Thirty years ago, Brian Griese's header down the stairs would have been blamed not on the exuberance of his own dog but on the power of Al Davis' mind.

And that's good enough for us, even today.

Davis, already giddy with the news that he might still get to jam a billion-dollar Popsicle stick in Paul Tagliabue's eye, would like nothing more than to be suspected as the reason for Griese's dog giving him that shove down the stairs, spraining the Denver Bronco quarterback's ankle and rendering him questionable for Monday Night At The Improv against the Baltimore Ravens.

	Forget man's best friend, Brian Griese needs an offensive lineman around to help pick him up off the ground.

After all, he surely still finds amusement in the old story of San Diego coach Harland Svare cursing out a light fixture in the Chargers' dressing room in Oakland, "Damn you, Al Davis. I know you're in there somewhere.''

Plus, the "I tripped on my dog" story is so lame that even Shannon Sharpe dismissed it at first.

I mean, the only way it could have been more ridiculous is if Griese said, "I tripped on my dog while she was eating my homework ... the bitch.''

See, the problem we have is that even if the dog did trip Griese, and even if the dog acted without Al's gift of mental telepathy, we have had far too much exposure to ridiculous/unbelievable excuses from athletes over the years, with the latest example being Randy Moss trying to explain how the cop pulled his car down the block.

Our natural inclination, thus, is to hear an absurd explanation, nod, and then try to figure out what the real reason was. And in this case, the dog is unlikely to blow Griese's cover, if in fact Griese needs cover at all.

But Sharpe has a point, too. Namely, that the quality of alibis has deteriorated to a dangerously low point. After all, even if Griese did take a canine-inspired tumble, why rat out the dog?

True, Griese has had a reputation for burning the candle at both ends and down the middle, but by all accounts he has taken his responsibilities seriously as his future in Denver has wobbled between safe and so-so.

So we're figuring that maybe he took a canine-inspired double Salchow. But still, what happens when he gets back home? How does he explain to Poochie that he just dropped a dime on him to all the sportwriters in Colorado -- a surly group if ever there was one.

"Well, Pup, you're famous.''

"Thanks. Now why don't you bend down, wise guy? I'm feeling a little hungry.''

"Don't take it like that.''

"Don't take it like what? You're a quarterback, Master. You're supposed to have nimble feet, remember? That's why you make all that money ... which, by the way is not reflecting itself in the contents of my dish every morning. I have rights too, Crocodile Hunter. Why do you lay it on me?''

"Because I know you won't talk to the papers.''

"No, I won't. You know what I do to the papers, and it isn't talking.''

Better, it seems to us, if Griese blamed it on Al Davis sending signals to his cerebral cortex. For one, Mike Shanahan would buy that a lot quicker than Fido Run Rampant. For two, Bronco fans always can use a new reason to hate the Raiders. For three, there won't be those advocates from the ASPCA picketing Bronco World Headquarters and savaging Griese for turning state's on Spot.

And for four, we wouldn't immediately think that Griese is hiding something. I mean, we believed Jeff Kent fell out of his truck while trying to steer a hose and a chamois around the back of his truck ... until the police report leaked out.

But I guess this is all part of the exciting game of athlete-and-notebook. Figuring out if the dog really did it or not.

And whether the dog likes Rich Gannon more.

Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com