All-Star Game gives Pete Rose brief return to spotlight
CINCINNATI -- Pete Rose, his stomach protruding and his hair dyed dark brown to cover the gray, hobbled onto the stage at historic Taft Theater on Saturday night and picked up a bat, prompting the crowd to scream, rise and chant his name.
It was as if it was 1985 — the year Rose eclipsed Ty Cobb's record and became baseball's all-time hits king — all over again with the crowd of about 850, mostly wearing Reds memorabilia or personalized Rose jerseys, celebrating as if Pope Francis had walked through the doors.
"Everybody loves Pete," said Dana Buttrick, wearing a Rose jersey personally autographed for his birthday and holding a $200 Rose picture. "Pete is the Reds. Pete is baseball. Pete is America.
"Now it's time to get him reinstated into baseball and get him to the Hall of Fame."
Buttrick paused, looked at wife Mary Elizabeth and said softly, "I fear he'll get in but he won't be reinstated until after he's gone. We need to hear his speech."
Rose, 74, who accepted a permanent ban for gambling on baseball on Aug. 24, 1989, is scheduled to have a hearing in August, a Rose adviser told Paste BN Sports. He'll be in New York presenting his case with attorneys Ray Genco and Mark Rosenbaum in front of Major League Baseball Commissioner Rob Manfred.
Rose, calling himself baseball's greatest ambassador, says he will apologize, hope and pray.
"My daughter was born two days before I was suspended," Rose said, "and she'll be (26) years old next month.
"I could have killed three people and been out by now.
"But Bud Selig didn't screw up. The new commissioner didn't screw up. I did."
Yet no matter how contrite Rose might be, it won't matter. Rose isn't going to be reinstated anytime soon. He won't be in the Hall of Fame. He could forever be on the outside looking in, at least while he's alive, former commissioner Fay Vincent said, for fear he could embarrass baseball with future indiscretions.
"I don't think there's a chance in the world," Vincent told Paste BN Sports. "Who wants to buy Pete Rose and own it? It's too dangerous. You don't know what he might do."
Rose might never have that Hall of Fame induction ceremony, but Tuesday night, in front of a sold-out crowd at Great American Ball Park on Pete Rose Way, this might be the next-best commemoration, walking onto the field as one of the fan-elected Franchise Four, joining Hall of Famers Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench and Barry Larkin.
It likely will be the final time he's worshiped in front of this large of a gathering, with his hometown crowd celebrating his legacy and forgiving him for all of his gambling sins.
"Pete Rose, in Cincinnati, can do no wrong, let's leave it at that," Morgan told Paste BN Sports. "People in Cincinnati love Pete because he's one of them. What's the old saying, 'He might be a bad guy, but he's our bad guy.'
"I'm not gullible, but I will be friends forever with Pete. I would love to see him in the Hall of Fame, and I will always hold out some hope for him.
"The players, the owners, the writers that all saw Pete play know how good of a player he is.
"But a lot of time has passed. It's dimmer than it was 10 years ago."
It took nearly two decades, but Rose finally admitted to gambling on baseball while he managed, betting a minimum of $10,000 a day, according to the lead investigator, John Dowd. He also gambled while he played, according to documents recently obtained by ESPN, which Vincent always believed. Rose did not address the reports that he gambled as a player but joked that he blamed his father, along with neighborhood friend Don Zimmer's dad, to permit gambling to even enter his stream of consciousness.
"Our dads used to go to the racetrack together," Rose said. "That's where all that stuff happened."
This is Rose. He captivates the audience, whether it's a small gathering of reporters, a theater audience to watch An Evening with Pete Rose on Saturday or 4,000 fans on the outskirts of O'Fallon, Mo., on Friday night.
It was Pete Rose Night in O'Fallon, the home of the River City Rascals, an independent team in the Frontier League. Rose's appearance drew more than twice the size of a typical Friday night crowd, Rascals general manager Dan Dial said. It was the largest crowd at T.R. Hughes Ballpark, situated 10 miles from the Ameristar Casino Resort, in seven years, well, at least rivaling its earlier crowd this year for their Superhero/Princess Night.
Rose, who did the same shtick in Normal, Ill., the previous night, put on a jersey, addressed the crowd for 55 seconds, coached first base for one inning, third base another, and then spent the fifth inning signing autographs. You could pay $25 for a Rascals' signed hat by Rose, $50 for a Rose autographed baseball, $145 for an autographed Rascals' bat, or $150 for an authentic game-used autographed Rascals jersey by Rose.
"Mr. Rose, Mr. Rose. Can you please give a kid an autograph?"
Daniel Simmons, 11, kept trying to get Rose's attention in the Rascals dugout, but it was of no use. He was learning quickly how this hard-core autograph business works, even though he was born a decade and a half after Rose was banished from baseball.
"I looked it up on the Internet," Daniel said, "and it said he was supposed to be interacting with the fans. It's not interacting if you have to pay for it."
Have you ever heard of Peter Edward Rose, Daniel was asked?
"My grandfather told me all about him," Daniel said. "He told me that he was like a crazy great player. But my mom says he cheated. But since he's a great player, that's OK. I still want his autograph."
This, of course, is Rose's primary source of income these days, which is being supplemented this year as an analyst for Fox Sports. He lives in Las Vegas, and signs autographs 20 days a month. He was signing autographs again Sunday, this time at the Northern Kentucky Convention Center, which hardly pleased Major League Baseball officials, realizing that Rose and his former teammates were taking away the luster from the downtown FanFest.
