Nonstop Natrone : When Chargers Have a Way to Go, They Now Have Means to Get There

Can anyone legitimately claim to have found a foolproof method of shutting down Natrone Means, the San Diego Chargers’ 240-pound running back?

Yes, there is indeed a method, originated and implemented by Gwendolyn Stevenson of Harrisburg, N.C.

Nobody in the NFL had much luck stopping him consistently. Though slowed at times because of an aching left knee, an injury-riddled offensive line and defenses that stacked the line to meet him, Means found the means to have a record-setting year in his second NFL season. And he is not done. San Diego plays host to the Miami Dolphins today at Jack Murphy Stadium in the AFC playoffs.

When Marion Butts, the Chargers’ leading rusher in each of the last five seasons, was traded last April, Means became San Diego’s main running back at 22, and he made the most of his opportunity by gaining 1,350 yards, the second-highest total in the AFC, behind Seattle’s Chris Warren, and the fourth-best in the league.

Means, who averaged 3.9 yards per carry, also scored 12 touchdowns--all on the ground--and caught 39 passes for 235 yards. He had the highest single-season rushing total in team history and the most touchdowns for the Chargers since Chuck Muncie scored 19 in 1981.

No, it took someone extra special to shut down Means. It took Stevenson, his mother.

Means was always a good running back, even in the seventh grade at Hartsell Middle School. The trouble was, he was cocky and got into trouble for fighting.

“He got a big head,” Stevenson said from her home in Harrisburg.

Means’ coaches told Stevenson that her son would no longer be given special treatment.

“You won’t have to worry about that next year,” Stevenson told them.

Sure enough, Means was no longer on the football field the next season. He was benched by his mother to teach him a lesson.

It’s a lesson he never forgot. He came back meaner than ever on the field but much more level-headed off it.

“When somebody takes something away from you, something that means a lot, it leaves an impression on you,” he said.

Bursting with the energy bottled up in his year of inactivity, he raced back onto the field like a horse coming out of the starting gate, fulfilling his potential when he got to high school. Running over, around and through opponents as a Parade All-American at Central Cabarrus High in Concord, N.C., Means rushed for 3,583 yards and 55 touchdowns in his final two seasons, 2,023 yards and 33 touchdowns as a senior. He did all that despite being benched by the third quarter of many of those games because he had turned them into routs.

Moving to college, he kept moving through the opposition. He had consecutive 1,000-yard seasons for North Carolina and wound up second in school history with 34 touchdowns, despite giving up his final year of eligibility.

Means figured it was going to take a little longer to post those numbers in the pros.

He was wrong.

San Diego selected Means in the second round of the 1993 draft, and he gained 645 yards and scored eight touchdowns as a reserve in his rookie year.

It wasn’t only the numbers that impressed the Chargers. It was the whole package. At 5 feet 10 and 240 to 245 pounds--depending on where he ate the night before--Means looks much like Earl Campbell, the former Houston Oiler. Means can run like Campbell. He can also sometimes run like Barry Sanders.

Asked what his dream run would be, Means said: “A 20-yard touchdown run. The first 10 make somebody miss, then build up a head of steam and run over somebody for the last five.”

He’s got the unique blend of power and speed necessary to do that.

“He has real good speed for a guy who weighs 240 pounds,” said Sylvester Croom, San Diego’s offensive back coach. “He has quickness and the ability to make people miss. He’s a pretty elusive guy.”

Not always. Means has been known to slow to a crawl when going through the chow line.

The Chargers were concerned last spring, when Means showed up for mini-camp weighing about 260 pounds. They had just traded Butts and weren’t about to allow their running game to bog down in a pool of gravy.

“It was the first time he was going to be the main guy,” Croom said. “Over 16 games, even if he was in tip-top shape, it wasn’t going to be easy.”

Lugging a spare tire around his waist wasn’t going to make it easier.

Means got the message from Croom and from Coach Bobby Ross, who went to North Carolina in the off-season to deal directly with Stevenson, the real source of Means’ strength.

Out went the fried chicken. In came the broiled chicken. Out went the cheesecake. In came the salads.

“We got him on a low-calorie diet,” Stevenson said.

Means also worked out with a personal trainer and reported to training camp for this season at a relatively svelte 237 pounds.

The difference was obvious from the start. Means went over 100 yards in his second game and went over 100 yards in a club-record five consecutive games in the middle of the season.

But it wasn’t all high stepping and high-fives. When San Diego’s passing game faltered and its offensive line buckled under the strain of mounting injuries, defenses began keying on Means, who also had to deal with a knee injury. The results weren’t pretty. Means failed to gain 100 yards in his last seven games. He scored only one touchdown over a seven-game span and two over nine games. And he finally got angry during a particularly agonizing day against the San Francisco 49ers, slamming his helmet to the ground and uncharacteristically berating his teammates.

“Frustration,” Means said.

But all that seems behind him now. The knee is healed, the offensive line is back in place and the Chargers are depending on Means to lead them to the Super Bowl.

That’s pretty heady stuff for a 22-year-old kid from Harrisburg, N.C. But Stevenson isn’t worried. She said her only concern was all the money her son was suddenly making, nearly $1.5 million over four years.

“It didn’t seem like it was changing him,” Stevenson said.

Other than remodeling his mother’s house by adding four rooms, Means has spent little of his new wealth.

“You don’t look at it,” he said. “That’s the best way. You don’t look at it unless you need it.”

It’s a simple life for Means with only one downside: He desperately misses home.

“I’m a momma’s boy,” he said.

And if he ever seems to change, Stevenson could always threaten to pull the plug again and make him sit out a year with the Chargers.

“It wouldn’t do any good now,” she said. “He’s a man.”