There’s a reason that so many people are struggling to come to terms with the fact that Vikings legend Jim Marshall is gone.

Because of the way he lived, it almost seemed he couldn’t die.

The icon affectionately known as “The Captain” by his peers passed away last week at the age of 87 following a lengthy hospitalization. The original iron man in the NFL, Marshall played in 282 consecutive games during his career, most of them coming for the Vikings, all of them on the defensive line.

As former teammates and others have pointed out, the resumé seems to demand enshrinement in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. That never happened in his lifetime. Instead, Marshall has been immortalized in a different way, his legacy living on in those who had the privilege of coming into contact with him.

In the wake of Marshall’s death, the Pioneer Press tracked down some of his former teammates and asked them for their favorite story about the man who put fear into quarterbacks as a founding member of the Purple People Eaters with fellow defensive end Carl Eller and defensive tackles Gary Larsen and Alan Page.

Maybe it’s fitting that Eller couldn’t think of a favorite story considering he played with Marshall longer than anybody. They spent spent so much time together, he said, that it was simply too hard for him to pick a singular moment.

“Most of my time in the NFL was with him,” said Eller, 83, who played with Marshall from 1964-79. “All I can do is reminisce about all the good times we had.”

Here’s what some others had to say about Marshall.

‘All of a sudden an ambulance pulled up’

It was standard practice for the Vikings to have players check into a nearby hotel the night before any home game at Met Stadium. On one particular occasion, former Vikings running back Chuck Foreman remembers checking into the hotel and being told that Marshall was in the hospital.

“We didn’t think he was coming to the game,” said Foreman, 74, who played with Marshall from 1973-79. “Why would he if he spent the night in the hospital?”

That notion was dispelled shortly after the players arrived at Met Stadium the following morning.

“All of a sudden, an ambulance pulled up and he got out,” Foreman said. “He came into the locker room, got dressed, and went out and played in the game. He was relentless. There was never any quit in him.”

Those are the types of tales that used to have teammates joking that Marshall was secretly a part of the Navy SEALs on the side.

“You didn’t want to mess with him,” Foreman said. “You know what I mean?”

Not that Marshall was deliberately intimidating. He demanded respect without even raising his voice.

“I don’t think there will ever be another person like him,” Foreman said. “I think when God molded him, he said to himself, ‘I’m only going to use this mold once.’ “

‘I wanted to impress him every game’

When he was abruptly traded by Buffalo in 1976, former Vikings receiver Ahmad Rashad remembers feeling like his world was being turned upside down. Luckily for Rashad, he was greeted by Marshall upon his arrival in Minnesota.

“He accepted me and made me feel like a part of the team,” said Rashad, 75, who played with Marshall from 1976-79. “He welcomed me with open arms and became a very dear friend right off the bat.”

They developed their own way of communicating on the sideline.

“He would always come up to me and matter of factly go, ‘Come on Ahmad,’ ” Rashad said. “I can still hear him saying that in my head.”

The words were used strategically by Marshall over the course of a game. He always seemed to save them for when the Vikings needed a big play. It was almost like he knew that it would inspire Rashad to step up and make something happen.

“I wanted to impress him every game,” Rashad said. “I knew if I could impress him, I was doing a pretty damn good job because he was hard to impress.”

‘He beat me fair and square’

There was an annual tradition when the Vikings used to hold training camp in Mankato. All of the rookies were required to put on a show of some sort, former Vikings tight end Stu Voigt said, and the performance always took place inside Gage Hall on campus.

“We would sing and dance and make a fool of ourselves,” said Voigt, 76, who played with Marshall from 1970-79. “Then came the beer chugging contest.”

The rules were straightforward. You cracked open a bottle of beer and raced Marshall to the bottom. No room for any gray area.

As a product of the University of Wisconsin, Voigt fashioned himself as a pretty good beer drinker.

“It’s kind of a rite of passage down there,” he said. “I had some practice.”

Not enough to compete with Marshall.

