Last modified: Thursday, December 28, 2006 12:50 AM EST KRINGLE: A present for Belichick EDITOR'S NOTE: Each year at this time, Mark Farinella offers his column space to The Sun Chronicle's special holiday correspondent, international overnight-delivery magnate Cristoforo Cringlione, who writes to us from his Caribbean winter retreat. FORT-DE-FRANCE, Martinique Ho ho yourself. I'm a businessman. A very exhausted one, but satisfied nonetheless. Once again, KringCo Overnight Delivery has accomplished the near-impossible, achieving almost 100 percent customer satisfaction for this year's deliveries. I'm still waiting for the final numbers from the J.D. Power Institute, but I'm sure they'll confirm what I already know ...that when it absolutely, positively has to be there on Christmas Eve, more people have given Kringle a jingle than ever before. You know, I'll stop at nothing to make sure the job gets done. It's not anywhere near as easy as the legends make it sound -- one guy in a sled? Come on. But one man can make sure that the deliveries make it where they have to go as long as he has the right business sense and the tools to make it happen. For instance, I chuckle when kids log on to NORAD's "Track Santa" Web site on Christmas Eve. The kiddos don't know how close to the truth that really is. A few years ago, I purchased one of the U.S. Air Force's TACAMO E-6A aerial command jets that was just days away from being retired to the Arizona aircraft boneyard. A little refitting and updating, and it became the Rudolph 1 - my flying nerve center, from which I could personally command the fleet of Flying Reindeer cargo jets as they make their way around the world. Unfortunately, the Rudolph 1 is based out of the military wing of Denver International Airport, and not at the Point Barrow complex, and I had a devil of a time getting to it last week. So, my apologies for the late column. Long-time readers are aware that I write this column every year because of a favor done for me by Farinella back in 1974. When we were both a lot younger and less successful, I was driving from Chicago to Detroit in the midst of a raging blizzard for an important meeting with the Teamsters, and got my '72 Eldorado stuck in a snowdrift in a rest area off Interstate 94 near Ann Arbor, Mich. Farinella, on his way home from college, happened upon my plight and, without any knowledge of who I was, helped push my car back onto the highway. I made the meeting that turned a small trucking company into the most famous overnight delivery service in the world, and the rest is history. I offered to pay Mark for his trouble, but he declined and said, "Maybe you can do me a favor sometime." We reconnected once my operatives learned he was a promising young sportswriter, and the result has been this column, written every year that he's been at what he calls the "Blue Ribbon Daily," to give him a holiday break. I was thinking about that the other day as I was sitting in the operations room aboard the Rudolph 1. I've shared a lot of stories with you good folks from Attleboro, both humorous and deadly serious. I've shared my life story - how I was born in Sicily and sent to America as a lad of 9 to escape the evil crime lords of my homeland, how an impatient Immigration Department clerk at Ellis Island heard me whisper my name and hastily jotted down "Kris Kringle" on my entry visa, and how my power and influence have helped shape the history of New England, a region of the country that has always held a warm spot in my heart - yes, even though I was raised in New York's Little Italy and spent my early adulthood in New Jersey. Every year, I wonder if I haven't told you folks just about everything I can. Some things have to remain private for the purpose of plausible deniability, a little trick I learned from Dick Nixon, but you've read here what I've told nobody else about some of your favorite local sports figures and executives. My thoughts were momentarily pulled away from past columns by something I saw on one of the TV monitors. The TACAMO aircraft is a modern marvel of communications technology, but I had to install the DirecTV dish to get the NFL games, and somewhere over the Pacific, as I was watching the Patriots play Jacksonville, I was stunned to see Tom Brady running with the football - and then, taking a fearsome hit from Jacksonville's Clint Ingram that appeared in slow motion to make Brady's back ripple like an ocean wave. I winced for Brady... heck, that hurt at 39,000 feet, way over on the other side of the world! But that kid's tough, and one play later, he was back in there and leading the Patriots to victory. I've always liked Tom Brady - ever since he was a little kid in San Mateo, Calif., writing me letters that said, "Dear Kris Kringle, Please let me grow up to be just like Joe Montana "and such. I figured he came from good people, and had his head screwed on right, so I managed to pull a few behind-the-scenes strings to get him into Michigan and kept an eye on his career. I even made plenty of side trips back to Ann Arbor - never got stuck in that rest area again, though - to watch Brady play college ball. He had a good collegiate career, but not a great one. Still, I saw something in the kid's work ethic and his dogged determination to succeed that made me want to make sure he got a fair shot to play at the next level. My boy Michael has similar traits, which is why someday he'll inherit the family business instead of his older brothers, Sonny and Freddy. But I digress. I've had a few fingers in the NFL pie for quite a few years, so once I heard that the Patriots were interested in Brady as a lower-round draft choice, I figured I'd better get involved. I called Don Yee, Tom's agent, and got his blessing to serve as an "unofficial contact" to make sure the Patriots' interest was genuine. This wasn't going to be easy. Bill Belichick had just taken over as the coach of the Patriots, and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to deal with him. I tried to offer him some friendly advice when he was head coach in Cleveland, he didn't listen he benched Bernie Kosar, the hometown hero and things turned so sour so quickly, I couldn't