The great thing about sports -- in fact, the GREATEST thing about them -- is that they always come back to the theme of "overcoming."

Players, teams, coaches all must overcome, to succeed. Whether you overcome turmoil, injury, setback, disappointment, bad luck, or in the most severe cases -- physical or mental disabilities -- determines how great a champion you are in the minds of those who witness the feat.

Recently, one Jason McElwain of Greece Athena High School in Rochester, N.Y. did something remarkable. As an autistic teenager, Jason was given one game in which he could shed the duties of team manager for his high school basketball team and put on a jersey as an actual player and sit on the bench.

The plan all along was to simply get him some late garbage time. At least that's what "typical" kids call the disorganized last minutes of a blowout game. Garbage.

You know what they say: "One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Jason took that otherwise worthless time, and shined it up into something remarkable that night. After missing his first two shots, he proceeded to hit SIX three pointers in the final three and a half minutes.

A thoroughly shocked and joyous home crowd, mobbed the court and lifted this young man on their shoulders in pure happiness.

Jason had overcome. He was, at that moment, a true champion.

I had seen a story on HBO's "Real Sports" about a very similar kid, who also shed the manager label for one night, and managed to hit a single three pointer late in the game. It was, and remains the most touching story.

But to be flat out "en fuego" like Jason was, is even more amazing.

And that's the thing about kids and athletes with disabilities. They do amaze. Perhaps because it's hard not to have low expectations for them. Perhaps because everybody roots for them deep inside.

Professional sports is rife with examples of athletes who overcame incredible physical, emotional, mental, or environmental odds to succeed. Those stories should never be forgotten, but instead told and re-told at every opportunity.

I still can't believe that pitcher Jim Abbott (who played for the Brewers at the end of his career) not only thrived as a major leaguer with one hand, but that he threw a no-hitter.

When it comes to failure, nobody fell more times in agonizing fashion than speedskater Dan Jansen, only to finally prevail with gold in his final race.

When it comes to injuries, you have Hermann Maier of Austria, nearly losing his leg in a motorcycle accident on the Autobahn, to making a full comeback in world class skiing to stand once again on the Olympic podium.

You have Ben Hogan, battered and twisted to within an inch of his life in a car wreck, clawing his way back to win the 1953 U.S. Open.

I'll put Michael Jordan in there, too. Retired once from basketball, his father is senselessly murdered in the summer of 1993. Then he comes back to the game, shakes off the rust, meshes with an almost entirely new supporting cast, and repeats the unthinkable feat of a title three-peat. Amazing.

In fact, there ought to be a sports museum dedicated simply to those teams and players who did overcome. Sort of a "Triumph of the Spirit Hall of Fame."

I would put in pro athletes right next to the Jason McElwains of the world, with pictures, mementos and the like.

Best of all, this Hall of Fame would be hard to get to. I'd choose some out of the way site somewhere in the Upper-Midwest plains where you would almost be forced to drive a few hours to get there. That way, fathers and daughters, mothers and sons, companions on the road to this shrine of overcoming would get that few hours of sometimes silent bonding that makes the experience even more real.

I would put this hall of fame about a mile up a winding walkway (with wheelchair access of course), path, or stairway on some huge mountainside.

That way mere visitors would be reminded just a little, about what overcoming is all about.