering these tomes like Mormon saviors offering Ty Detmer's playbook. Either that or cut a deal with Marriott, Hyatt and Motel 6 to replace every Gideon Bible with a copy of Miller's rants. They're that good. The k.d. lang-Philly cheesesteak line came from a rant on O.J. in "Ranting Again", noting that Juice's post-trial videotape for sale netted about as much as said cheesesteak stand at said lang concert.
If you don't think it's funny, take a walk, pal. Click over to the training camp reports. Maybe somebody pulled a hammy you might need to know about. As another friend says, you're either on the bus, or under the bus. Climb aboard the big yellow Miller bus and you're guaranteed a better time than Mick Jagger with an open evening, a sack of barbituates and the Rio de Janeiro phone book.
Why? Take, for example, "Ranting Again." There are 46 rants. Here are some of the topics: The American Education System, Elections, Gun Control, Cops, White People, Sportsmanship, Modern Psychology, L'Affaire O.J. and The Fall of the Middle Class.
And you wanted Esiason for another year?
Note that the man's breadth included just one riff on the sports world. That's how it should be, people. Monday Night Football is three hours of our week. That leaves 165 other hours to sleep, eat and watch The Game Show Network.
You want to know what Miller thinks about American sports? He thinks what should be thought. In his sportsmanship rant, he offers some of these bon mots:
"Today's athletes are so wrapped up in the entertainment aspect of sports, they can't complete the most basic of tasks without performing some kind of field, ego-driven, self-congratulatory ritual that makes ESPN's Plays of the Week look like that newsreel footage of Mussolini being oh-so-pleased with himself."
"All of a sudden, not only do you have to win, you have to make your opponent look bad in the process. You know the attitude, you stand like a statue at home plate watching the ball sail out of the park, you hover over the quarterback you just sacked, or you drag an unsuspecting child out of the stands onto the court and threaten him with a bucket of water that you know is really filled with confetti. Damn you, you evil Globies. Damn you to hell."
"And you know, the guy who takes his shirt off at the football game is always the guy who really, really shouldn't, OK? Not only should this guy be wearing a shirt, he should be wearing a bra."
It gets better, but we run low on space.
What, and you wanted Dierdorf?
Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Examiner writes a weekly "Tuesday Morning Quarterback" column for ESPN.com.
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