help but grant the wishes of football-starved fans in Baltimore and arrange for the Browns to move there, leaving Clevelanders with four football-less seasons to cool down before the Browns could start anew. It's not one of my proudest moments. I just don't think Belichick believes in me at all. So, about a month before the 2000 draft, I was in Foxboro to check on the progress of the new stadium I helped to finance for Bob Kraft, and I figured I'd pay Belichick a call. As expected, he was hard at work in his office, going over the roster with a fine-toothed comb and determining how much effort it was going to take to fix what Pete Carroll and Bobby Grier had messed up. He wasn't too happy to see me. "All right, start talking," he said brusquely as he stood at his draft board. "I'm a friend of Tom Brady," I said. "He is my client, and I'll give Mr. Belichick my undying friendship if he would grant us a small favor." "Mr. Belichick is listening," he said. "You have a sixth-round pick on that board without a clear choice in your mind for that position," I said. "I'd like you to pick Brady with that choice." Belichick looked up from the papers in his hands and chuckled, then turned to me. "And what favor," he said, "would you grant me?" "You don't have a first-round selection," I said. "I can give you a player who will make that omission meaningless within a year. What's more, I can help direct you to players who will complement his talents and protect him from harm. The result could be a Super Bowl championship, maybe more, in a short period of time." Belichick became annoyed. "Are you trying to muscle me," he asked, jabbing his index finger into my chest. "Listen to me, you smooth-talking (expletive deleted), let me lay it on the line for you and whoever else you represent. Tom Brady is never going to get that pick. I don't care how many white-bearded, jolly-looking Santa Claus look-alikes come out of the woodwork." "I'm a businessman," I interjected, aware that he didn't recognize me despite our past dealings. "Well, let me tell you something, my Brooks Brothers-wearing friend," he said, "I'm gonna make so much trouble for you, you won't know what hit you!" This was not going well, but I had to maintain an even keel and stick to my business proposition. "Listen, Mr. Belichick, I'm strictly a personal representative and I have not threatened you," I said. "I know almost every accredited agent," he said. "Who are you?" "In this instance," I said, "I have a special agreement to handle only one client. You have my number, and I will wait for your call." A few days later, I received a call to meet Belichick at a restaurant on Route 1. He was much more cordial when he greeted me this time; obviously, he had instructed one of his underlings to check me out and determine that I was the real McCoy. "Why didn't you remind me who you were," he asked. "I thought you were just another cheap, two-bit Kringle knock-off sent by a player to hustle me into considering him." "I don't like to use my name unless it's absolutely necessary," I said. He proudly showed me the new car the Patriots had given him, a gleaming Jaguar coupe just like Pete Carroll's, and he said with pride that it was the best one he had ever owned. I could see that this might be useful, and filed it away in the back of my head. We dined magnificently, and as we finished, Belichick turned the conversation back to Brady. "You know, you could ask me anything else, but this is one favor I can't give you," he said. "I never ask a second favor when I've been refused the first," I said. "You don't understand," he said, becoming more animated. "Tom Brady never gets that pick. That pick is perfect for him it will make him a big star. And I'm going to run him out of football, and let me tell you why! "You ruined me in Cleveland, Kringle," he said, walking around the table to confront me face-to-face. "For more than five years I was learning the business, making draft choices, creating game plans, dealing with the media. And I had a young quarterback named Vinny Testaverde, I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on him and I was going to make him into a big star! "And let me be even more frank," he said. "Just to show you I'm not a hard-hearted man, that it's not all dollars and cents he was beautiful! He was young and talented! He was the greatest quarterback I ever had, and I've had 'em all over the league!" I continued to pick at my dinner as the rant continued. "And then you came along, with your olive oil voice and Sicilian charm, and you warned me not to bench Bernie Kosar just yet because the fans would turn against us," he said. "But I made the decision that I thought was in the best interest of the football team, and it made me look ridiculous... and a man in my position can't afford to be made to look ridiculous!" I put down my fork and raised the napkin to my lips. "You should have listen to me then, Bill," I said, ...and you should listen to me now. Thank you for the dinner and a very pleasant evening. If your car could take me to the airport, Mr. Brady is a man who insists upon hearing bad news immediately." Now, you're probably thinking, wait! He drafted Brady and the Patriots have won three Super Bowls! How can this be? Well, it's obvious that you never saw that little snippet on the Weston police log about the front end of a Jaguar coupe being removed from an individual's bedroom in late March 2000. And, keep in mind that Bill Belichick drives a Volvo station wagon these days. Yes, Tom Brady was drafted and signed, and Patriots' fans have had plenty of happy Christmas seasons ever since. And just so you know that happy endings are possible for everyone, look at No. 14 on the sidelines. Just so you know that I'm not a hard-hearted individual, Vinny Testaverde will end his career with Bill Belichick as a Patriot. Miracles do happen, my friends. That's also what you'll be saying next year when you decide to send your Christmas packages via KringCo, but please remember one thing - ship early! And a happy holiday season to all of you! KRIS KRINGLE is the President and CEO of KringCo Overnight Delivery Inc. Mark Farinella's column will resume Sunday.