Monica Yant Kinney: Vince of Darkness gets the last laugh

The sob story worked.

For five months of his federal corruption trial, former State Sen. Vince Fumo cast himself as the most powerful politician in Pennsylvania. For six hours yesterday, he was a humbled man seeking mercy.

Old Vince: Rich, ruthless. New Vince: Raiding his IRAs to pay restitution, reduced to crying in public.

Old Vince: So effective, he was entitled to his perks. New Vince: So embattled, he's entitled to a break.

At one point, Fumo's fiancee even compared his suffering to Jesus', grousing that the media would make a federal case out of the analogy.

But this was a federal case, and Fumo's wounds are self-inflicted. Yet, despite a 137-count criminal conviction, Fumo was sentenced to a mere 55 months - far less than the sentences of other officials whose crimes and audacity pale by comparison.

That's only half a year longer than the guy who stole $1,200 worth of lobsters from an Atlantic City casino in February and is being jailed for four years as a result. (Lesson learned: Don't mess with crustaceans.)

Fifty-five months isn't even 55 months, thanks to federal sentencing rules allowing release after serving 85 percent of a sentence. If Fumo behaves, he could be back in his mansion fashioning a new career as a political consultant before my toddler is in kindergarten.

The marathon sentencing started late, to accommodate the throngs of Fumo-lovers who came to kiss the ring one last time. Among them? State Sen. Tina Tartaglione, whose wheelchair Fumo pushed into the courtroom in a dramatic show of chivalry.

See, folks. He's a good guy, just misunderstood. Ignore everything you've heard about fraud, fury, and wanting to kill his neighbor's barking beagle.

Step One of the recasting of the Vince of Darkness concerned medical malaise. Old Vince was virile. New Vince? A sickly 66-year-old who may not last long behind bars.

Fumo's lawyers argued impressively that the "unique" nature of his ominous "co-morbidities" necessitate special medical care. A government witness scoffed, saying Fumo might even find prison relaxing compared to politics.

"In some ways, I would say there's a silver lining. You can actually reduce that stress level," said John Manenti, regional medical director of the Federal Bureau of Prisons. "There's a cocoon effect."

Step Two in crafting a convenient new you? Pile on the testimonials.

Thankfully, defense attorneys did not subject the court to speeches from all 300 movers, shakers, and hangers-on who wrote letters to U.S. District Judge Ronald Buckwalter saying what a swell guy Fumo is/was. Those who spoke were hand-picked to maximize impact, such as the gay community activist who declared, "Vince Fumo made things happen."

Fumo's fiancee, Carolyn Zinni, said she accepted his recent proposal because "I'd rather be with him for as much time as possible than 50 years with someone else."

Allie Fumo, 19, begged Buckwalter not to send her father away for too long, saying she loves him in spite of a lifetime of slights.

"He was busy taking care of other families," she said, crying. "I learned to forgive him for that."

Throughout the day, Buckwalter dropped hints that he would take it easy on Fumo, repeatedly citing the need to consider his "good deeds" and "character." The judge even chided Assistant U.S. Attorney John Pease for suggesting Fumo's fraud claimed 11 million victims.

"When you engage in hyperbole, I don't like that," Buckwalter said. "Not every taxpayer in this commonwealth knows Fumo existed."

In the end, Buckwalter seemed to dismiss the severity of Fumo's crimes, saying, "It's not murder. It's not robbery. It's nothing violent. It's not selling a political office."

Then, Buckwalter cut the ultimate dealmaker the ultimate deal, citing the convicted criminal's "exceptional" record of public service.

"Most politicians," the judge said approvingly, "don't do what you do."