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By GARY SHELTON

© St. Petersburg Times, published January 29, 2000

ATLANTA -- The first thing you notice about London Fletcher is his teeth. Provided you are not a member of the opposing offense, you notice they are smiling.

He does not walk through a room as much as he bops, as if there were a happy song playing somewhere in his head. He grins and jokes and jabbers, all sunshine and bubbles, as he wants you to know that he loves -- absolutely loves -- the day in front of him. And why not? He is a short man living a tall life, and how dare anyone be in a bad mood around him.

This is the Little Linebacker Who Could. Not only is London Fletcher from nowhere, but while he was there, he was playing basketball. Granted, impact linebackers come from a lot of different places, but too short, too inexperienced and too much of a point guard is not exactly the way Dick Butkus did it.

"My worst day is probably better than most people's best days," he said. "People have far greater problems than I have. I'm always in a good mood. I don't take life too seriously. I realize this is a game. When you've overcome some of the things I have, fourth and 1 at the Super Bowl is kind of minute."

So understand the bounce in Fletcher's boots. What the heck, when you are half underdog, half overachiever, why not be happy about life?

It is only when you look closer at Fletcher you see the scars. The patch on the back of his left hand. The thin ribbon beside his eye. The raw spot on his right elbow. Oh, yes, and the ones on his heart.

She is smiling when he thinks of her. She is still 18, a little mischievous. She is 6 years older than her younger brother London, but the personalities aren't that different.

She is Kecia Fletcher. When London thinks of her, she is still alive.

This is the tragedy behind the triumph. There is so much to like about Fletcher, the main ram to the St. Louis Rams. There is the belief that playing linebacker isn't about being big, it's about being good. There are the humble beginnings: He came into the league without a draft choice after playing at a tiny college without a scholarship. There is the energy he pours into his position.

And, like a lot of players in the NFL, there are the obstacles he has overcome.

He was 12 when Kecia was raped and beaten to death in Cleveland. His mother has battled drug abuse for most of his life. Fletcher tells their stories reluctantly, a glimpse here, a glance there. As he talks, his eyes well up.

"It still affects me to tell the story," he said. "I talk about it because there are kids out there who think their problems are unique to them. But we've all had things we had to overcome. I was never bitter about this. I never questioned God. I think all things happen for a reason.

"I think about her all the time. I wonder how her life could have been, where she would be today. I know she's looking down and enjoying all of this. She's at the Super Bowl with me."

If so, Kecia, too, probably is struck by the unlikely story of London Fletcher.

He was a basketball player, you know. Let him tell the story, and he'll tell you he was a heck of a basketball player. He was good enough that he played only one season of high school football, then went to find his fame on the courts of St. Francis (Pa.) College. He will tell you he could shoot and he could run.

Others who tell the story say he was more of a point linebacker, that he tended to stay in foul trouble from this nasty habit of knocking other players around. So, after two years, he left and went to tiny John Carroll University (trivia answer: It's Don Shula's alma mater) to be a walk-on linebacker. The games between the Blue Streaks and Mount Olive were fierce, mind you, but they weren't exactly the Super Bowl.

So Fletcher flew around, and he made tons of tackles, and he was quite the tough guy in Division III football. But in the draft, there was zero interest. For one thing, John Carroll? For another, 5-9?

Rams personal director Charley Armey had seen a tape of Fletcher, however, and he thought Fletcher would be a good special-teams player. So he gave him a free-agent tryout. To hear Armey tell it, it was further from somewhere than even quarterback Kurt Warner.

"I had an indication Kurt had a chance to be a quarterback," Armey said. "But Fletcher was coming out of nowhere. Nobody had given him the time of day. I don't think anyone scouted him but me. He's our little stick of dynamite."

Fletcher, frankly, wasn't very happy about the lack of attention. "Ticked off," is the way he puts it. So he came into the league with a chip on his shoulder, and he's been taking it out on teams ever since.

"I'm sure when I came into the locker room, people probably didn't think much of me," he said. "They probably thought I was a running back. But a middle linebacker? They probably didn't take me seriously. But once the ball was snapped, I was here to stay. I'm the poster child for all the people who have overcome adversity."

So was the chip. When coaches told him he was a great special-teams player, he took it as a knock on his ability to play linebacker. He told Armey, Dick Vermeil, defensive coordinator John Bunting, everyone who would listen, how good he was.

And darned if he wasn't right.

Yes, he's short. But he weighs 242 pounds, and he hits with all of it. He has incredible speed for a linebacker, both foot and mouth, and he's an relentless player. "I'm a wild man," is the way he describes it.

Another thing Fletcher is: appreciative. He knows the oddness of his journey, the unlikelihood of it leading here. So he spends a lot of time grinning and gabbing, soaking up a profession he wasn't invited to. "Fat Puppy," his teammates call him, although he prefers the nickname "Dotcom" which, it should be said, is not exactly up there with Johnny "Blood" McNally.

Go ahead. Joke about his nickname. Fletcher runs his hand over his face and laughs loudly. This is a good time. This is a good day.

Sunday, he will growl.

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