The tragic story of Pete Rose

The Pete Rose story is tragic, and I feel for Pete Rose.

His whole life has been given to baseball. He defines the Cincinnati Reds much like Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan and Sparky Anderson. He is the all-time hits leader with 4,256, played in six World Series, a ton of All-Star games and won three National League batting titles. Seven times he led the NL in hits.

He made teams better. His enthusiasm for the game was contagious. His persistence and determination to win was a lesson for all generations. He was part of the All-Century team at the All-Star Game in Atlanta in 1999, despite the controversy.

But Rose, 74, still doesn't understand why he was not allowed back into baseball. He violated a baseball rule that constituted a lifetime ban because he was betting on games. Baseball can't afford to have any perception that games are fixed.

Baseball has had issues with steroids and cocaine users, but at least steroids users are cheating to win. Players have personal issues, but that's part of the human element.

Betting on baseball can't be tolerated.

Rose would be good for baseball in a lot of capacities. He would love to scout. He would be an excellent teacher, and could coach baserunning, hitting or defense. Rose can motivate like no other. He could be a fantastic ambassador for the game's history.

But if Rose were associated with a team, could you imagine every time there was a pitching change, the speculation would be that Rose was fixing a game? Could you imagine if Rose were hanging around a batting cage every day for an entire season?

That would puncture baseball's credibility, a type of credibility that baseball can't afford to lose.

Rose gambled on baseball. He lied about it for years and then he confessed only when he knew he had a chance for reinstatement. He told the truth only after he realized he could sell books and make money with it.

Rob Manfred, the new commissioner, gave Rose an opportunity to defend himself, to prove that he had reconfigured his life and dealt with his gambling issue. Instead, Rose, in trying to be honest, told the commissioner that he gambled on baseball recreationally.

Baseball can't trust Rose. Baseball can't afford to put its credibility on the line for the sake of one player. It's that simple.

And, it's also sad. Rose is still a huge fan. He knows the intricacies of the game. He'll debate the NL Manager of the Year and talk about the backup outfielders for the San Diego Padres. He knows baseball.

But he doesn't know himself. Manfred seemed to indicate that it would be all right if Rose were elected to the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. But the Hall says anyone on the ineligible list is not eligible to be enshrined.

In Cincinnati, the Reds are likely to put Rose in their Hall of Fame and place a statue of him outside of the ballpark. Manfred is all right with that. The head-first slide pose would capture Rose's career and what he meant to baseball.

Too bad, back in August of 1989, Rose didn't take a head-first slide approach into dealing with his guilt. If only he had said, "I bet on baseball,'' back then, his life could have been so different.

He could have been the greatest redemption story of all time.

Now, it looks as though Rose has struck out for the final time.