Ran originally in Sunday, February 15, 2020 editions of The Times and The News-Star.

Siba, a black standard poodle who actually took an unrehearsed bow in front of the judges, won Best in Show at the 144th Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show Tuesday in New York, but according to my old friend Sid who was on the scene, the fans like him who attended were the real winners.

His wife Desiree had always wanted to go, so for Christmas, they got plane tickets and hit the trail this weekend for the Monday-Tuesday gig.

“I was lukewarm (about going), and I was wrong,” he said Wednesday after they’d returned to their home in Baton Rouge. “This was one of the greatest things ever. I learned more about dogs in the past two days…and I thought I knew about dogs.”

During the two days, seven groups of dogs — hound, toy, terrier, working, sporting, non-sporting, herding — compete in a building called Pier 94. For instance, all the breeds of hounds compete against each other, all the breeds of terriers, and so on. The breed winners go a bit down the street to Madison Square Garden at 7 pm to compete against other breeds in their group for The Big Enchilada/Dog Bone.

“Monday night the hounds competed; they were the first group,” Sid said. “The music theme from Rocky starts and a guy on the PA yells ‘Bring the hound group into the ring!’ and they come in there running and prancing and the Garden goes nuts.

“When a golden retriever named Daniel came in, the whole coliseum came unglued,” he said. “Every time they showed him on the JumboTron, everybody went wild again. He won the sporting group. The crowd was chanting his name during the final, ‘Daniel! Daniel! Daniel!,’ like at a ballgame.’”

This Westminster show is a thing, y’all.

At Pier 94 you can walk backstage to the grooming area. There are rules, but if an owner says it’s OK, you can approach the dogs. The owner of a Newfoundland told Sid to get down there and love on him. “It’s like having a bear in your hands,” he said.

Jericho, a Tibetan Mastiff (think “lion”), had his own mailbox by his table. “People leave these dogs notes or cards or money,” Sid said. “These dogs are like rock stars. There are some motor homes outside of Pier 94 and between competitions, some owners will take their dogs in there for a nap, like a movie star on break. It’s hard being a rock star dog.”

Booths everywhere, for dog food and vet supplies and grooming supplies and doggie clothes. Crazy. Like a dog convention.

They watched 15 or 20 shows at Pier 94 — cost for a day pass was $75 — and caught both nights at the Garden. Watched handlers and groomers work their rear ends off. Talked to breeder after handler after owner about the history of their dogs, “just such good people,” Sid said. “I mean, they’re dog people, so what do you expect?”

Sid and Desiree are between Maltese dogs right now, sadly. But at the show they met a Maltese handler who is also a breeder with a nine-month-old little boy back home just north of Tulsa. “She said she has to find just the right home for him,” Sid said. “Me and Desiree are looking at each other like, ‘We should have brought a resume.’”

Maybe it’ll happen. Meanwhile …

In general, we don’t print a lot of odes. But we’ll share this one, Ode To The Dog, written by Sid for their late Maltese, the cuddly and ever dear Sauvie.

From a sacred garden or the valentine post

You arrived

 Changing mankind with your singing tail

A song of love and devotion

Your cool damp nose

Touches like an angel

Teaching us loyalty

The lonely know of your greatness

Making the unloved whole

The secrecy of your message

The warmth of your furriness

Seeking only to love

Inventor of affection

Teaching us to feel

Of scant meagerness you ask

Without bed or assurance

A few scraps unwanted

Water from the earth

Seeking only a heart to warm, then

With love as your sole possession

Teaching us to die.

-30-

By JOHN JAMES MARSHALL/Designated Writers

In my storied sports-watching career of more than 50 years — dating back to the pre-historic days when remotes did not exist — I’m still not sure I’ve seen anything quite like what happened 30 years ago today.

Two words. The first one is Buster and the second one is Douglas.

You can have your U.S. Olympic hockey team and your North Carolina State upsets, but they don’t come any bigger than what Buster Douglas did in the Tokyo Dome on Feb. 11, 1990. Beating Mike Tyson? Knocking him out? The image of Tyson crawling around looking for his mouthpiece is still something that’s hard to believe all these years later.

I remember getting a call from my brother, who had HBO and knew I didn’t, after the second or third round. “You may want to get over here,” he said. “I’m not saying he’s going to win, but this Buster Douglas guy has a chance to beat Tyson.” Thankfully, my brother only lived a block away and I was able to get over there by the time the next round started.

Douglas just started pounding Tyson in the late rounds and finally finished him off in the 10th round. He was a 42-to-1 longshot … that is, if you could get a bet down. Only one casino in Las Vegas even took action on the fight; that’s how much of an underdog Douglas was.

And here’s what I appreciate about Buster Douglas — after he won, he got a huge payday ($24 mil) for a fight against Evander Holyfield later that year. Buster didn’t exactly take a dive, but he was about as interested in fighting Holyfield as I was. He cashed out and shut it down. Twenty-four mil will buy you a lot of things and food was apparently on that list because Buster got up to about 400 and almost died from a diabetic coma.

Six years later, he tried a bit of a comeback, won a few fights and hung it up for good.

In sports, anything can happen. Thirty years ago in Tokyo, anything did.