Mike Celizic

I see a happy hound dog trotting briskly around the show ring at Madison Square Garden, howling at anything and everything, a dog that nonetheless is all business when it comes to doing its job. Why do I keep thinking of Jonathan Papelbon? If only the dog could dance — oh, wait, neither can Papelbon.

Watching the Westminster Dog Show has that effect on me: If so-and-so were a dog, what kind of dog would he be? And if these were human athletes, which one of those thoroughbreds would be Best in Show?

Another thing the show does is make me realize what a disservice to dogs we do when we accuse players whose efforts we find lacking of dogging it or playing like dogs. Watch the beasties at the Westminster. Not one of them takes the night off because he or she just signed a fresh multi-year contract for a signature line of chew toys. Accusing a player of dogging it is an insult to the dog.

I think of them in relation to baseball players because it’s February. Things are slow, and the brain tends to wander — okay, hallucinate. And by the end of the week, more than 1,000 major-leaguers and would-be major-leaguers will be assembling in show rings in Florida and Arizona to prance and pose, to be poked and prodded and timed, all to impress the judges.

If that were all they did, wouldn’t it be so much easier on those of us who have to watch them? I mean, why do we so love dogs and sometimes so dislike certain ballplayers?

That’s easy. Dogs don’t make contract demands. They don’t take days off. They only want to please us. And, while they can whine like all get-out if you’ve got something on your plate they’d like to share, they do it in a way that’s so endearing we don’t mind. And if they refuse to behave, just call in Cesar Millan and he’ll have that puppy toeing the line in no time.

They don’t need to live in 40,000-square-foot houses — a pillow and a chewed-up blanket is beyond their wildest hopes. And for them a post-game buffet is a pound of ground chuck and a bowl of water — and it doesn’t have to be bottled.

They can’t read, so they don’t care what the analysts say about them. Just pat them on the head, tell them how good they are, and throw them a liver snap and they’re happy as clams. When you think about it, there’s not a thing a dog can learn from ballplayers, but there’s plenty ballplayers could learn from dogs.

Video   Best yet to come at Westminster Feb. 11: Lester Holt and David Frei discuss the winners of Monday’s breeds and look ahead to who could win best of show. NBC Sports

You keep hearing about how in a future that may be closer than we think, parents will genetically engineer their children to be great athletes. We keep talking about that as if it’s a bad thing, and, if they continue to behave like non-engineered athletes, it is.

But I watch Westminster, and I start to think maybe it could be a good thing. We’re just not looking at it right. If you can engineer a human to hit a baseball 900 feet and throw one 140 mph, why not also engineer him or her to think like a beagle?

Or, in the case of outfielders, border collies. Ever see those things go after Frisbees? Imagine three guys with that kind of tracking ability in your outfield. If Barry Bonds had taken essence of border collie instead of, ahem, “flaxseed oil,” he’d be the most beloved player in baseball instead of someone no one wants to be around.

Now that I think about it, some players act as if they’ve already been into the canine DNA. Don’t take my word for it. Watch the show. Take a good look at a standard poodle and tell me you don’t think of A-Rod. Show me one of those humongous mastiffs and I’ll show you a David Ortiz. Check out the dreads on a Konomdor — can that be Manny?

Seth Wenig / AP How could you not root for a beagle like Uno? It's kind of like rooting for the Chicago Cubs.

I look at Randy Johnson and I think borzoi, only without the sunny disposition. Ichiro? Gotta be a whippet. Not sure what to make of Pedro Martinez — lot of pound puppy in him in all the right ways.

Pete Rose is a bull terrier — gets his teeth in something and never lets go. Tommy Lasorda was the ultimate fox terrier — okay, an overweight fox terrier. But he had that same eager-to-please, never-sit-still approach to life.

Tony La Russa’s a bloodhound, except not as cheerful. Joe Torre’s a basset hound on looks alone. Roger Clemens is a bulldog — in need of some dog whispering.

Anyway, they’ll be naming the Best in Show on Tuesday, and it won’t be Derek Jeter, who reminds me of a saluki. I’m pulling for the beagle — Uno — partly because we always had beagles for hunting rabbits when I was growing up, and I’m quite fond of them.

Also, despite consistently being one of the most popular breeds in America, a beagle’s never won the Westminster, which only makes them more loveable. Now that I think of it, scratch that opening analogy about Papelbon and the beagle. A beagle can’t be a Red Sox. Not anymore. If beagles were a ball team, they’d be the Cubs.