Five years from now, the story will be complete. It'll be a warm, sunny afternoon in Canton, Ohio, and the football world will pause to pay him homage. The greatest defensive player to ever step foot on the gridiron will have his place in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. But for me, Sunday afternoons will never be the same.

It is early 1991, the site is Candlestick Park, and a birth in Super Bowl XXV hangs in the balance. Steve Young, playing in place of the injured Joe Montana, is driving the 49ers down the field and with under five minutes remaining, victory over the Giants from New York seems only moments away.

But wait, Superman is on the other side of the ball. The white road jersey, stained green, brown, and red from the rigors of combat, hangs down near his waist. And as 49er running back Roger Craig has the ball stripped from his possession by nose tackle Eric Howard, here comes number 56. LT, alias 56, or Superman, or just plain Lawrence, emerges. But not alone. Held as carefully as a mother holds a newborn baby, the football was nestled carefully in his arms. His reward is a spot in the Super Bowl, and one week later he is a champion again.

Great players make great plays in big games. And Lawrence Taylor had done it again. But LT was not just about sacks and monster hits. Sure, the entire country watched Joe Theismann's leg go snap, crackle, pop on that Monday night in 1985. Or perhaps you witnessed the three sack, seven tackle, two forced fumble performance in a 13-12 late-season victory over the New Orleans Saints in 1988. But 56 was about more than just football excellence.

With 22 players on the field at every moment, football is the epitome of a team sport. But if one player could single-handedly propel his team to victory, Michael Jordan would be known as the Lawrence Taylor of basketball. Taylor redefined his sport, and for 13 glorious seasons he was the the greatest defender the game has ever known.

When LT entered the league as a rookie in 1981, he was something new -- an outside linebacker who could stop the run with relative ease, and still rush the passer with a ferocity never before experienced by professional quarterbacks. And now, 13 years later, he retires from football. But his legacy will live on.

In the early 80s former Washington Redskin Coach Joe Gibbs invented a two tight-end, one running back offense designed with the sole purpose of controlling LT. This was perhaps the first time history had ever seen an offense designed to counter one man. Today, it's common for a pass rusher to attempt to strip the quarterback of the football while tackling him, but prior to LT, this was never even tried.

For me, having grown up on Long Island, rooting for the Giants was a forgone conclusion. Every Sunday afternoon since I was old enough to remember, I'd spend the day watching the Big Blue. And up until his arrival, many of those games ended in defeat. But with him on the team, the Giants went 115-84-1, including two Super Bowl championships. Whenever I see the number 56, anywhere, I think of him. And his 10 consecutive pro bowls, his 132.5 career sacks, and his 1986 MVP season. It was a very good year.

But Lawrence Taylor was probably a more perfect football player than human being. His drug convictions and drug-related suspensions could fill this page. But despite the chemicals that have entered his body, and the fact that he spent more time in Dunkin' Donuts than in a gym, that 6-foot-3, 243-pound frame endured more punishment than humanly possible. With him, there was no such thing as probable. If he could stand, he would play. How rare. How special. See you in Canton.