Monday was a sad day, as Pete Rose, my favorite player ever not to wear a Baltimore Orioles uniform, passed away.
There will never be another player like Mr. Rose in my lifetime.
No player in my lifetime played the game harder and with more passion than Pete Rose.
His career as a player and then as a manager was indeed complicated. Today, I choose not to think of the complications, just how incredible of a gift he was to the sport I love.
Rose was not perfect, but he played the game in an absolutely perfect way, he played hard, every game, every way.
To some extent, Rose helped me fall in love with the game of baseball. He was one of the greatest, most exciting, and toughest players that I had the fortune to watch, both on television and in person, regardless of the uniform he was wearing.
I can’t say that Rose was my childhood hero – those spots are held by Brooks Robinson and Johnny Unitas – but I will say that Rose played a huge role in what would become my lifelong passion, baseball.
The way he dove for loose balls, regardless of the score or the inning, the way sprinted to first base on a walk. Rose played every game like Game 7 of a World Series.
And it was in a World Series that I had an opportunity to briefly meet Pete Rose.
Rose, playing for the Philadelphia Phillies, squared off against my beloved Baltimore Orioles in the 1983 World Series.
I was working in the sports department for the Waynesboro News-Virginian, under legendary sports editor Jim Gordon.
I had covered several Orioles games that season, including two games in the 1983 American League Championship Series with the O’s and the Chicago White Sox.
Jim labeled me the “Orioles beat writer” for the paper and secured World Series media credentials for myself and photographer Jeff McDaniel.
So, Game 1 of the series in Baltimore, I found myself down on the field as the Phillies were taking batting practice.
Although it has been 41 years, I can remember every single detail of that evening and being around that batting cage.
I was about two feet from the cage surrounded by Phillies players, waiting for their turn to take some batting practice swings.
One of those players was Pete Rose.
Knowing little about boundaries, I was able to edge my way to within about three feet of Rose.
I was close enough to hear the idle chatter between Rose and Kiko Garcia, a former Oriole. Rose was asking Garcia about the wind conditions in Memorial Stadium, as it was a misty windy evening in Baltimore.
Rose said to Garcia, “With this wind, I might just have to be f–king bunting tonight.”
Yep, I was that close. I guess I really don’t know boundaries.
But the story didn’t end there.
After Garcia moved into the cage, I made my move to within thisclose of Rose, with my newspaper reporter notebook and pen in hand.
A chance for a one-on-one interview with Rose.
It seemed like the perfect opportunity. Hey, he was smiling. That’s all I needed to make my move.
The “interview” was straightforward.
Me: “Hello Mr. Rose, I would like to ask your thoughts on the matchup with Baltimore in the series.”
Mr. Rose: “Huh? I don’t do g-damn interviews while I’m working.”
Rose didn’t say another word.
He didn’t need to, the look he gave me said it all, “beat it.”
And I did.
My thought on my trek to the press box at the stadium was, how could he have been so rude to me? I even addressed him as Mr. Rose.
I later traveled to Philadelphia for the Orioles clinching Game 5 win.
In the Baltimore postgame locker room celebration, I happened to see Rose making his way down the hallway to congratulate the Orioles.
I made sure Rose did not see me.
Pete Rose, the gambler, always upset me.
He certainly made a mistake and compounded that mistake by not owning it.
He was punished.
He paid his debt to the game, and for that matter to society.
The Hall of Fame isn’t the Hall of Fame without Pete Rose.
RIP to The Hit King.
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