CANTON, Ohio | This was our Super Bowl, the reward for those glorious fall Sundays in the 1990s spent at Arrowhead Stadium believing Marty Schottenheimer and Carl Peterson had constructed America&rsquo;s best football team.</p><p>Derrick Thomas&rsquo; enshrinement in the Pro Football Hall of Fame on Saturday night serves as our Lombardi Trophy.</p><p>That is not written to belittle Schottenheimer or Peterson. We spent the decade of the 1990s moaning about what Marty and Carl didn&rsquo;t accomplish. Saturday night was a celebration of what they did do.</p><p>Derrick Thomas is at the top of the list. His bust inside the Hall of Fame represents the 102 regular-season victories the Chiefs recorded during the &rsquo;90s. His bust inside the Hall of Fame represents the sellout crowds, the barbecue tailgates, the Red Fridays and the pride we felt throughout the &rsquo;90s every time the Chiefs made a run at the playoffs.</p><p>Does it soothe the pain of the terrible playoff losses? No.</p><p>Is it better than winning a Super Bowl? Absolutely not.</p><p>But it&rsquo;s a nice consolation prize. Derrick did not get to Canton by himself. He was not Bruce Smith or Rod Woodson, players so talented and statistically accomplished that they would&rsquo;ve made it to the Hall of Fame as career-long members of the Cincinnati Bengals.</p><p>Nope, Derrick&rsquo;s run to Canton was a group effort. He wouldn&rsquo;t be there without Neil Smith, Dale Carter, James Hasty, Dan Saleaumua, Joe Phillips, Donnie Edwards, Gunther Cunningham and the fans inside the league&rsquo;s loudest stadium during the 1990s.</p><p>Bob Gretz, Kansas City&rsquo;s member on the Hall of Fame board of selectors, had to tell the entire Kansas City story when making Thomas&rsquo; case for induction. Gretz had to explain what Derrick represented, the resurrection of Chiefs football, his contribution to the Kansas City community.</p><p>The story included you.</p><p>And a huge part of Derrick&rsquo;s story included Carl and Marty. You can&rsquo;t tell the Thomas story without talking about Peterson and Schottenheimer. They went into the Hall of Fame with Thomas, their signature player.</p><p>When they arrived in Kansas City in 1989, Carl and Marty probably carried with them dreams of winning Super Bowls and their own places in football immortality. It&rsquo;s unlikely now that Carl or Marty will win a Super Bowl as a top executive or head coach, and it&rsquo;s even less likely they&rsquo;ll be enshrined in the Hall of Fame.</p><p>I&rsquo;m sure they&rsquo;ve made an uncomfortable peace with that fact. That peace is more comfortable now that Thomas is in the Hall of Fame.</p><p>Presenting Thomas as a Hall of Famer had to be one of the top two or three moments in Peterson&rsquo;s football career. Peterson met the moment in fine fashion. He was composed, powerful and smooth.</p><p>Peterson started at the beginning of their relationship, recalling the marathon scouting workout Schottenheimer and Bill Cowher put Thomas through at Alabama. From there, Peterson mixed in stories about Derrick&rsquo;s on- and off-field contributions.</p><p>The only thing missing from Peterson&rsquo;s speech was emotion. I expected tears. Peterson loved Thomas like an adopted son. Peterson molded Thomas as a football player and a community philanthropist. Their relationship extended far beyond football. Peterson had little objectivity when it came to evaluating and dealing with Thomas. Peterson&rsquo;s heart got in the way. Dale Carter used to jokingly refer to Thomas as the &ldquo;Golden Child.&rdquo;</p><p>Peterson closed his speech by calling Thomas his son and congratulating Thomas on his journey to Canton. It was as emotional as he would get. It was an appropriate and dramatic conclusion.