“He sits down and makes that bottle of beer disappear in a matter of seconds,” Voigt said. “He finished, and I was only about halfway done with mine.”

It was a humbling experience for Voigt as he realized it was best not to challenge Marshall in anything.

“He beat me fair and square,” Voigt said. “I thought it would be a contest. It wasn’t even close. Even in stuff like that he reigned supreme.”

As special as Marshall was for the Vikings on the field, Voigt said his folklore extended off the field, as well.

“There was a rumor going around that he was training to fight Muhammad Ali,” Voigt said. “That’s the kind of guy he was. There are all of these fables about him. He was a larger-than-life character.”

‘He was always up to something’

Some of the best stories about Marshall sound like they couldn’t possibly be real.

All a part of his mystique.

There was the time he crashed his hang glider into a light pole in Bloomington. There was the time he got stranded in the mountains of Yellowstone National Park during a blizzard. There was the time he accidentally shot himself in the stomach.

Wait. What?

Allow former Vikings tight end Jerry Reichow to explain.

“That actually happened,” said Reichow, 91, who played with Marshall from 1961-64. “He got hit right in the belly.”

After hearing a news report at the time that somebody on the Vikings was involved in an incident, Reichow remembers thinking to himself that Marshall was probably involved in some way, shape, or form.

“It was always him,” Reichow said with a laugh. “He was always up to something.”

As he let himself go down memory lane, Reichow started to laugh on multiple occasions, gleefully recalling how Marshall always lived life to the fullest. The joy that Marshall exuded was infectious to everybody around him.

“He was our leader and everybody loved him,” Reichow said. “I can’t put it into words what he meant to us. He wasn’t just a good guy. He was a great guy.”

‘I didn’t know what I was getting myself into’

The race covered the 80 miles or so from Mankato to Bloomington, and usually started with Marshall firing a pistol into the air. That served as the official start as the Vikings made their way to preseason games at Met Stadium as fast as they could.

To cut down on the need for speed, former Vikings head coach Bud Grant used to have state patrol line Highway 169, pulling over anybody traveling a little too fast for their own good.

The only issue was that Marshall was above the law. That’s something former Vikings running back Rickey Young found out the hard way.

“I remember somebody told me to ride with him,” said Young, 71, who played with Marshall from 1975-79. “I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

Never mind that the state patrol was handing out tickets to some of their teammates. They never stopped Marshall. They would just wave him along.

“I’m sitting there in the passenger seat like, ‘Please God. Let them stop this guy. I need to get out of this damn car,’ ” Young said with a laugh. “We were driving like 90 mph the whole way to Met Stadium.”

They pulled into the parking lot so early that the concession stand workers were just getting there.

“I swear my fingernail marks are still in the side of his door of his Mercedes Benz where I was holding onto the leather for dear life,” Young said. “I never rode with him again after that unless I was driving.”

That didn’t stop Young from building a close friendship with Marshall. They stayed in touch regularly long after they were done playing. As the memories came flooding back, Young found himself getting choked up.

“It seems like I’ve known him forever,” Young said. “Now that he’s gone, I’m starting to realize it wasn’t long enough.”

‘We were all lucky to have known him’

As he reflected on his time as Marshall’s teammate, former Vikings cornerback Bobby Bryant kept going back to the work itself.

“He practiced like he played,” said Bryant, 81, who played with Marshall from 1968-79. “He made sure that everybody brought it.”

The secret sauce for Marshall was the way he always struck the perfect balance between telling it like it is and leading by example. No wonder the nickname “The Captain” stuck long after he retired.

“He personified it,” Bryant said. “They don’t make very many like him anymore.”

Though it was easy to be awestruck by Marshall from afar during his prime, Bryant recalled how that feeling dissipated shortly after meeting him. Whether it was a simple handshake or a deep conversation, Marshall’s superpower was his ability to connect.

“He had a way about him that made everybody feel like they were his friend,” Bryant said. “We were all lucky to have known him.”