Yesterday, amidst a busy conference call, my phone buzzed incessantly. It was Frankie, a former Little League player I had coached years ago, and then again in high school. Unable to answer, I quickly understood the urgency as texts flooded in, all echoing the same cryptic message: “RIP Pete Rose.”
Peter Edward Rose, a name synonymous with baseball grit and record-breaking achievements, had passed away. This legendary figure, who amassed more games, at-bats, and hits than any player in Major League Baseball history, leaves behind a complex legacy. While undeniably a baseball icon, Pete Rose also remains one of the sport’s most controversial personalities.
His passion for baseball was unparalleled. Had it not been for what former Commissioner Bart Giamatti termed “acts that have stained the game,” Pete Rose might have been the first unanimous Hall of Fame inductee.
But dwelling on the shadows obscures the brilliance. For many, including myself, Pete Rose was a childhood hero. He captained my beloved Cincinnati Reds, the famed Big Red Machine of the 1970s. This dynasty boasted an astounding .595 win percentage, securing five division titles, four National League pennants, and two World Series championships. Pete Rose himself earned Rookie of the Year in 1963, League MVP in 1973, and three batting titles, among countless other accolades.
While statistics paint part of the picture, it was Pete Rose‘s relentless approach to the game that captivated fans in the 60s and 70s. He embodied how baseball should be played – with unwavering dedication and grit.
Stories of his dedication are legendary. Roommates endured his early morning hotel room practice swings – 100 from each side of the plate, showcasing his switch-hitting prowess. He was known to talk baseball incessantly, much to the chagrin of fellow passengers on long flights.
One memorable flight anecdote perfectly encapsulates his character. Amidst severe turbulence that terrified a young player beside him, Pete Rose’s comfort was characteristically… Pete Rose.
“I think we’re going down,” he declared. “We’re all gonna’ die in a fiery explosion.” Then, noticing the player’s fear and knowing of his recent batting slump, Pete Rose quipped with a grin, “But at least I’ll go down knowing I have a .300 lifetime batting average. What’re you hitting?”
This unwavering, competitive spirit earned him the moniker “Charlie Hustle,” a nickname reportedly coined by Yankee legends Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford. Ironically, intended as a slight at the zealous rookie, Pete Rose embraced it, running with it – literally. He sprinted to first on walks and around the bases on home runs.
Charlie Hustle’s signature headfirst slides inspired a generation. Millions of us kids, much to our mothers’ dismay and the detriment of our fingers and forearms, emulated those slides. Dirt-stained uniforms became badges of honor, signifying we played “the Pete Rose way,” the way our fathers admired – run hard, play to win, give your all, and be a loyal teammate.
I even adopted his low batting stance. It worked for a while, earning me spots on my high school teams. However, as my batting slumped, my crouch deepened, evolving into a fetal position so coiled that by the time I unwound, the catcher was already returning the ball.
Coach Grover, recognizing my baseball obsession and batting struggles, intervened. During one practice, witnessing my stance resembling a “slumbering rattlesnake” more than a hitter, he inquired about my low crouch. Embarrassed to admit it was pure Pete Rose imitation, I blushed and remained silent. Coach, a fellow Reds fan, smiled knowingly. “That’s what I thought,” he chuckled. “Try standing up and let’s see if we can quicken your swing and let you see the ball better.”
Pete Rose slides headfirst into third base, showcasing his aggressive and iconic playing style for the Cincinnati Reds.
My average improved dramatically, rising a hundred points in the following games. While I straightened my stance, the headfirst slides and hustling spirit remained. Pete Rose never compromised on playing hard or his love for the game.
Game six of the 1975 World Series, often hailed as baseball’s greatest game, further highlighted his character. Late in the game, nearing midnight, Pete Rose turned to Red Sox catcher Carlton Fisk and exclaimed, “Isn’t this some kind of game?” Even after the Red Sox’s dramatic victory on Fisk’s 12th-inning home run, forcing a decisive game seven, Pete Rose remained buzzing with excitement. On the team bus in the early hours, he couldn’t stop talking about the game’s enormity.
Manager Sparky Anderson, sleep-deprived and frustrated by the blown lead, finally interjected, silencing even his captain with a colorful remark about the “Big Red Machine.” Undeterred, Pete Rose guaranteed a game seven victory and the championship. They delivered, and Pete Rose was named World Series MVP.
After a remarkable 1978 season, including a 44-game hitting streak, second only to Joe DiMaggio’s legendary 56, the unthinkable happened. Pete Rose and the Reds parted ways. He entered free agency, becoming the highest-paid player by signing with the Philadelphia Phillies.
This move felt like a betrayal to many Reds fans. My best friend Andy, a diehard Phillies fan, ensured I was constantly reminded of “Pete the Phillie.” (Andy was among those texting about Pete Rose’s passing).
Forgiveness was slow for many Reds fans, including myself. But baseball fandom is fickle. When Pete Rose returned to Cincinnati in 1984 as player-manager, his “betrayal” was swiftly forgotten. His undeniable love for the game and vigorous play made admiration inevitable.
The debate surrounding Pete Rose’s Hall of Fame eligibility, marred by his gambling controversies, will undoubtedly reignite. Some might hope for a Roberto Clemente-esque exception. While unlikely, purely based on baseball performance, few are more deserving.
Pete Rose’s legacy is complex, a blend of unparalleled achievement and self-inflicted controversy. But for those who grew up watching Charlie Hustle play, the memories of his passion, dedication, and headfirst slides will forever define a true baseball icon. He will be missed by many who love the game he played with such unmatched fervor.
Tim Barto is vice president of Alaska Family Council, and a lifelong baseball fan. He was involved at every level with the Chugiak-Eagle River Chinooks of the Alaska Baseball League, including president, coach, PA announcer, play-by-play broadcaster, and writer. He will miss Pete Rose and the way Pete Rose played the game.
