Irony, as we know, is part of life. And death. Is there a better word to use regarding Lou Gehrig?
Think of his nickname: "The Iron Horse." It implies endurance. It recalls an indestructible man, one who never called in sick for almost 14 years -- 2,130 consecutive games, as if we could ever forget that number?
Lou Gehrig, a man who made us forget Wally Pipp, also introduced us to a tragic disease.
And yet, at age 35, in what should have been the prime of his life, the Yankees first baseman contracted an incurable disease. Two years later, at 37, The Iron Horse was dead.
More irony. What is remembered most about the rock-sturdy man whom Los Angeles Times columnist Jim Murray called "Gibraltar in cleats?" Is it his 493 homers, his 1,990 runs batted in, his .340 batting average, his American League record 184 RBI in one year, his major league record of 23 grand slams? Is it his 13 consecutive seasons with 100 RBI and 100 runs scored, his 200 hits and 100 walks in the same season seven times, his two MVPs, his Triple Crown? Is it his 12 consecutive seasons of hitting .300, his 10 seasons of at least 30 homers, his averaging 153 RBI over an 11-year stretch, his .632 lifetime slugging percentage?
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