AP photo / Michael Dwyer
Bill Belichick meets the media, reluctantly, today.

FOXBORO, Mass. - It's all in the delivery.

Ron Meyer was a lovable rogue, a gridiron version of Buddy Cianci.

In Meyer's mind, rules were made to be broken. Or at least bent. As he showed at Southern Methodist, which wound up getting the "Death Penalty" from the NCAA for repeated violations, some of which occurred under Meyer's watch, when, with Eric Dickerson and Craig James combining in what was catchingly called the "Pony Express" backfield, the Mustangs became a national power.

So it hardly was a shock when, on a snowy day in mid-December of his first season coaching the Patriots in 1982, Meyer waved a plow on to the field in the fourth quarter of a game against the Dolphins to clear a space for kicker John Smith to boot what proved to be the only points in a 3-0, New England upset.

And then denied any knowledge of doing so.

"I was just waving at the kicker to kick it through," Meyer at first insisted, when asked why he had been running down the sideline, toward the plow driver - Mark Henderson, a convict on work-release from Walpole State Prison - waving frantically.

Finally, though, with the smile of a small boy caught with his had in the cookie jar, Meyer came clean.

"I waved him on," he acknowledged. "I wanted him to brush off the snow."

Miami's legendary coach, Don Shula, wanted to boil Meyer in oil.

"It's hard for me to think," said Shula, hot under the collar, even though he had just come in from the cold, "that anyone would take pride in doing that. I believe there's a rule in the book dealing with unfair acts. The thing that disturbs me most is (Meyer) taking pride in what he did. This is the last thing you'd want to see in pro football. The officials never should have let it happen. The official nearest me said he didn't see the guy come out until it was too late."

The infamous Snow Plow incident, now long a part of Patriots lore, was, if not exactly illegal, certainly unethical.

Meyer, after initially trying for plausible deniability, wound up opting for credibility.
Here was the thing about Meyer, a handsome guy with a gift for gab, who dressed perhaps a bit more flashily than stylishly, and who was probably a better salesman than he was a football coach: He would say things to you that he knew weren't true.

You, the listener, knew he wasn't telling the truth. But Meyer knew that you knew, and you knew that he knew you knew, and so that somehow made it all right.

It became a pleasantly amusing game between coach and media in which many of his statements were made with a figurative wink, a knowing nod, and a charming smile.

Such is not the case with the current Patriots coach, Bill "Stonewall" Belichick.
While Belichick is a brilliant football coach, one of the best in NFL history, he is a public-relations disaster.

He is cold and calculating, which have been among the keys to his considerable success, but not at all warm and fuzzy.

Which means he doesn't handle situations such as the one he faced today very well.

With the controversy of "SpyGate" whirling around him - the Patriots appear to be on the brink of losing a draft choice for illegally videotaping the hand signals of Jets coaches along the sidelines at Sunday's season opener at the Meadowlands - Belichick had to be looking at today's meeting with the media with even more distaste than usual.

The man absolutely abhors "distractions," - especially with a team like the AFC West champion Chargers coming to town this weekend - and this incident has become a distraction with a capital "D."

The team's media relations department did its job today with the efficiency of a Tom Brady, skillfully preparing a statement from Belichick in which the embattled - if not exactly embarrassed - coach apologized "to everyone who has been affected, most of all ownership, staff and players," and then said he would not comment further until after NFL commissioner Roger Goodell announced what action, if any, would be taken against the Patriots.

That said, Belichick wasn't going to take any questions from an understandably inquisitive media.

Oh, he was asked several times about Sunday's incident, but he kept falling back on his prepared statement, and then kept asking if anyone had any questions about this weekend's game - a reprise of last January's AFC playoff semi-final.

The statement was well-conceived, and exactly what Belichick should have said. From a team standpoint, he should not have said anything else afterwards.

But, throughout his career, his relations with the media have been contentious, rather than congenial. Except on topics he enjoys - football history always is a favorite; and so is football strategy, as long as it has no bearing on the current game - he can be insightful, informative, and even enjoyable to listen to. Most of the time, however, he is boring and, on occasion, boorish.

In what seems an odd contrast, the flashy Meyer actually is quite a humble man, while Belichick, who takes pride in prowling the sidelines on Sundays in somewhat scruffy attire seemingly suited to a Saturday morning game of touch, conveys an air of arrogance.

Belichick knew the rule. He broke it, not innocently or inadvertently, but knowingly and deliberately.

So, while Meyer's antics were amusing, and easy to forgive, the feeling after Belichick left today's gathering was that he and the Patriots deserve whatever punishment is meted out, and shame on them.

It's all in the delivery.