Remembering legendary Pete Rose

My heroes were politicians up until late 1968. You remember the year: MLK, RFK, the Chicago Democratic Convention, and the raging war fought on the other side of the world.

 

By 1969, I switched my allegiance to superstar athletes to ease the pain. You remember the year: Joe Namath guaranteed the New York Jets Super Bowl victory while Pete Rose and the Cincinnati Reds were setting the stage to become the greatest team money didn’t buy.

 

Because of Namath, this 9-year-old future sportswriter, who grew up on the fringe of Appalachia, knew what a Fu Manchu was. It was mind-boggling that Namath got paid to shave that Fu Manchu. He also earned a paycheck to wear pantyhose. And when Joe was hurt, he did it in style, wearing a mink coat on the sideline of a Jets game on a blustery late-autumn day in Gotham.

 

But my dad wanted my heroes to be a little more clean cut, so Rose, with his crew cut, it was. Besides, my hometown of Portsmouth, Ohio, was just 100 miles down the river to the Queen City of the Midwest.

 

And watching him become one of baseball’s greatest players brought back thousands of memories.

 

Pete Rose, baseball’s all-time hits leader and my first true sports hero who stuck with me for a good majority of my life, passed away on Sept. 30, at age 83.

 

Just like that, another part of my youth rests in peace.

 

I saw Rose play in some important games in his career and then met him when I was a fledging sportswriter on a media caravan stop in Cincinnati.

 

But what I most remember about Pete Rose is the first time I saw him play baseball in person. The date was Aug. 9, 1969, and 19,238 fans gathered at Crosley Field to watch his Reds play the Phillies.

 

I don’t think anyone in attendance would have expected what happened that night.

 

In the first inning, one of the nastiest storms I’ve ever experienced arrived at Crosley. It rained so hard, and the weather became so violent you knew something wasn’t quite right because you could hear siren after siren traveling on Interstate 75, which was adjacent to the stadium.

 

It turned out the two-hour, 35-minute rain delay actually was a tornado delay.

 

Tornadoes raced across Cincinnati, killing four people and injuring more than 240. They decided to play the game, moving the benches out of the flooded dugouts.

 

The delay and the game, which lasted 12 innings, made for one long night. But Rose turned out to be the hero when he hit a two-run homer in the bottom of the 12th inning - five hours and 33 minutes after the first pitch - to win the game.

 

All of our heroes have flaws, and Charlie Hustle was no exception. It’s just sometimes you don’t hear about them. But we have all heard about Rose’s transgressions. He might have been a little crass, a little self-centered, money hungry, and perhaps his own worst enemy.

 

But nobody played baseball with more passion, and nobody loved the game more.

 

Does he belong in the Baseball Hall of Fame? He bet on the sport he played, the sport he loved - the ultimate baseball sin. It took him forever to admit to his gambling, and it only seemed half-hearted.

 

But his sins were as a manager. Pete Rose was never getting into the hall as a skipper. As a player, it would have been a no-brainer.

 

What I couldn’t believe was that he was banned by baseball and was sentenced to life without the hall of fame. Yet the hall continued to display Rose’s baseball memorabilia.

 

So, here’s my solution. Induct Pete Rose into the Baseball Hall of Fame. But continue his lifelong ban from baseball.

 

It’s the right thing to do.

 

Phil Bowman regularly writes for The Daniel Island News.