Charlie Hustle was supposed to be a derisive nickname, assigned to Pete Rose as a rookie by a couple of players who felt that he had no place in the game. Even at the outset of his career, Rose was a polarizing figure. And as his list of accomplishments grew, so did his ego and hubris. An all-time great hitter, a scrappy, mouthy, gritty player who did things that may never be done again because of the changing nature of the game. He surely won’t be the last MLB player to bet on his own team, but he’s the first name anyone thinks of when the subject comes up.
Rose was out of baseball before I was into it, but he cast a long shadow. Every year when Hall of Fame voting happened the debate would reopen. Everyone had an opinion about it. Keith O’Brien’s book shows that we were all full of it, all the time. There’s so much more to Pete Rose’s story than betting.
It’s easy to understand the appeal of Rose: small town kid who was told he’d never play in the pros, who basically willed himself into success. Hard work, determination and confidence took him to the big leagues, where he played with a kind of rare foolish recklessness — rare because his physicality put him at risk that modern players would never expose themselves or their teammates to, and rare because it’s not something likely to be repeated.
The first half of O’Brien’s book documents Rose’s rise from local underdog to perennial all-star, his pursuit of Ty Cobb’s hitting record, and his reputation among other players. Professionally, there’s a lot to admire in this section of the book, and Rose’s career was legitimately hall-of-fame calibre. Rose was a positive force for racial integration in the game, and an inspiration to a generation of kids, especially in Cincinnati.
He was also a total jerk, as close to a shameless human being as you’ll come across. He openly cheated on his wife with two young children to care for, he gambled on anything he could, he slept with a 14-year-old. When he was caught betting on the team he managed he denied it. The only time he seems to be contrite about it is when it will help him sell books.
There’s a hundred pages of his failings as a human being, and by the end of the book, Rose is a sad husk of a man, travelling to various conventions to sign autographs for a few bucks a pop.
O’Brien’s tells Rose’s story in a near-perfect dramatic arc, almost like a Scorsese film: his scrappy beginnings endeared him to me as a hard-luck kid determined to escape his circumstances. When he finds success and fame, it brings out the worst in him, and that hubris proves to be his undoing. More than once while reading this, I thought about how it would make an incredible series on HBO or something – though I’m sure MLB would make it impossible.
As to whether Rose belongs in the Baseball Hall of Fame: that debate seems almost quaint at this point: of course they’re going to admit him. The man is about to be posthumously honoured by another legendary cretin1. Culturally, we’re so far past having behavioural standards for respected institutions (cf, the abovementioned cretin). I grew up a fan of Roberto Alomar, and whatever he got up to was enough to try to erase him from Blue Jays history, and he’s still in the Hall of Fame.
On this page on the author’s website, he’s got a fantastic timeline of cheating in sports that serves as great context and an introduction to the story for those who didn’t grow up with it.
Further Reading
Book feature on the author’s website including an interactive timeline about cheating in sports
