Years ago I was cleaning out my closet and listed a small stack of 1958 Topps football cards on eBay. High bid: $28. Within minutes of the auction closing I received an email from the winning bidder, asking about shipping and whether I'd take a personal check for payment.

The winning bidder?

Bill Belichick.

Belichick, then an assistant with the New York Jets, explained that he was collecting the football cards of coaches he'd worked under. Included in my auction lot was a 1958 Ted Marchibroda Chicago Cardinals card that Belichick coveted. The rest were spare parts.

Belichick explained via email that he'd graduated from Wesleyan University and was hired by Marchibroda in 1975 to be an assistant with the Baltimore Colts. Belichick's salary was $25 a week.

With his check in the mail all that was left was an email correspondence with Belichick that continued over a few days. Belichick wrote about the struggles of the Jets secondary and the inspired leadership of his boss, Bill Parcells. Belichick wrote, too, about failing in Cleveland, where he went 36-44 and had only one winning season as head coach.

I asked questions about football. He asked questions about football cards. We both answered best we could. He told me that the NFL was an unforgiving place to work. And we had a brief back-and-forth about whether playing "cover-two" could help hide or expose a deficiency in personnel.

Eventually, Belichick asked, "What do you do for a living?"

I wrote back: "Sports columnist."

Never heard from him again.

The Belichick I encountered in that brush was personable, interesting and engaging. My opinion of him improved with every communication. And I bring this up today because the Belichick I've since encountered and we've all watched over the years has been a boor who usually hasn't helped himself.

At Monday's news conference a reporter prefaced his question by saying he wanted to celebrate Belichick. The coach shot back, "I think we got a spot on the staff for you." The rest of the news conference featured Belichick ducking and dodging.

All those years ago when Belichick's personal check arrived in the mail, I cashed it, regrettably. I kept his envelope with his return-address sticker in my desk drawer at home. Still have the thing today. It has his name and his "Muttontown, NY" address on the label. I've moved cities, changed newspapers, bought and sold homes along the way, and every time, I've packed that envelope in a box and moved it with me as if it's some kind of artifact.

Maybe it's a simple reminder that behind every curmudgeon coach who pretends not to care is a guy who might surprise you with his sentimentality. Everyone wants to know if Belichick knows how those 11 footballs got deflated. I want to know, would Belichick buy his own football card?

He's been called both a genius and a cheat. He's complimented for being a perfectionist and criticized for being controlling. The very traits we find obnoxious about Belichick, the person, probably make him successful as Belichick, the coach.

Belichick is cunning when he sees an angle. In the run-up to the Super Bowl week, fully aware that 100 million people will watch the game, he practically dared the NFL to suspend Tom Brady over "ball-ghazi." Then, on Monday, in his second Super Bowl presser, Belichick refused to answer questions, leaning on the fact that he'd already revealed all he knew.

"I'm focused on Seattle now," he said, over and over.

The deflated football issue is the dumbest scandal in recent sports history. The outrage is overblown and absurd. The issue is real, sure, but it's only reached the summit of sports discourse because of a slow pre-Super Bowl news cycle, a clumsy NFL procedure and Belichick's polarizing personality. And while he's now had two opportunities to snuff the issue out, all he's done is toss kerosene on it.

What I'm interested in now is why Belichick likes to throw news conferences he could easily win. It's the only loss he seems to accept. Chases it, in fact.

Maybe it's because Belichick knows he has the support of Patriots owner Robert Kraft. Maybe he just doesn't care about anything but football games. Maybe it's because when Belichick sees a clean way out of an argument, debate or football game, he just puts his head down and heads for the exit.

His act is not unlike the performance Marshawn Lynch is playing on the other side of this game. Belichick is snickering and defensive. Lynch just doesn't like to talk. Same end game, most days. And yet, all I can think about is how excellent I know Belichick can be when his gloves are at his sides and he's just riffing.

His father, Steve, a one-time equipment manager for the Detroit Lions, ended up a long-time assistant football coach at the United States Naval Academy. Parcells coached at West Point and the Air Force Academy. Marchibroda insisted on a team prayer and for years had a framed photograph of the Pope on his desk. Belichick was also an assistant under strong characters such as Tommy Hudspeth (Lions), Red Miller (Broncos) and Ray Perkins (Giants).

These are the men who shaped Belichick.

I know because years later he collected their football cards like a 12-year kid.

Seven of Belichick's own assistants have gone on to become head coaches in the NFL. Another seven became college head coaches, including former Fresno State coach Pat Hill, who worked under Belichick as an assistant with the Browns.

So what's a job interview with Belichick like?

Hill was the offensive coordinator at the University of Arizona in 1991. Belichick came to Tucson to work out an offensive tackle named Jon Fina, an eventual first-round draft pick who played 11 NFL seasons. Belichick liked Fina's fundamentals so much he hired Hill on the spot. Later, Belichick drafted another Hill disciple, Logan Mankins, who made six Pro Bowls with the Patriots.

"He wants guys that are teachers," Hill said. "Big influence in my coaching life. No rock left unturned in our preparation. His biggest concept to all: DO YOUR JOB!!"

My eBay brush all those years ago with Belichick was as random as an encounter with a restaurant waiter or cab driver. But as revealing as anything, too. I saw the coach through a tiny crack in the fence in a blink in time. I saw him at his best, probably because we came together over something he found joyful.

I'd like to hear from that sentimental fool again someday. Maybe in a quiet moment of reflection over an influence such as Marchibroda. Maybe in a news conference about football. I'd just like for us all to see more of that guy and less of the lout we've seen lately.

Bill from Muttontown, NY ... you still out there, pal?

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