Yet, it isn't Rose's first choice, either. He'd much rather be in Major League Baseball as a manager, coach, front office special assistant, roving instructor, really, anything involving baseball.
Why, even after Rose took the stage Saturday, he acted depressed, telling the audience the Reds had just lost 14-3, drawing a moan from the crowd.
"That's because you weren't playing, Pete!" someone yelled.
"We need a new manager, how about you, Pete?" yelled another.
You feel almost sorry for Rose, watching him in O'Fallon, Mo., one night, and following him to Cincinnati the next. It's like an old carnival act, going from one small Midwest town to the next. Yet, when you talk to Rose, you never get the sense that feels he's denigrating himself, but still basking in the limelight, no matter the size of the audience.
"It's all he has left,'' says Gary Spicer, the last attorney to represent Rose when he applied for reinstated in 1997. "It breaks my heart seeing someone of that caliber and celebrity forced to do that. But he's been banned from all he's ever known in his life, and that's baseball. How do you prevent him from making a living in baseball?
"Pete has gone through a lot of economic hardships, a lot of personal trauma. I always had hope that people would come to the conclusion that he has suffered enough, let him enjoy what's left of his life.''
Besides, Spicer says, gambling is pervasive in baseball these days. Baseball advertises fantasy games to win money. Baseball owners have stakes in casinos. Teams are sponsored in part by casinos.
"It wasn't like he was throwing games or anything like that,'' said Cincinnati businessman Bob Crotty, who owns the Green Diamond Gallery in Montgomery, Ohio, with a huge baseball memorabilia collection. "We'd all love to see him get in. He epitomizes what Cincinnati is all about with his work ethic.
"It's almost like Barry Bonds and San Francisco. Yeah, they understand he may have broke some rules, but he was still such a great player and has meant so much to this community."
Where else would you have David Webster, 42, whose mom, Catherine, used to cook for Rose at one of his favorite restaurants during his playing days, proudly show a reporter his right forearm Saturday night?
There was a tattoo of Mr. Red on his arm, with Rose's No. 14. Webster came to see Rose in hopes of having him autograph his arm, and then going straight to the nearest ink shop to make it permanent.
"How cool would that be?'' he said.
It's the same reason why 63-year-old Don White showed up to the minor-league game in O'Fallon, wearing an authentic Rose jersey, with Rose's autograph on the front, reading: Pete Rose. Charlie Hustle. Hit King. #4,256.
"I saw him play, he got to where he was in baseball by pure, raw talent and determination,'' White said. "He didn't need to get ahead by enhancements or anything.''
If anything, Rose will have allies among baseball's steroid users. If anyone with connections to performance-enhancing drugs gets into Cooperstown, why can't Rose? He said he wouldn't hesitate voting for Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa and Rafael Palmeiro as Hall of Famers.
"As long as you understand that you made a mistake, and as long as the people understand you made a mistake," Rose said, "that's what it's all about. We live in America. And America gives you a second chance.
"I'm one of these guys."
It was vintage Rose, captivating the audience just as he did in O'Fallon, Mo., and on Thursday during a conference call with Fox Sports to promote the All-Star Game, where he steadfastly refusing to apologize to former catcher Ray Fosse for bowling him over in the 1970 All-Star Game. This night, he's telling off-color jokes, and teases his former teammates, everything from Tony Perez's Cuban dialect, the size of Bench's head, the intellectual deficiencies of Clay Carroll, and Dave Concepcion's weight gain.
GALLERY: PETE ROSE THROUGH THE YEARS
And throughout the evening, he poked fun at the Chicago Cubs, willing to bet anyone in the crowd they wouldn't live long enough to see the Cubs win another World Series.
Now, with the Home Run Derby Monday night and the 86th All-Star Game on Tuesday, this is Rose's show, played on the bright lights right here on Pete Rose Way.
When it's all over, and everyone packs their bags and departs town, friends fear there may be a loneliness, and perhaps despair, overwhelming Rose. The adulation and hero worshipping will be gone. He'll stick around and host a Hustle For Heroes charity event Wednesday for military veterans, but has decided to bypass his usual autograph show during the Hall of Fame induction weekend in Cooperstown, N.Y., and instead will be the Fox studios in Los Angeles.
Rose's next big stage will be behind closed doors, with perhaps only a handful in attendance, presenting his case for the first time to Manfred and his top officers.
"I'll be as honest as I possibly can about my life in baseball," Rose said. "All I can tell you is I'm not the same guy today as I was 25, 30 years ago. I made mistakes, and I'm not the same guy."
Manfred promises only that he will give Rose a fair hearing. He has declined to provide specifics or whether he'd consider a compromise, enabling him be eligible for the Hall of Fame but not employed by a team.
"When you're in my situation," Rose said, "you're open to almost anything."
Crotty, whose family has owned Reds season tickets for three generations and is on the Reds' Hall of Fame board, hopes the organization will one day retire Rose's number. Maybe it will also put up a Rose statue to go along with the other franchise greats.
And if Rose wants to visit the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, Crotty has his pass. Rose gave away his lifetime pass, presented by the Hall of Fame in 1985, when he donated artifacts from his 4,192 hit. It's prominently displayed in Crotty's gallery.
"Pete said, 'I shouldn't need this pass to get into the Hall of Fame,'" Crotty recalled. "'What do I need this for? I'll be in there.'
"That was 30 years ago. Who'd have imagined he'd ever need it?"