Lou Gehrig Babe Ruth and Joe Mccarthy

Lou's Final Day For this piece, I spoke to Lou Gehrig about his retirement from baseball as well as Babe Ruth, whom I caught outside a diner weeks before the announcement of Gehrig's retirement was made known, plus coach Joe McCarthy, mentioned by name in Gehrig's "farewell address." It was Joe whom Gehrig called "outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today" in a tribute that rang with both triumph and tragedy (Gehrig).

Joe told me later he felt blessed just being able to work alongside such a great man as Gehrig. He obviously meant it: there were tears in his eyes when he said it. But that's how much Gehrig has meant, not only to the game but to the guys who played it, play it still and love it. Just say the name "Gehrig" and grown men cry -- and not in a bad way.

Gehrig has been one of the greats: a great ballplayer, a great human being, great in adversity, and humble at all times. He hailed from Colombia University -- so he was no slouch as a young man; and he wasn't from the streets.

He was born with brains and brilliance and had the athleticism to boot that would make him the "pride of the Yankees." What went through his mind as he sat out his first game in 14 years, when he went to manager Joe McCarthy and said, "I'm benching myself, Joe," after weeks of tired play? It was not that his skills or talents were off -- he could still meet bat with ball -- it was just that his power was gone.

Gehrig himself told me: "I knew it was gone spring training, that day I collapsed at Al Lang Field. I knew it then. I didn't want to admit it. Thought I could play through it. But by the end of April it was clear something was wrong. I wasn't the same. Joe wasn't going to take me out of the lineup, at least not yet.

I thought I'd beat him to the punch and take myself out first." On Lou's decision, Joe told me, "Hell, I would've kept in the lineup for all eternity. They would've had to have taken the card away from me. Only Lou could've done that -- and he did it. You can have no idea what that was like." All of this floats through my mind as I watch Lou on his last day on the field, as he gives his farewell address.

His retirement had already been announced, virtually assured by the ALS diagnosis released by the Mayo Clinic where Gehrig had gone just a month earlier, at the urging of his wife Eleanor (Malik). What had been a long career, cut short, now seemed doubly long -- as the good memories receded into the fog of the past and were replaced with newer ones of illness, weakness, of sudden, sharp decline -- of fear, of loss, of desire unfulfilled. Yet Gehrig never blamed anyone.

He exuded gratitude -- in between the onset of the deep realization that it wasn't just the baseball career that was over: he was dying (Eig, 2015). He expressed that gratitude on Independence Day, 1939, when before the adoring fans at Yankee Stadium, he described himself as the "luckiest man on the face of the earth" and meant every word of it (Gehrig).

How could the whole baseball loving world be so upset by one man's bad break -- a tragic note at the end of a grand symphony? 14 years of stupendous play, of MVP years, six World Championships, of seven All-Star noms, of the Triple Crown win, of a career .340 batting average, of nearly 2000 RBIs and nearly 500 home runs, of 2,130 straight games played -- how could the whole baseball loving world not love Gehrig? How could it not be upset? How could Gehrig not feel himself to be so lucky? He could, and he said it, and he meant it.

They say the Almighty works in mysterious ways -- and no one would know that to be truer than Gehrig. See him as tells his fans not about his own greatness but about the greatness of those around him -- of Joe, of Jacob Ruppert, of Ed Barrow, of Miller Huggins. What you wouldn't have given to be mentioned by Lou in his last lines to the whole baseball loving world -- just for a drop of admiration, an ounce of notice, a moment of appreciation.

If you couldn't be Lou Gehrig, the next best thing was to be loved by Lou Gehrig. If you had Lou Gehrig's love, it was like a sign that you had made it as a man -- you were somebody worth something. It was like God's love in that way. Gehrig brought stature to the world around him. The devastating blow that God has sent his bones is a reminder that you only get to be big for a short while, even if you are great. Gehrig didn't complain.

He might have sounded wistful when he spoke -- but who could blame him. It's hard to part with the things you love. Few men know what it means to love and lose -- but those who do never forget. The experience changes them. They either overcome it or they die buried by it. Just ask Ruth, the Great Bambino, The Sultan of Swat, the Colossus of Clout. We all lose in our own ways, some in small ways, some in big ways.

When big men go -- and none was bigger than The Babe -- small ways seem big. For Ruth, it was time -- and he left behind him a legacy that.