Ever since I understood the concept of football, I've been a fan of the Kansas City Chiefs. My parents lived in KC for a brief stint while I was a young child, and I've rooted for the NFL team practically all of my life. I endured the 1980's where the team regularly endured losing records. After a dismal 3-13 season in 1988, the Chiefs drafted with the fifth pick a linebacker from Alabama named Derrick Thomas, and the team changed instantly.

In Thomas' first year, the team went 8-7-1 and narrowly missed the playoffs. The Chiefs would make the playoffs seven of the next eight years. Thomas went to nine pro bowls in eleven years, making a habit of sacking the quarterback. He patented the quarterback strip, slapping his hand at the ball instead of trying to drive through the quarterback' ribs. He caused the league to start recording the statistic--Forced Fumbles. He holds the record (with others) for most sacks in one game when he got to Dave Krieg of the Seattle Seahawks seven times. On the last play of the game, Thomas almost got Krieg an eighth time, but instead the quarter back shook him off and through a thirty yard touchdown pass to win the game. Tying the record was bittersweet.

Number 58 had the ability to turn the tide of football game. His mere presence altered how teams played against the Chiefs. Fans packed the stadium like never before, and Arrowhead became one of the most feared places to play. Derrick Thomas' only professional team was the Chiefs, so I never had to root against him. Simply put, he is my favorite football player of all time.

But Derrick Thomas, the man, is gone. Coming home from St. Louis after the NFC championship game, Thomas' SUV hit a patch of ice and skidded off the road. His friend, Michael Tellis, was killed instantly and Thomas was paralyzed from the chest down. Both were not wearing their seat belts. A third passenger, who did wear his seat belt, walked away from the crash.

Thomas was transported down to Miami where he grew up. He underwent a 5-hour surgery to stabilize his deeply bruised spine. Through it all, he was upbeat and positive. Doctors said he was making progress and did not rule the possibility of him walking again. On Tuesday, February 8, while being transported from his bed to a wheelchair, Thomas went into cardiac arrest and could not be resuscitated. His toughest challenge was over.

When I heard the news, I sat stunned. Thomas had just finished another solid year in the NFL. In a matter of two weeks, my thoughts of him went from 'he's got a few more good years left in him' to 'I hope he walks again' to silence. Thomas was known for his philanthropy in the Miami and Kansas City areas, starting the Third and Long literacy program, where he read to kids most Saturdays before home games. He handed out food on Thanksgiving and presents at Christmas.

But he was not perfect. During a game with the rival Broncos last year, he committed two personal fouls on the final drive of the game, yanking Shannon Sharpe's face mask and throwing him to the ground. I looked at a friend and asked "When did we become the Raiders?" After the game, Thomas apologized for his actions and was suspended for the next game.

He also didn't wear his seat belt.

He was a man with amazing natural gifts and reaped the rewards financially. Unlike many of the new rich, he gave back to the community. There are supposedly 9 million millionaires in this country, but I only hear about the generous nature of a few of them. Derrick Thomas died at age 33, but he did more in a decade than entire family trees accomplish in their existence. In Kansas City, he will be remembered until the place no longer exists.

I never met Derrick Thomas. I only saw him as a figure on my television or hundreds of yards away on a football field. For me, he performed miracles on the football field, but he created genuine miracles for people he came into contact with.

He encompassed the reasons we should admire certain professional athletes--incredible physical ability, rewarded with an unimaginable salary, creating moments of sheer glory and giving back for the recognition and benefits he received.

A real life hero has passed.

With Kurt Vonnegut in the hospital, Chris Jungle is running out of living heroes.