Even a generation that now recognizes Ted Danson more from his role as John Becker than as Sam "Mayday" Malone certainly must know, either because of endless re-runs or perhaps osmosis, that the wacky gang bellied up to the bar at Cheers because it was a homey place where everybody knew their names.

Any aficionado of Nick at Nite or TV Land, by extension, should have learned by now from the antics at the friendly but fictitious watering hole this critical truism: Familiarity sometimes breeds dysfunction.

Which brings us, in a bit of convoluted logic that would likely make Cliff Klavin proud, to the future of Brian Griese. And, no, all of the Cheers allusions aren't meant as a subliminal reference to the quarterback's alleged affinity for suds-topped lager.

	Brian Griese failed to get the Broncos into the playoffs the last two seasons.

Just 26 months removed from a record contract with the Denver Broncos, Griese wants to display in his second NFL incarnation that you can indeed go home again.

But by returning home, yeah, to a place where everybody knows his name and where he faces constant comparisons to a Hall of Fame father, is Griese actually be making the most prudent decision for his future? Pause for a moment and recall how desperate was Jeff George in 1990 to play for the hometown Indianapolis Colts, how he manipulated the system to promulgate a trade that permitted him to do just that, how the local fans who loved him in high school turned on him once he donned a Colts helmet.

As the successor to the sainted John Elway in Denver, as the quarterback rewarded with the largest contract in franchise history, Griese was constantly under the microscope in the Mile High City. A simple relocation, even one to environs he has known for years, is certainly not going to soften the degree of scrutiny.

In fact, as Griese soon figures to discover, his every move is about to be dissected.

Truth be told, Griese figures to have his existence in Miami reduced to a sort of real-life The Truman Show, with every single day lived out under an electron microscope. No less an authority than his father, former Miami quarterback Bob Griese, only months ago suggested that South Beach might not be the optimum landing spot for a career that already seemed to be headed perilously south.

They are, even at this moment, working in South Florida to create finer-toothed combs for analyzing Griese both on and off the field. That is not to suggest, not by a long shot, that Griese got a free pass in Denver, one of the few cities that still features two morning newspapers competing against each other for every scintilla of dish. There are three major papers in the Miami area, however, and all are well-staffed with newshounds.

So if Griese is ticketed for a DUI, stumbles down the driveway of a teammate and injures himself, or suffers a sprained ankle because he allegedly tripped over his pet pooch -- all of which occurred during his Denver tenure -- it is going to be chronicled in more than just the sports section. The Griese name connotes royalty in South Florida, but make a call to Buckingham Palace, and ask Queen Lizzie about the price of royalty these days.

There are temptations to which Griese fell prey in the Rocky Mountains. No reason to think those same temptations, maybe magnified, won't present themselves in a venue that Griese knows even better than his adopted Mile High home. Noted one veteran Broncos player: "The guy isn't going to change his stripes overnight. And he really doesn't feel like he's at fault most of the time. He's a tough guy to cozy up with."

But more from a football than a lifestyle standpoint, there were few options even for a quarterback with a career efficiency rating of 84.1, and a winning record. On paper, at least, there are no starting vacancies. It doesn't matter that Griese might be a better starter than the No. 1 quarterbacks in several cities, since coaches in those precincts have already committed to their incumbents.

Curious is that a coach like Bill Parcells, for whom Griese would seem to be an attractive alternative to either Chad Hutchinson or Quincy Carter, did not demonstrate interest in the five-year veteran. Griese is most effective managing the game and that is precisely the description of a Parcells quarterback.

So maybe a backup gig behind Jay Fiedler, for a team where the head coach is under pressure to not repeat the late-season failures of the past, was the best job out there. After all, on a one-year deal, Griese would probably have more enticing options available next spring. Let's say Brett Favre suddenly announces a timeframe for his retirement, or that Oakland decides Rich Gannnon's age is a factor, or that Kordell Stewart or Jeff Blake bomb out in Chicago or Arizona, respectively.

Or, for that matter, that Fiedler fails to take the Dolphins, in a make-or-break season for both he and Wannstedt, to the playoffs.

His baggage aside, and even given the current two-year stretch in which his touchdown passes barely outnumber his interceptions (38-34), Griese is still good enough to be a solid starter in the league. And sometimes, history has demonstrated, a player needs to take a step back before moving forward again.

There is money (including the $12.6 million signing bonus he received in April 2001), if not a starting job, in Griese's pocket. He appears, at least publicly, to be humbled by his fall from grace. In competing with Fiedler, who will go to training camp under almost as much pressure as Griese, it isn't as if he is attempting to overcome a Pro Bowl caliber quarterback. Word is that Griese, who has endured shoulder surgeries and concussions and off-field indiscretions, is physically and emotionally whole again.

So maybe, at the end of the day, Miami represented the best opportunity for Griese to straighten out a career that has lately come derailed. And maybe he will put in the rear-view mirror the aloofness, cockiness and arrogance that sometimes marked his tenure with the Broncos.

It is clear that, for Griese, the Dolphins and the city of Miami represent a comfort zone. It's also clear that, in a place where everybody knows your name, the expectations tend to be a little bit loftier and the tolerance for failure dramatically reduced.

Len Pasquarelli is a senior writer for ESPN.com.