Last week NBC sportscaster Jim Gray brought on the wrath of sports fans by grilling Pete Rose on live TV about Rose's application to have his lifetime ban from baseball lifted. To many who watched that unpleasant exchange, Gray was nasty, a show-off, overly opinionated and insufficiently respectful of someone who had (unlike him) played the game. Funny, that's what they said about Howard Cosell when I was a kid. In fact, the reaction to Gray - whose questions were no tougher than a good sportswriter would ask - reminded me of something I heard in a brilliant new HBO documentary on the career of Cosell. "The things people would accept in newspapers they were appalled by on television," says a voice in the opening to "Howard Cosell: Telling It Like It Is," debuting at 7 tonight on HBO. And no one knew that better than Cosell, a tough-minded, self-centered, absolute original who for 21 years - from his first interview with fighter Cassius Clay to the cancellation of his ABC program "SportsBeat" - dominated sports journalism in a way no one had or probably will again. Cosell loved sports and he loved conflict, and once he got on a microphone he made sportscasting relevant, made it crackle with an electricity it hadn't had before. It was more than that easily recognized, often parodied voice. More than anyone else, Cosell helped tear open the hermetic seal that had kept professional athletes in a bubble, away from the troubles of the outside world. The HBO special is a remarkable document of the Cosell era, remarkable in its use of archival video, in the range of opinions its producers have collected about Cosell and in their understanding of the cruel paradox that encompassed his career: That the more famous Cosell became, the less influential he was on the issues that he cared most about. Born Howard William Cohen in 1918 (his father later changed the family name to Cosell), he grew up a sports-crazy kid in Brooklyn but dutifully got his law degree and opened a successful practice. As his daughters Jill and Hilary attest in "Telling It Like It Is," the athletes their father admired the most were Jackie Robinson and Curt Flood. Cosell embraced the young heavyweight champion Cassius Clay, took an interest in his Black Muslim activities, called him Muhammad Ali when most journalists were still calling him Clay, and defended Ali's right to the due process he was denied after refusing to fight in the Vietnam War. "Cosell was unafraid about race," says journalist Maury Allen. He had to be, just to withstand the cartons of hate mail and the profane, threatening phone calls that would come to his house. By the time Roone Arledge tapped him to be the third man in the booth on "Monday Night Football" in 1970, Cosell was already one of the most reviled and admired people on TV. With "Monday Night Football," Cosell got the chance to show the world something else: He was unparalleled as a sportscaster, quite possibly the best there ever was. Tonight you'll see Cosell supplying the voice to the Sunday highlights that were a halftime staple of "Monday Night Football." He did them in a single take, with only a few notes from his producers; the script came off the top of his head, in flawless, high-octane sentences. Let's see an hour of those sometime on ESPN Classic. (The documentary does not add that Cosell also delivered his daily radio commentary, "Speaking of Sports," without any notes at all.) If there is a flaw in this documentary it is in its over-reliance on the insights of Al Michaels, the current "Monday Night" announcer who, along with NBC's Bob Costas, embodies the modern sportscaster: glib, with a fleck of attitude, a hint of personality and very little meaningful to say. To this day Michaels is remembering for screaming, "Do you believe in miracles? " at the end of the 1980 Olympic hockey match between the U.S. and the Soviets. But in a 1973 heavyweight title fight in Kingston, Jamaica, between Joe Frazier and George Foreman, Cosell blurted out three words that make Michaels' utterance seem like an advertising jingle. Cosell, ever the contrarian, had picked the young contender Foreman to knock out Smokin' Joe. But not even he had counted on such a furious opening. The two men came out and traded blows as though it were a one-round fight. And then - "Down goes Frazier! " Suddenly, Frazier was on the mat. Cosell responded viscerally. "Down goes Frazier! " He said it a third time. "Down goes Frazier! " As ABC producer Lou Volpicelli points out, "Anybody could say that - but the way he said it was the story." The HBO special includes the fight and the call. The effect, at least for this sports-crazy viewer, is positively moving. "Howard in Jamaica is an opera," we hear comedian Billy Crystal say. "It's a phenomenal, phenomenal performance by an announcer." Unfortunately, Cosell wanted to be more than just the best sportscaster. He also wanted to be the best evening newscaster and, time permitting, a movie star as well. He used to say, "I am the biggest name in show business today! " He even had his own prime-time variety show - briefly. His fame so overshadowed his other achievements that by the time Cosell referred to the Washington Redskins' Alvin Garrett in 1983 as "that little monkey," it caused a furor. Many observers, deliberately or not, overlooked Cosell's sterling record on civil rights. The Rev. Joseph Lowery of the Southern Christian Leadership Council and others demanded an apology. Cosell being Cosell, none was forthcoming. On this charge, "Telling It Like It Is" exonerates Cosell. Besides a host of reputable witnesses, who note that Cosell often used that phrase, the producers have found a clip of a 1972 preseason game between the Chiefs and New York Giants in which Cosell calls another player "that little monkey. " Only this time the player is white: Mike Adamle, the pint-sized scrambler for the Chiefs, now a sportscaster. But by 1983 the end was in sight. Disgusted with pro boxing, fed up with football and probably feeling the effects of a debilitating heart condition, Cosell slinked away from ABC in 1985. He wrote a scathing memoir that was filled with trenchant analysis of the state of professional sports but is remembered mainly for all the potshots Cosell took at his "Monday Night" cohorts. After his wife, Emmy, died in 1990, Cosell lived in almost constant grief. He blamed himself for being in Kansas City at a speaking engagement the night of her death. He passed away in 1995, far removed from the field he had not occupied so much as contained and controlled. Who follows in Cosell's footsteps today? Bryant Gumbel, who begins his new morning gig at CBS today, says his hard-hitting HBO program "Real Sports" is a tribute to Cosell. Chris Berman says the same about the football highlights he barks out on ESPN. Jim Gray could even be said to descend from the Cosell tradition of unapologetic pursuit of the facts. A shame, though, that NBC doesn't send him after more deserving targets than Pete Rose. For starters, they could put Gray in a room with baseball commissioner Bud Selig and not turn off the camera until Selig has explained why it is that only a handful of African-Americans are in baseball management, and even fewer Central and Latin Americans. That would be telling it like it is. To reach Aaron Barnhart, television writer for The Star, phone (816) 234-4790 or visit the TV Barn Web site at www.tvbarn.com >>>