Kirkland seemed destined to make it big

KIRKLAND — There were enough people inside the Kirkland home in Lamar, S.C., to field a football team, and yet Levern and Helen's youngest son went into the backyard and played alone on most afternoons.

The other Kirkland kids thought their brother, whom they called Bonnie, was a bit "touched in the head," his older sister, Angela Jacobs, said. It wasn't until he entered high school that they finally dropped the nickname and began calling him Levon.

It was a few years later when they realized the quiet, reserved boy would grow into a giant of a man and one of the biggest middle linebackers to ever play in the NFL.

"He would go in the yard and play football all by himself," Jacobs said. "He'd go on one end and throw the football to the other side. He'd do the play-by-play and make up these names, and we'd wonder what he was doing.

"No one else would play with him because he wanted to play football all the time. ... He was just one of those people. We used to think he was crazy. We'd always say that something was wrong with that child, but my grandmother would tell us to leave him alone."

Surrounded by a family that consists of his son, Zack, parents, seven siblings and 10 nephews and nieces, Kirkland is able to shrink away from the fame provided to him by the NFL.

Kirkland was raised inside a three-bedroom, one-story house by his dad, who drove trucks and worked as a custodian, and his mother, who made bedspreads at a local drapery plant.

Rarely is he given a chance to blend into the background, except when he goes home to the one-traffic light, no-McDonald's small town about 86 miles west of Myrtle Beach and the coast.

"Big shoulders, big chest and big legs — I'm hard to miss," Kirkland said. "It's something that's been talked about my whole career, ever since I got in the league. Sometimes I get tired of it. I'm more mature now, and I accept it as a compliment. At one time I did get tired of it, but now I don't.

"My mom has said, and people have told me, that any time I walk into a place, I just stand out. There's just something about you. If it wasn't your size, it's your aura."

Kirkland's story has a crossover appeal from the sports pages to the tabloids because of his uncanny ability to defy the laws of physics. At 6 feet 1 and an estimated 280 pounds, he moves with speed and grace uncommon for someone his size.

He is a caricature in football cleats with tree trunks for legs, hands the size of catcher's mitts and forearms that look as if they belong on a lumberjack. The absurd exaggerations continue upward to his bulging shoulders and chest that appear as if bowling balls are tucked underneath.

And to think that at birth Kirkland weighed 10 pounds and 10 ounces. Still, he has managed to transcend his physique.

It took him 10 years in Pittsburgh to learn the true meaning of loyalty and the hard economics of football. And that sometimes your dreams are unfulfilled and redemption can happen in the strangest places. When the Steelers released him this year, they shipped off one of the last remnants of the 1995 team that played in Super Bowl XXX.

"Looking at the guys go, it was disappointing," Steelers running back Jerome Bettis said. "It was upsetting to see them gone. But by the same token you've got to be realistic. Everyone won't be able to stay."

Kirkland will likely end his career in Seattle after signing a three-year, $7.5 million contract.

A decade of football has allowed him to put his own stamp on the middle linebacker position, but the national spotlight has often avoided him. He was overshadowed by the outside rushers in Pittsburgh, which explains why he garnered just one Pro Bowl appearance despite seven seasons of 100-plus tackles.

And now, at 32, he is seemingly past his prime. In a five-page story this week, Sports Illustrated chronicled the revival at middle linebacker, from Dick Butkus to Ray Lewis, without mentioning Kirkland.

"I hope when I leave this game that people say he was one of the more unique linebackers in the game as far as doing things for a guy my size," he said. "And being consistent at a high level.

"It might not have been a career where everybody knows your name, but as far as the players are concerned and the coaches are concerned, I feel I got my due respect. I've lived my dream. I've played my dream, and I tell guys here I'm going to burn out before I rust out."

The Seahawks had not emphasized finding a standout middle linebacker in over a decade. Kirkland is the fifth player in as many years to occupy the position; among his predecessors are George Koonce, Dean Wells and Winston Moss.

Seahawks linebacker Anthony Simmons, who tried unsuccessfully to make the switch from the outside to the middle in 1999, knows the difficulty of playing inside linebacker.

"Levon does a great job of getting everybody in position," Simmons said. "But more than that, he leads by example. When he gets fired up, everybody follows."

Kirkland is second on the team with 35 tackles and is on pace to finish with more than 100 for the sixth straight season. This despite becoming a "situational" player for the first time in his 10-year career. On passing downs, the Seahawks replace Kirkland with a defensive back, a tactic he disliked in Pittsburgh.

But the Seahawks recruited Kirkland to stop the run. They had the worst defense in the NFL last year, and now the team is fifth against the run, its highest ranking since 1994.

Kirkland said he is happy now, suggesting that his last two years in Pittsburgh were unpleasant. He was chosen to be a captain by Coach Mike Holmgren and is popular among teammates because of his sense of humor.

Still, he prefers to spend most of his time away from football alone.

At home, he is no longer "Big Kirk," the biggest linebacker in the game. Every so often, one of his siblings will call him "Bonnie" just to remind him of his humble beginnings. Years ago, Kirkland's older sister had difficulty pronouncing his first name and substituted "Bon" for "Von."

"The amazing thing is, to me I don't see this big football player," Jacobs said. "To other people, whew, he's huge all the time. But I can tell if he's lost weight or not. They can't see that. They can't get past his size, and I understand that.

"I guess, I see me if I was a man. I see a very devoted, caring, sincere, humble person. I see my baby brother who can be very humorous and make anyone laugh. I don't think he's crazy anymore. A little goofy sometimes, but not crazy."

Percy Allen can be reached at 206-464-2278 or pallen@seattletimes.com.