He’s about as warm and cuddly as a cranky porcupine, and makes the folks at the CIA look like naive blabbermouths. And he dresses as if he plucked his clothes from a pile on the bedroom floor, like a college kid who rolled out of bed five minutes before class.

Still, Belichick is the best the NFL has these days. With three Super Bowl rings already, the New England Patriots are playing the Indianapolis Colts on Sunday for the right to go after another.

By the time he hangs up his ratty sweatshirt, Belichick might very well be mentioned in the same breath as Lombardi, Halas, Landry, Shula and Noll.

“I think the last thing he cares about is what he dresses like on the sidelines, how he presents himself in front of press conferences,” Tom Brady said Friday. “He just likes to coach football and he likes to lead us and he likes to spend all his extra time that he might have trying to prepare.”

Football coaches are a notoriously maniacal bunch. They spend ridiculous hours at the office and rarely sleep. Their idea of fun is trying to find a new twist to the Cover 2. Or coming up with yet another version of the West Coast offense.

They don’t like to share information with anyone but their players and families — and the latter only after they’ve undergone a background check.

Belichick, though, is in a class of his own.

He double-crossed mentor Bill Parcells, skipping out as The Tuna’s hand-picked successor at the New York Jets after all of a day. When his own protege, Eric Mangini, left for the Jets, Belichick stopped speaking to him. Or about him.

He’s almost singlehandedly turned the injury report into a running joke. He insists on listing Brady as probable each week, even though the quarterback trails only Brett Favre and Peyton Manning in durability. When the Colts visited the Patriots in November, Belichick stuffed the injury report with 21 players, six of whom wound up starting.

He even managed to rile up LaDainian Tomlinson, normally the epitome of California cool. Tomlinson was incensed at seeing the Patriots dance and celebrate on the Chargers’ helmet at midfield last weekend.

“They showed no class,” LT said, “and maybe that comes from the head coach.”

Indeed, Belichick is the guy everybody except New England fans love to hate, football’s version of George Steinbrenner.

But Belichick isn’t paid to be anybody’s friend. Or to promote the First Amendment.

He’s paid to win, and few do it better.

His career regular-season record of 111-81 translates into a .578 winning percentage. Take away those five calamitous seasons in Cleveland, and it jumps to .670. That’s better than any active NFL coach and would put him ahead of George Halas and Don Shula.

He finds ways to win even when the Patriots have no business doing so, exploiting mismatches nobody else sees. He makes adjustments better than anyone, and his team rarely looks the same from one half to another, let alone week to week.

He doesn’t need a roster full of stars, either. Defensive end Richard Seymour was the Patriots only Pro Bowl selection this season, and Brady is their only superstar. They’re certainly not like the Colts, who have Manning, Marvin Harrison, Reggie Wayne and uberrookie Joseph Addai.

Belichick prefers guys who are happy to fill holes and get it done. More often than not, they do.

Take this year. Losing Adam Viniateri, Deion Branch, Willie McGinest and David Givens would send most coaches into rebuilding mode. The Patriots won their sixth division title and are playing for their fourth AFC crown in six years.

This is the time of year when Belichick’s true genius comes out.

The Patriots are 12-1 in the playoffs under him, a staggering display of excellence. Consider that the run has come at the same time the AFC has been flexing its muscles as the tougher of the two conferences. Indianapolis, Denver, San Diego, Pittsburgh — there are no bunnies in that group.

Three Super Bowl titles is impressive enough. Joe Gibbs and Bill Walsh managed it, but other coaching greats like Parcells, Shula and Tom Landry? They’re stuck at two. And Belichick managed to do it in a four-year span.

Add another title next month in Miami, and Belichick can claim a dynasty to rival Chuck Noll’s Steel Curtain of the 1970s.

With a record like that, nothing else matters.

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Nancy Armour is a national sports columnist for The Associated Press. Write to her at narmourap.org