He’s the Chargers’ Quiet Man : Actions of Rookie O’Neal Speak Louder Than His Words

By the standards of his business, he borders on being too fragile, too thoughtful and too independent. He thinks before he talks, and he talks before he acts. When he moves, it may require an illegal act to contain him.

Defensive end Leslie O’Neal--the first-round draft choice who is supposed to infuse the Chargers with the joy of sacks--is a prime example of the dictum that less is more.

His fingers are long, slender and delicate--the fingers of a pianist, or maybe a surgeon. But the sensitivity in those fingertips can be the undoing of a quarterback.

He relies on feel and finesse more than bulk and raw strength. He uses his hands to sense which way a blocker wants to take him, then melts away into the backfield. The best way to stop him is to hold him.

There’s also an elusive quality in his speech. Most of his sentences begin softly and trail off into a whisper. His manner is analytical and low-key. There is no bluster, no self-hype as generated by Jim McMahon and Brian Bosworth, football’s glamour boys this season.

“I don’t want to get a name from talking,” he said.

Yet, his most conspicuous act since coming to San Diego was his demand for a summit conference with team owner Alex Spanos before signing a contract last month.

As it turned out, he needed only five or 10 minutes to get a feel for the boss. His action, although mysterious at the time, was perfectly in keeping with his sensitive, inquisitive nature.

It hasn’t taken O’Neal much longer to have an impact on the San Diego defense.

His first two games as a pro have excited the Charger coaching staff but have left the player himself somewhat disappointed, craving more.

He has run down ball carriers from behind, batted down passes, burst through double-team blocks. He has done everything but what he wants most--to catch his first quarterback in the act, with the ball in his hand, and fling him aside like an empty beer cup.

The Charger defense has made four sacks in each of its first two games, a pace that would give them 64 this season. At that rate, the Chargers would rank at or near the top of the league in sacks, one index of a defensive team’s ability to disrupt the opposing side.

O’Neal hasn’t made a sack, but his presence has helped Lee Williams make three and helped linebackers Billy Ray Smith and Thomas Benson make two apiece. The Chargers made 40 sacks last year and would increase that by a third at their current pace.

“Leslie has become a quality player in a hurry,” defensive coordinator Ron Lynn said. “He’s the impact guy we thought we were going to get when we took him eighth in the draft. He’s been tested in short-yardage (running) situations and has responded well. He has good leverage and lower body strength to play off the run.”

The new Charger defense is predicated on pressuring the quarterback, and O’Neal is integral to maintaining that pressure, according to assistant head coach Al Saunders.

“Sacks are the primary way you measure pressure, but hits on the quarterback after he releases the ball also are important,” Saunders said. “We also count the number of hurries caused by a pass rusher. All those things add up to harassment of the quarterback, affect his concentration and vision and can lead to interceptions.”

O’Neal made nine hits in his debut against Miami and followed with 10 Sunday against the New York Giants, according to defensive line coach Gunther Cunningham. A hit might be either a tackle or striking the quarterback after his release.

Miami’s Dan Marino, who has the quickest release in football, was hit a couple of times by O’Neal only a fraction of a second after getting rid of the ball. O’Neal was frustrated, but Williams assured him the sacks would come in bunches against lesser quarterbacks than Marino.

“No job in football is harder or dirtier than rushing the passer,” Cunningham said. “You’ve got to be nasty, but controlled nasty. There’s not a quarterback alive who likes to get hit. Even if you don’t sack him, you gotta turn him upside down as he lets go and get him thinking, ‘Where in hell did that guy come from?’ ”

At 255 pounds, O’Neal is under-sized for his position. With his lack of bulk, he would be vulnerable to running plays, and thus useful only in pass-rush situations, or so some scouts said.

With 4.6 speed in the 40-yard dash, coupled with neck-snapping quickness, he sometimes moves too fast for his own good. Some scouts said that, too, and O’Neal himself admits there’s kernel of truth there.

“Sometimes I react too fast and overrun the play,” he said. “I need to play under more control. Being in the Big Eight in college (he attended Oklahoma State) helped me because they ran a lot of misdirection trap plays and I learned to stay at home.”

A predisposition to question authority--to ask, “why?”--also sets him apart. O’Neal balked at signing his contract this summer, even after a two-week holdout, until he could meet face-to-face with Spanos. Even his agent wasn’t sure what kid’s angle was in hesitating to sign after contractual terms were reached.

“I just wanted to meet the guy,” O’Neal said, peering through thick, aviator-style glasses. “A high school player wouldn’t sign with a college team without meeting the coach. In a big company like IBM, you’d never meet the guys at the top, but on this team, the owner is so active, he’s somebody you want to know. On other teams, where the owner isn’t so important, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Cunningham has found O’Neal a very careful listener.

“If he doesn’t understand something, you’ve got to convince him,” Cunningham said. “You can’t just yell and scream at Leslie. He’s too sensitive and analytical for that.”

To a large extent, O’Neal’s personal style and even his career were shaped by an accident that befell his father 17 years ago.

O’Neal was 5 when his dad, a mechanic, was involved in an industrial accident that crushed his legs and left him disabled.

The burden of supporting a family of five fell to Mrs. O’Neal, a beautician.

“My father was pinned in a wreck and his knees were badly injured,” O’Neal said. “He’s been on crutches ever since. He never got bitter as a result of what happened to him, and having him around the house was good for me.

“Dad was always there for me to talk to. He has a lot of common sense, and he taught me a lot about how to get along with people. There were some father-and-son things we couldn’t do, such as go hunting, so I was always out playing ball as a substitute.”

O’Neal, who grew up in Little Rock, Ark., never saw himself as having the potential to become a pro athlete until his junior year in college. Football was just something he did to fill a vacuum in his life.

“There were times when I was in college I’d get depressed and ask myself, ‘Why am I doing this?’ ” O’Neal said. “Maybe I wouldn’t be happy with my social life, or I’d go through a stage where I just wasn’t feeling good. But after a good game, I’d feel better and tell myself, ‘Well, there’s nothing better to do, so I might as well keep playing.”’

He has always had an independent streak and a desire to be trusted by those closest to him. Even though athletics never seemed of all-consuming importance to him until a few years ago, it was staying out late playing ball with his friends that sometimes got him in trouble as a youngster.

If there were more serious sins, they remain his secret.

O’Neal tends to be overly harsh in his view of himself as an athlete.

“I haven’t been as consistent as I’d like to be so far,” he said. “I make a good play, then mess up on the next one. I’m not as comfortable as I’d like to be out there, and I don’t think I’m running as well as I have in the past.

“I need to take more chances. I’ve been too hesitant--playing to avoid mistakes. But my confidence is building up gradually, and I don’t believe I’ve disappointed anybody to the point where they wish they hadn’t drafted me.”

Not exactly the way Mark Gastineau might have put it, but O’Neal made his point with his accustomed finesse.