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I can hardly wait.  We got Michael Vick Kennels flooding the zone of the the sports page, with occasional whiffs of PacMan Jones, and the random thugs of the month get their turns, too.  One of the few moments in dignity relative to the National Football League's imminent return to the airwaves will be the moments of silence observed coast-to-coast in memory of a true, class-act gentleman who also happened to be a master of the game, Bill Walsh.   Maybe THE master.  Never to be confused, of course, with the BeastMasters (see "Michael Vick and Posse").  So what will the canine capers and the rest of the police blotter do to the venerable brand that is the NFL?  Unless league officials plan to patrol Cleveland's Dawg Pound, on the lookout for a rogue pit-bull impersonator, don't expect much negative impact on commercial time, merchandising and ticket sales.  Especially in those cities with teams in the hunt for the SB. "Man's Best Friend" on Sundays and Mondays in autumn is still a big screen and a beer.  Same as it ever was.