It would surprise no one that the sons of Craig Heyward would be superior athletes. Of course, they would. They inherited their dad's genes.

What might surprise some, though, is the kind of superior father Heyward was to the boys he loved so much.

Craig "Ironhead" Heyward, who died Saturday at 39 after a lengthy illness that left him partially paralyzed and blind, wasn't -- as wondrously talented as he was -- a once-in-a-lifetime athlete. But he was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy.

There was no controlling the irrepressible Ironhead -- for good or bad. He gained a slight degree of notoriety for a few off-the-field incidents in his playing days at Pitt and that earned him a reputation he couldn't lose with some detractors.

But that wasn't the real Ironhead. That wasn't the good-hearted guy who gathered friends where ever he went, who was the life of the party and who struggled in these final years to be a good dad to his four boys. But he always was there for them, even in the end when he had to roam the sidelines in a wheelchair.

Once, when asked what made Heyward tick, coach Foge Fazio, who recruited him to Pitt from Passaic, N.J., just shrugged and said, "Iron is Iron."

There was no describing him, no predicting him and no way not to like him with that personality that embraced everyone and with that smile that lit up a room.

He weighed anywhere from 250 to 305 pounds and, by rights, should have been a lineman. But his phenomenal athleticism pushed him well beyond that level on the football field. He was a running back who could gain yards by running around, through and, yes, over opposing tacklers. He could juke a defensive back off his feet with his nimbleness and flatten a defensive lineman with his speed and power.

He was such a character that his true excellence was sometimes lost. As a junior All-American at Pitt in 1987, he ran for 1,791 yards. Only the incomparable Tony Dorsett did better than that and then only in his senior year. Heyward's junior year was better than any of Dorsett's other seasons.

He finished fifth in Heisman Trophy voting that year -- first on this writer's ballot -- and opted for the NFL, where he was a first-round draft choice of the New Orleans Saints. In making himself a first-rounder, Ironhead only increased his own legend.

He weighed more than 300 pounds after his final Pitt season, a size that turned off NFL scouts. He was expected to go in the third round. He changed that in about two months. As agent Eric Metz told the Post-Gazette's Ed Bouchette, "He weighed 302 when we signed him. In 60 days, he got down to 252. He worked out three times a day."

He lasted 11 seasons in the NFL, an accomplishment in and of itself. Although he never rambled like he did at Pitt, he had one 1,000-yard season -- with Atlanta in 1995 -- and made one Pro Bowl.

It was in that 11th season that he was first diagnosed with a brain tumor. It ended his career and put him in a more than decade-long battle for his life. With his playing days behind him, Ironhead concentrated more than ever on being a dad.

"He was a great father," said Charlotte Heyward Blackwell. "The boys are all extremely gifted athletes. He was very hands on, very involved. He wanted them to know he was there for them.

"He had a stroke in March of 2005 that left him partially paralyzed on his left side. It was a setback. But even in his wheelchair, he was lively. He didn't let it hold him back at all. Even when he lost the ability to walk, he was out there in the wheelchair, letting them know he was there."

Cameron is a serious athlete. He's a 6-foot-7, 270-pound junior defensive tackle at Peachtree Ridge High in Suwanee, Ga. He's heavily recruited by major schools, including Pitt.

"He hasn't made up his mind," said his mother, a Pittsburgh native and Pitt graduate.

"We remained best friends," said Charlotte of her ex-husband. "It was a joint custody with not a lot of rules. We both served as parents. We both did the driving. We lived about a mile apart."

Cameron played his first two high school seasons at Whitfield Academy, about 35 miles from home. After his father's stroke, he transferred to his neighborhood school, Peachtree Ridge. Under Georgia rules, he would have been ineligible. But the family petitioned the state governing board and he was granted a medical hardship to play so his dad could watch.

When it was clear that Ironhead did not have long to live, Peachtree Ridge coach Blair Armstrong was considering moving Senior Night from the end of the 2006 season to the start of it.

It wasn't to be. Cameron Heyward won't have his father with him for this final season. But the memory lives on of a great dad, an outstanding football player and one of the sport's world's unforgettable characters.