Rose Legacy a Mixed Bag

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a lifelong fan of the Cincinnati Reds. Consequent to that fact, it would follow that I am a fan of the late Pete Rose, who died last Monday at the age of 83.

Indeed, I am a fan of “Charlie Hustle.”

I first saw Rose play against the Pittsburgh Pirates at Cincinnati’s Crosley Field way back in 1966, along with Joe Nuxhall, Roberto Clemente, Bill Mazeroski, et. al. I remember thinking that Crosley Field was the loudest place I’d ever been, particularly with all the vuvuzela’s tooted by fans in the upper deck.

Rose stood out. He ran the bases wide open; he made all the plays at second base and did what he had to do to help his team win. I saw him a couple of times at Philadelphia’s Connie Mack Stadium. Rose’s passion, drive and commitment to winning stood out.

When we moved to New Jersey, we lived a Ted Kluszewski home run from New York City, so when the Reds came to the Big Apple, our TV antenna could pick up the NYC stations carrying the Mets. About the same time, I started collecting baseball cards. In one pack of cards (which, honestly, I was more interested, at first, in the chewing gum than I was the cards), I found a Pete Rose card. I learned that Rose was one of my dad’s favorite players.

Understand, my dad was a native Ohioan and a lifelong Reds’ fan as well.

Yes, watching the Reds play the Mets and Phillies on TV made me more familiar with the players, including Johnny Bench, who remains my favorite player of all time and the reason I wanted to be a catcher. But Rose was special. Watching him run to first after a base on balls was something nobody was doing.

In 1970, my first year playing Little League, upon receiving a free pass, I emulated Rose’s baserunning, though you could have timed me with a calendar. People remarked in curiosity why I was sprinting to first base after walking. Rose influenced me as a player. That’s probably a reason that I learned to switch hit at a very early age, though Mickey Mantle, my very first favorite player, may have had something to do with that, too.

My dad and I played hooky one day in 1971 to go see the Reds and Dodgers in a spring training game in Vero Beach, Fla., which was about 45 minutes from my house. I was lucky enough to get Rose’s autograph right before the game. He was conversant, affable, funny and accommodating.

Rose was a special player. He’s play inspired me.

His collision with Ray Fosse in the 1970 All-Star game to win it for the NL was memorable, as was his play in the six World Series he appeared in. His homer against Oakland in Game Five of the 1972 series was memorable, as was his blast against the Mets in the 1973 playoffs. Funny thing was, Rose wasn’t a home-run hitter, but as my dad always said, when you needed it, Rose could get it for you.

I could go on and on about my memories of Rose as a player. He impacted my sister, too. She wore 14 in junior high, high school and college as a basketball player. Being the Bench fan, I wore 5 when it was available (high school and college, only because I generally I was one of the bigger guys on the team and uniform sizes for youth leaguers corresponded with numbers, so 5 was usually a smaller size). But Rose always was one of my favorites. Rose was a guy you could count on to bat .300, get 200 hits and score 100 runs in a season, especially in the prime of his career. As Sparky Anderson once said, Pete Rose, sometime, somewhere in a game, was going to find a way to beat you.

I remember driving home listening to the Reds on radio when he stepped to the plate for the record-setting basehit. It was Sept. 11, 1985 off San Diego’s Eric Show. He hit a dying quail to left-center. I got home about 15 minutes later and saw the reaction on TV. That was a great moment.

It’s true. Rose played in 1,972 games where his team won. Think about that. You could play for 19 years, win a 100 games a year and you’d still trail Rose. He also holds the record for most singles, doubles and games played.

He certainly was iconic.

But he also was reckless.

I can’t recall who it was, but some baseball big wig once said that when Pete Rose can’t play baseball anymore, he’ll self-destruct.

Whoever said that had one heck of a Ouija board. Thinking about it, the remark may have come from Bench.

In 1989, Rose was banned for life from baseball by MLB commissioner Bart Giamatti, allegedly with the proviso that if demonstrated good behavior, he could be reinstated in a year or two. Then, days later, Giamatti died, ending Rose’s Hall-of-Fame aspirations.

As big a fan as I am of Rose, and as big of a defender of him as I was back 1989, I must concede that all his woes were self-inflicted. He brought it all on himself. He was kicked out of baseball for gambling and spent time in prison not far from here in Illinois for tax evasion.

Sadly, he was cooked. He knew better, but Rose surrounded himself with dubious characters. That was his downfall.

Bob Costas, who I think is a bit overrated, said something I agree with Tuesday: “It’s cruel and unusual punishment that the game have so much to, the game he loved, has turned its back on him.”

It’s true, but he did bring it on himself.

I got to talk to, and interview Rose a few times and found him to be funny, charming in a rustic sort of way and outspoken. I think MLB missed a great opportunity because Rose would have been a great ambassador for the game, despite his issues. In fact, he could have talked to the up-and-coming players to look upon him as an example of what can happen if you break the big rule.

Sadly, Rose will never see his induction, if it does happen. I’ve often said that murderers have been arrested, booked, questioned, arraigned, tried, convicted and released in less time than Rose’s banishment.

Former Yankees and Braves pitcher Jim Bouton, who gained fame with his book Ball Four, which exposed the grungy underbelly of baseball, told me when he was on my radio show, that Rose graduated high school probably having never read a book or gone very far outside of the Cincinnati area. He wasn’t a fully formed person, but he was a talented baseball player who surrounded himself with “yes” men. As a result, Bouton said, he wasn’t very cultured. That might have contributed to his downfall.

Former Mets and Twins pitcher Frank Viola, however,  was spot on with his remarks about Rose: “It’s the hall of fame, it ain’t heaven.” Yet, some sanctimonious baseball writers and veterans continue to demonize Rose.

Again, however, Rose, sadly, brought it on himself.

When the time comes and they do put Rose in, to be fair, and it pains me to say this, the steroid players need to be considered for induction as well, even though I think their offense was cheating and, in some ways, much worse than what Rose did.

I hate that Rose won’t be around to see his induction into the Hall of Fame when it happens. And even if it doesn’t happen, he’ll always be considered one of the greatest players to lace up the spikes.

Jim Steele is a correspondent for Richardson Media Group and can be reached on X @steelesports or via email at pressbox1@gmail.com.

Bob Costas: It’s cruel and unusual punishment that the game he gave so much to has turned its back on him.