We want to believe in heroes.

As small children, we were all desperate to have as many older people as possible to look up to, even if we did not realize it at the time. If we were lucky, our parents provided that initial role model to help lead us on our way. But beyond what we saw every day from our home life, human curiosity forced us to look outward.

As I get older, I realize how much I have learned over the years; and thus how much more I have to learn before I write my last column hopefully many years from now. The adage that true wisdom comes from the knowledge that you do not know anything comes into play when honestly assessing our own mental acuity accrued over the years.

As it pertains to heroes, they are all around us. True heroes are those that with complete altruism do good deeds for others that may not have the ability to do so themselves. A hero is a policeman who tries to rid his community of the scourge of crime. A hero is a firefighter who rushes into a towering inferno without regard for his own safety to try to rescue a fellow human being who is trapped.

Given the benefit of a few years under my belt, I can see this now.

More often than not, unfortunately, we are disappointed if we ever get to meet our heroes of youth in person. Instead of a larger-than-life luminary, we are confronted with a mere mortal. Just another human being. A man (or woman) with flaws and warts just like the rest of us.

Oh, we may admire them for their accomplishments, but only with the benefit of time and perspective may we see the limp of a long-retired athlete as a human frailty rather than another obstacle to be automatically overcome to once again capture glory. As our sports stars age, they humanize themselves, demystifying the air of invincibility that was once their perpetual shroud.

Mickey Mantle's death is an example of this. Ted Williams' gruesome ultimate demise is another. Their inglorious ends could never have been imagined in their heydays, in part because they were never supposed to get old in the first place.

In the past week we have been all been struck by heroes and antiheroes in the most stark and polarizing way.

All this weekend, the NFL used its incredibly powerful platform to say thank you to the veterans of the military that have ensured our safety as a people for generations. From the veterans of World War II to those still stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan, football, a gathering place for family and friends alike, told those that keep us free that we appreciate their many sacrifices.

I have long been an admirer of Mike Krzyzewski, now the all-time winningest coach in Division 1 college basketball. Krzyzewski, fittingly, broke the record of his mentor, Bob Knight, Tuesday evening at Madison Square Garden as Duke beat Michigan State 74-69. Perhaps fittingly, so shortly removed from Veterans Day, we of course are reminded that Krzyzewski played for Knight at Army, before becoming the record-setting basketball god of Tobacco Road.

Of course, there is the anti-Blue Devil backlash that has been going on since someone in Bristol, Conn. Decided so many years ago that Duke Basketball was the greatest sports program that ever existed. But to not at least admire Krzyzewski and his accomplishments over the years is both silly and counterproductive.

Eleven Final Four appearances, eight championship game appearances, four NCAA Championships, and one gold medal are incredible feats. But the most telling mark of Mike Krzyzewski's success came after his Blue Devils secured win No. 903, passing Knight.

Immediately after his record was broken, the teacher and student shared a private moment on the court, as Knight was working the broadcast for ESPN.

"I just told him, I said, 'Coach, I'm not sure people tell you this, but I love you and I love what you've done for me. Thank you,'" Krzyzewski said in the media room after the game ended. "And he said, 'Boy, you done pretty good for a kid who couldn't shoot.' I think that means he loves me, too."

When Krzyzewski recalled this story, there were no fewer than 25 of his former players standing in the room underneath the stands. They had traveled to New York to honor their mentor, their coach, their hero. Names like Battier, Boozer, Hurley, and Hill were just some of the Cameron Indoor Stadium legends that owe their careers to the man simply known as Coach K.

I contrast Krzyzewski's week to that of the almost as recently-crowned all-time winningest coach in college football, Joe Paterno.

In the last week, Paterno has been vilified at every turn for being the very antithesis of the word hero.

Two full weekends ago, Paterno was being lauded for almost the exact same accomplishment as Krzyzewski was Tuesday night. However, even prior to the annihilation of the entire Penn State world that was to come, there were snickers that Paterno hadn't really actually coached in many years. At 84, Paterno had been relegated to the press box rather than the sidelines for fear of his safety from getting run over by players; the old joke that rather than play calls and coaches instructions in his headset, he was actually listening to Lawrence Welk.

As evidenced by the embarrassing display of homerism under the guise of journalism at the news conference to announce Paterno's dismissal, the questioning of the coach at his weekly press briefings were notoriously vague in scope. This allowed the old man to still act like he knew what was going on between the lines, when in fact he had long since become nothing more than a figurehead.

Since then, Paterno has been hailed by students who just being stupid kids wanted to be part of something during the foolish riots immediately following his ouster, but by seemingly no one else.

In the days following his firing, Paterno has been described as petty, uncooperative, and narcissistic. His ridiculous claims that everyone, including the grand jury and Mike McQuerey are lying only feeds the claims that he still feels invincible or he really is hopelessly out of touch.

That he so obviously continued to allow Jerry Sandusky access to his locker room even after multiple reports of Sandusky's sickening behavior raises further questions not about the perpetrator, but rather the facilitator. No other questions really need to be asked of Sandusky outside of a courtroom; we know that he is a monster.

But what of the man that granted safe harbor to Sandusky's reign of terror? How deep was the conspiracy to cover up the ugly truth of what went on inside the walls Paterno built? Why did Paterno allow it to happen? Was it because telling the truth would have been embarrassing in 1998?

How is that being a hero? How is that being a leader of men? How is that standing up to the truth even if there is some initial pain?

What did Paterno know before 1998? Will his legacy ever recover from his crime of conscience? Should it?

It has been quite a week, indeed; with heroism on display during a wonderful weekend of remembrances of Veterans Day. Then it was Mike Krzyzewski passing his mentor, Bob Knight, while The General was only steps away and with dozens of former players in attendance. These are the memories one should be able to take away from these few days.

Instead, and not surprisingly, we are still captivated and appalled by the events in a tiny town in central Pennsylvania. On the downside, it knocks deserving sports headlines off of the front page and onto the back burner.

Looking for any possible silver lining, maybe we needed a market correction as to the place sports – and its so-called heroes – should be in life.