"Monday Night Football" was something special back when Howard was a member of the broadcast team. Millions watched it and planned their weeks around it. 

Bars and taverns had special prices on beer on Monday nights and bought oversized TV screens so that no matter how much beer their patrons drank, they could still see the action. 

Oversized TV screens were also important because after the patrons drank too much beer, they would start throwing their glasses at Howard. Very few would have been able to hit the target with a regular-sized TV screen. 

In American homes, women and children were sent to bed early so as not to interrupt the broadcast with meaningless patter. 

The crime rate even went down on Monday nights during football season. There simply was nobody left on the streets to mug. 
 

It's deadly dull
 

And why? Howard Cosell, that's why. Very few people liked Howard Cosell on "Monday Night Football," but that's the point. 

America learned to love to hate Howard, and once he left the broadcast to pretenders, the broadcast became deathly dull. 

An acquaintance who runs a drinking establishment said, "Now, Monday nights are no different from any other nights. Our customers still drink a lot of beer, but they throw their glasses at one another instead of at the TV." 

I recently read Howard Cosell's new book, "I Never Played the Game." What we never realized was that Howard's feelings were hurt by all the disdain we showed him. 

In the book, he points out that it was he who made "Monday Night Football" in the first place and he simply got sick and tired of the way he was treated. 

So, what are we left with now that Cosell's microphone has been silenced? 

Frank Gifford to call the action and O.J. Simpson and Joe Namath to make the meaningless prattle, that's what. 
 

I can still hear him
 

My regular Monday night reading group canceled its meeting recently, and I, out of curiosity more than anything else, tuned in a "Monday Night Football" broadcast. Chicago was playing Green Bay. Howard would have been great on a game like that: 

"Chi-cah-go, Ill-ee-noi, the Windy City, my kind of town, as Ol' Blue Eyes once crooned, is toddling with an excitement tonight unparalleled since the Papa Bear, George Halas, the father and founder of this sport, forged from his genius the mighty Monsters of the Midway . . ." 

Instead of that, we got Namath and O.J. talking about their new baby daughters. Donahue might be interested in that sort of thing, but not a bunch of guys standing around looking for something at which to throw a glass of beer. 

I suppose Cosell has his revenge, though. He's off the Monday night broadcast and we are left to put up with Giff and the Football Daddies. 

I'd as soon watch wrestling.