We lived in Southern Ohio when I was a kid and I have a vivid memory of sitting down the third base line at Crosley Field in Cincinnati and screaming my lungs out every time Pete Rose ran past me on his way to or from left field. Rose only played left field in Cincinnati during one season, 1967, so I would have been eight years old.
Pete Rose was my hero.
Rose was every kid in Cincinnati’s hero. He was one of us, from a working class neighborhood down by the Ohio River. Someone said Pete would walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball. That got it right. Rose wasn’t silky smooth like Vada Pinson, the immensely talented Reds’ centerfielder who was also a favorite of mine, but he exerted his will to win on a baseball diamond in remarkable ways. When Rose drew a walk, he’d sprint to first base. The story is Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford saw him running hard in spring training and derisively dubbed him “Charlie Hustle.” Rose wore the nickname like a badge of honor.
No doubt you know Pete Rose was banned from baseball for life in 1989 for gambling on games he was involved in. Suddenly, the name Charlie Hustle took on new dimensions. The investigation into Rose uncovered all sorts of unseemly things: there were allegations of sex with a minor (Rose always maintained she was 18, he was around 40, and married, and famous, so even if it was legal it’s still horrible), his business “associates” were deep into the world of steroids (which almost destroyed baseball), others were likely tied to the mafia (a federal judge once told me dig deep enough into gambling and the trail always leads to organized crime), and Rose wound up spending a few months in a federal prison for tax evasion.
What’s it mean when your hero turns out to be so much less than what you idolized?
Pete Rose died on September 30, still on the outside looking in at the Baseball Hall of Fame. I’m not interested in the unending arguments about whether or not he belongs in the Hall of Fame. Baseball’s selective morality is puzzling and Rose was absolutely a great baseball player. What I’m more interested in is why he couldn’t tell the truth about his behavior.
I read a recent interview where Rose was asked if he had any regrets. He said, “I wish I never bet on baseball.” Sure, his life would have been less complicated if he’d only gambled at race tracks (which he did plenty of). But what I wish he’d said—and what I believe he was incapable of saying—was “I wish I had told the truth when I got caught.” He maintained he didn’t bet on baseball for over a decade. Then he came clean in an autobiography. His admission of guilt was timed to sell his book. Up to his dying day (and he was signing autographs for money at a sports memorabilia show the day before he died), Rose drew a distinction and would say, “I never bet on my team to lose,” as if that absolved him. Countless people wasted their breath trying to make him see he was making a distinction without a difference.
After he was banned from baseball, he moved to Las Vegas (that’s where you make your case that you shouldn’t be banned for gambling?) and set up shop signing anything for a price. If you paid him enough, he’d sign, “I’m sorry I bet on baseball.” He also signed, “I’m sorry I shot JFK” and “I’m sorry I broke up The Beatles.” Apologizing became a joke.
Recently, there was a documentary about Rose (which of course I watched because part of me is still eight years old. He fascinated me. He was funny, charismatic, and oh so flawed). There was a kerfuffle while the film was being made after Rose called a female reporter “Babe.” An apology was set up and Rose failed to apologize. His handlers apologized but Rose couldn’t understand what the problem was. His “apology” was, “That’s what I call everyone.” His inability to see the problem was a microcosm of his larger issues.
I’m not qualified to psychologically diagnose why Rose was unable to say, “I made a mistake” or even “I’m sorry” in a meaningful way. If he could have done that way back in 1989, he would have eventually been forgiven and enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Instead, he always turned “I’m sorry” into a way to make money. For Pete Rose, saying “I’m sorry” had a price tag attached.
Perhaps you saw that Donald Trump posted something during the Vice Presidential debate about putting Pete Rose into the Baseball Hall of Fame. (Apparently Trump found the debate boring.) Rose and Trump liked each other. I believe each saw himself in the other. And perhaps you’ve seen Kristin Du Mez’s new documentary For Our Daughters, which sickeningly shows pastors who sexually assaulted young women making tearful confessions in front of their congregations and being “restored” without any actual consequences for their behavior. Instead of being punished, these men are celebrated. Again, “I’m sorry” brings no satisfaction to the injured. It’s a manipulative device used for gain by the perpetrator.
Confession, forgiveness, absolution . . . these are complicated things. They are vital to living with each other and vital parts of the rhythm of life in the church. But they can be abused. I wish it weren’t so. And I wish Pete Rose was as pure as my eight-year-old self projected him to be. I’m sorry he wasn’t.
You suggest a question: How is an apology like or unlike the Christian confession of sin?
A mere “I’m sorry” does not necessarily imply “It was wrong of me to do that.”
Leadership matters! Those who lie, cheat, exploit and betray may be forgiven, but they have forfeited their right to be in public leadership, especially spiritual or ideological leadership. Yes, there are exceptions, but they are so far and between I am hard pressed to name them. Think about Paul, Peter, or David. Profound repentance and public confession became foremost in their branding.
Sorry Pete, but your persistent sin eventually led into the realm of narcissism, the absence of conscience itself, a self- induced hell with doors locked from the inside. “Better to cut off your hand than to lose your ‘soul’.” “Heroes,” more than anyone else, need STRONG peer accountability that serves as the conscience they have erased.
Thanks for this, Jeff.
Your last sentence makes me wonder if holding someone without a conscience accountable can ever bring back their conscience over time.
The story repeats itself. Fame, money, power, and control can cause some people to lose their values and integrity. It is sad when people we admire choose greed and control, and sexually assault others without facing any consequences. Thank you, Jeff, for this article.
Charlie Hustle! Won a championship w/ the Phillies in 1980 if memory serves…
I might suggest, “The Dictator’s Handbook”
Heartbreaking read, but it might explain why we can’t confess or apologize or offer anything that looks like real accountability, and by “we” I mean people in positions of power.
Either way, forgiveness, maybe. HOF, never.
Johnny Bench, of the Big Red Machine, was recently interviewed about Pete’s life, death & legacy. He noted that Pete’s passing was truly a loss ….that he was very sad upon hearing the news…as a friend & team mate. More importantly ( in my opinion) was the fact that Bench highlighted Rose’s ADDICTION to gambling. Addiction is a disease …and the addict needs help & support. The longer I live, the more I am made aware that no family or individual is immune to addiction….in whatever form it may take. I pray Pete is st peace. I also hope that his life story can serve as a warning to the perils of betting; Especially at a time when betting/gambling has become some an integral part of professional sports. As a Cincinnati kid in the 1970’s, I am celebrating Pete’s achievements in baseball …but recognizing he was also a flawed human being ( like myself)
Hall of Fame is for those with exceptional ability at playing the game of baseball.
Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame is for those who have an exceptional ability to rock.
Wonderful moral insights, Jeff, and all those who replied.
Familiar story for Michiganders in Tigers pitcher Denny McLain.
I still cannot fathom why his teammate, my ’68 World Series hero, Mickey Lolich, is not in the Hall of Fame.