The headline in the small Connecticut paper was sad but not shocking.

â€œEx-football Player Dies in Accidental Shooting.â€

Tragedies happen. Unless they happen to somebody famous, we usually glance and move on. Marcus Dixonâ€™s tragedy deserves a little more reflection.

â€œThereâ€™s so much to say,â€ said his high school coach, Kevin Jones, â€œand no way to say it.â€

Letâ€™s just say that if you think your life stinks, Dixonâ€™s story might be worth hearing. He went from the living on the streets of Stamford, Conn., to the Long Gray Line of West Point.

â€œHe could be a beacon of hope for every kid out there thinking, â€˜I donâ€™t deserve anythingâ€™ or â€˜Iâ€™m not good enoughâ€™ or â€˜I got a raw deal,â€™ â€ Jones said.

His story is like The Blind Side, where a white family takes in a neglected African-American kid. In the real-life movie, the kid became a first-round draft pick.

Dixon wasnâ€™t quite NFL material. He was more.

â€œI was thinking Iâ€™d vote for this guy for president one day,â€ Jones said.

What a stump speech that guy could have given. Dixon never knew his birth mother. A grandmother raised him at first.

When she died, Dixonâ€™s father was not up to the task. He drove to downtown Stamford, opened the car door and said the words that shaped his sonâ€™s life.

â€œKid, youâ€™re on your own.â€

Dixon was 12.

How do you get from there to West Point? It took a village of help and a kid who figured out something many adults never doâ€”life tends to help those who help themselves.

Realizing that wasnâ€™t easy.

â€œEvery day I thought to myself how unlucky I was,â€ Dixon told the Stamford Advocate in 2008. â€œIt used to get me so mad. It didnâ€™t seem fair.â€

Thereâ€™s nothing fair when a seventh grader doesnâ€™t know what couch or floor heâ€™ll be sleeping on that night. Dixon kept going to school and stayed at friendsâ€™ houses.

He was determined not to become a ward of the state. When there wasnâ€™t a house to crash in, Dixon would sleep on a park bench. That wasnâ€™t often, since he could charm his way into almost any home.

When Jones first spotted him, he saw a boy with a manâ€™s body. Dixon had the smile of a game-show host and the schtick of a televangelist.

â€œYou could see that look,â€ Jones said. â€œHe was like a black widow. When he wanted, he could spin a web right around you.â€

Underneath the charisma and confidence, however, was a fragile 15-year-old.

â€œIt was â€˜Me against the world,â€™ â€˜I don't need help,â€™ â€˜Starved for attention,â€™ two extremes,â€ Jones said. â€œAll that with an insanely high IQ.â€

With that kind of savvy, Dixon had two paths from which to choose. Flourish on the streets, until the arrests came. Or try to make something respectable out of his life.

He kept going to school and playing ball. Teachers, coaches and mentors reached out. Then along came the McInerney family.

Dixon was friends with one of the three daughters. He started hanging out at the house. The parents, Rose and Barry, took a liking to him. One thing led to another. Marcus became a McInerney.

It took more than adoption papers to completely gain his trust. Dixon called Rose, â€œMrs. Mac,â€ for the first few months. She eventually became â€œMom.â€

â€œI have the best parents in the world. Iâ€™d do anything for them, and theyâ€™d do anything for me,â€ he said. â€œNow I see my friends scream at their parents sometimes, and it really upsets me. So many kids take these things for granted.â€

Dixon took nothing for granted. Not his grades, not football and especially not his relationships.

Stamford High had a far more diverse student body than most Connecticut schools. The smooth football star could blend with any clique. And after being dumped on the streets, he was especially protective of kids who seemed helpless and on their own.

â€œOnce the light went on, Marcus was the enforcer of the school,â€ Jones said. â€œNobody got bullied. He was the champion of the underdog.â€

At the funeral, Barry McInerney remembered asking Marcus why he was late getting home one day.

â€œHe said he had some issues to take care of with some players,â€ Barry said.

Something was wrong, and Dixon had to make it right. His proudest moment came when West Point came calling.

Dixon was a brawny 5-10, 195-pound tailback with a 4.41 40-yard dash. That made him a terror for Connecticut high schools, but USC and Alabama werenâ€™t banging down his door.

Big deal. He was going to the United States Military Academy. The institution that produced Ulysses S. Grant, Dwight Eisenhower, Douglas MacArthur and George Patton.

Dixon tacked the scholarship letter to his bedroom wall. But as much as he conformed, he could never totally escape where he came from.

The company leader at Army told Barry McInerney that Dixon was having trouble fitting in. Marcus didnâ€™t like it when upperclassmen picked on his classmates.

Never mind 200 years of plebe tradition, Dixon stood up to whatever he deemed unjust. He stayed two years at West Point, and then decided it wasnâ€™t for him.

Dixon returned to Stamford and decided he wanted to become a police officer. He bought a .45-caliber Glock and duly registered it. Last Thursday night, he was showing it to a couple of friends.

He wanted to demonstrate the safety features and removed the magazine. Dixon pointed the pistol at his head and pulled the trigger. One bullet was still in the chamber.

Dixon never knew what hit him. He was 22 years old.

More than 600 mourners packed Holy Spirit Church for Mondayâ€™s funeral. Stamford High will retire Dixonâ€™s No. 2 jersey tonight.

This is not how Blind Side II was supposed to end.

â€œI know there arenâ€™t any answers,â€ Jones said. â€œIâ€™ll just tell the story in hopes somebody will benefit from it.â€

Itâ€™s not just another tragic story of a senseless death. Itâ€™s a lesson on how to live.

Dixon came into the world and was left on his own. He left it a beacon of hope.