


Pete Rose, who holds the record for most hits in the MLB, died on Monday at the age of 83. His record of 4,256 gave him 67 more career hits than Ty Cobb and 485 more than Hank Aaron.
I don’t remember seeing Rose play. But I grew up with him in my home along the Ohio River, about 90 miles east of Cincinnati. I grew up not just with him but with Johnny Bench, George Foster, Joe Morgan, Ken Griffey Sr., and other baseball giants.
For my father had grown up watching the Big Red Machine, one of the greatest teams ever to play. He would recount stories about the Cincinnati Reds’ four trips to the World Series in the 1970s. These tales would include the heartbreak of losing in 1970 and in 1972. But I especially heard about the triumph in the team’s back-to-back titles in 1975 and 1976. People like to talk about Boston’s Carlton Fisk hitting the walk-off home run in game six of the 1975 series. But Cincinnati won game seven and the title.
In it all was Pete Rose. Rose did more than play for the Reds. He was born in Cincinnati on April 14, 1941. During his 24-year career, he earned his nickname of “Charlie Hustle.” No one worked harder. No one squeezed more out his talent. He lived and breathed baseball, the hometown hero who was essential to Cincinnati’s baseball greatness.
While I did not see Rose play, I did get to see the team he put together. I remember as a child watching the 1990 World Series. The Reds were the underdogs to the mighty Oakland Athletics. We swept them in four games. (My father sent me to bed the night the Reds won. I was elated the next morning to hear that we were World Series champions.) Lou Piniella ably managed that team. But Rose had put the core of the team together, serving as player-manager from 1984-1986 and as manager till August of 1989.
Of course, we all know why Rose did not continue managing his hometown team. He bet on baseball games, including the Reds, while managing them. He was wrong, grievously wrong, to do so. He deserved harsh punishment, for gambling has been a historical scourge on baseball, threatening its very integrity.
Yet, a lifetime ban seems more than enough retribution. We especially should keep in mind the increasing embrace of gambling by baseball and all major sports. Whatever limitations they have tried to place on it, continued rejection increasingly rings of hypocrisy.
And consider what was lost over the last 35 years. The ban kept Rose out of the game he lived for and loved. I cannot fathom what emotional and psychological punishment that was to him, one he bore to his dying day. The ban also denied a generation of baseball fans the chance to see his love, dedication, and brilliance on display within the MLB. It denied to Cincinnati the chance to honor and enjoy her hometown son, who honored and loved her every day he played.
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It was Rose’s fault that he gambled on baseball. But at some point, justice has been exhausted. And even if not, at some point, mercy should intervene. Let that time come and come now.
Charlie Hustle has reached home. As a fourth-generation Reds fan, I thank him for the memories he gave my team and my family. I hope to see him someday in the Hall of Fame, the proper throne for the Hit King of America’s Game.
Adam Carrington is assistant professor of politics at Hillsdale College.