Leroy died in the spring of '92, after Gilbert's junior season, and Gilbert did not play as well the following year. "We were worried about him," recalls Reggie Mitchell, his position coach at Kansas. "Losing his dad affected him more than he let on."

Brown reported to the Minnesota Vikings, who selected him in the third round of the 1993 draft, overweight and ill-suited for the attacking, up-the-field style of play favored by defensive line coach John Teerlinck (who these days, interestingly, draws a paycheck from the Denver Broncos). One day in late August, Minnesota coach Dennis Green summoned the spherical rookie to his office and cut him, telling Brown he was too heavy. There was little to argue: When Dennis Green thinks you're fat, you're fat.

Brown hadn't even had a chance to have a good cry when he walked into his hotel in Mankato, Minn., and was told by someone at the front desk, "The Green Bay Packers want you to call." The Packers, who had coveted Brown before the Vikings took him, flew him to Green Bay. "He got off the plane, we put him in full pads, and he ran a 5.26 40," recalls Green Bay general manager Ron Wolf. "I'll never forget it." The Pack signed the Gravedigger, but only after paying a $100 waiver fee.

Thus did Brown become the NFL's version of the Louisiana Purchase. He has blossomed, in the intervening five seasons, into a nosetackle without peer—and, for that matter, neck. One of the curious aspects of his moundlike physique is the ridge of flesh at the base of his skull. "Oh, that's all trapezius," Green Bay strength coach Kent Johnston said. "Gilbert's got some traps on him." Other than his belly, said Johnston, "He's hard as a rock."

"Everybody has different places they store [fat], and mine's in my midsection," says Brown. (So what's filling out those throw-pillow-sized jowls? Collagen?) His beer-keg belly, he says, "is kind of like my center of gravity. It helps me out, especially when I'm getting double-teamed."

"The tendency, when you see a guy who looks like Gilbert, is to say, 'How good can this fat guy be?'" says Chicago Bears offensive line coach Tony Wise. "Next thing you know your guard is coming out of the game saying, 'My back is killing me from trying to move this guy.' I've been trying to get him blocked for five years. It hasn't been a real pleasant experience."

"Gilbert has the ability to play on the other side of the line of scrimmage," says Packers defensive coordinator Fritz Shurmur, "which means he reduces cutback angles."

What is it about Brown that makes everyone want to sound like Archimedes? "He has the uncanny ability to cut down the angles for a running back," says 6'5", 285-pound defensive tackle Santana Dotson, who plays alongside Brown and is Stan Laurel to his Oliver Hardy.

Dotson's tone was less charitable last Thursday night as he waited in Brown's kitchen while Brown posed for a magazine photographer. They were scheduled to meet some teammates at a restaurant and were already late. "I'm starving, and this fool's posing," griped Dotson, who then asked the photographer, "Why don't you get a picture of him eating some ribs?"

"Why don't you get a picture of me kicking Santana's ass?" replied Brown. Dotson resorted to foraging in Brown's kitchen. On the counter were half-eaten bags of three types of chips. Alongside a can of Designer Protein powder were two cans of Crisco, a product Brown uses to prepare cheese fries, on which he is apt to snack while watching his big-screen television.

"He is more or less a big kid," says defensive end Gabe Wilkins, Brown's closest friend on the team. "He's got the pool table, drum set, darts, PlayStation, Nintendo, Sega, model cars, action figures, everything that a kid would want."

Perhaps this is why children are drawn to Brown: They sense he is one of them. Last spring, Brown turned down a more lucrative contract from the Jacksonville Jaguars to re-up with Green Bay. The Jaguars were offering $9 million over three years; the Pack is paying him $250,000 less a year. One reason he took the lower offer was that he did not want to be so far from his son, Jamal, 4, who lived at the time in Kansas City with his mother, Sheryl Cherry. Another reason, says Ann, is that Gilbert could not bear to disappoint the Green Bay-area children, who adore him and whom he adores in return.

Early in the morning of Aug. 19, Ann took a call at home. When she picked up, she was greeted by the sound of sobbing.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"All my little buddies ain't gonna like me no more," Gilbert blubbered.

Earlier that evening, he had been in an argument with a girlfriend, whom he reportedly pushed over the back of a sofa. She called 911, and when police arrived at Brown's home, they arrested him—against her wishes. Brown pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor charge of disorderly conduct and was sentenced to 20 hours of community service after expressing regret over the incident. The episode was out of character for Brown. "We've had bad guys in here," says a Packers official, "and Gilbert isn't one of them."

Still, Brown went into a shell, shunning reporters most of the season and refusing to discuss the incident. "I don't really want to talk about it," he said last week. "I've been kicked in the mouth enough over it. I'm looking forward, not back."

Brown's greatest fear remains unrealized. Kids still flock to him. "When he comes in here, they go right up to him," says Darrell Perra, a manager of that Oneida Street Burger King. "He's very approachable."

Last Friday morning a reporter approached Brown with a complaint: So many condiments had fallen out of the Gilbertburger he had purchased for the previous day's lunch that he felt the urge to shower after consuming the unwieldy meal. "Next time, have them cut it in half," Brown said. "Then eat it out of the wrapper."

He interrupted the interview not long after, standing up suddenly and saying, "We'll talk in the car. It's time to go get the breakfast sandwiches."

Issue date: January 26, 1998