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Pete Rose found the subject a bit morbid, and was uncomfortable talking about it publicly, but never was afraid to address it.
Rose always knew that question would be heard clear ‘round the baseball world the day he died.
Now that Rose is gone, dying Monday at his Las Vegas home at the age of 83, everyone wants to know: “So, now does Pete Rose get into the Hall of Fame?“
Rose and I frequently discussed the topic, surfacing in virtually every conversation about his Hall of Fame candidacy, but he was always hoping it would never come to this.
He desperately wanted to be inducted into the Hall of Fame, but was also fearful, and perhaps realistic, that if it happened, he wouldn’t be alive to see it.
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Rose, baseball’s all-time hits leader, was permanently banned from the game in 1989 for gambling on games he managed while with the Cincinnati Reds.
Still, he insisted it was grossly unfair for Major League Baseball to punish him forever.
“There are guys who get life sentences in prison,’’ Rose told me, “and they’re set free before I am.’’
Rose pointed out the number of steroid users who are in the Hall of Fame.
He talked about players who were arrested, and even suspended for drug use, who became ambassadors for the game.
When MLB started embracing gambling, showing gambling shows on its TV network, with advertisements plastered on the outfield walls at ballparks, surely, he said, it was time to let him in.
Rose even came up with the classic line after Ippei Mizuhara, Shohei Ohtani’s interpreter was arrested in March for illegal gambling, saying: “If I had an interpreter, I’d be in the Hall of Fame.’’
But the cold-hearted truth is that Rose was always painfully aware that he might have to be dead to be inducted.
This way, MLB wouldn’t ever again have to worry about what he said, what he did, or where he gambled.
He can’t embarrass the game from the grave.
Who knows if Commissioner Rob Manfred and MLB would ever consider reinstating Rose, with the Hall of Fame putting him on its Era Committee ballot for the voters to decide?
Then again, “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, who helped the Chicago White Sox throw the 1919 World Series, has never been voted into the Hall of Fame, and he’s been dead for 72 years.
“It always bothered him that he’d see these other people in, who did things they shouldn’t have, and they’d be in,’’ said Bob Crotty, who grew up in Cincinnati as a fan of the Big Red Machine, and became close to Rose the past 15 years. “He always talked about that. He just wanted to be on that ballot.’’
There are people who will never forgive Rose for his gambling, or hated him for his crude behavior, lewd accusations, or for his loud and sometimes obnoxious personality.
“I remember once I gave Pete a ride home on my plane from Cooperstown,’’ Crotty said. “He was coming on the plane, and he says to me, ‘You’re the others.’
“I said, ‘What does that mean?’
“He said, ‘If this plane goes down, it will be Pete Rose and others died in the crash.’ ’’
Crotty laughs while telling the story, saying he’s got a litany of stories with Rose he could never publicly share.
“Pete was simple,’’ Crotty said, “but had a complicated soul. This guy was a savant. You talk to him about baseball, and he could tell you the pitch count, the weather, every single thing about that moment. Baseball, man, who knew more? And there was a soft side to him. When my daughter died [in 2015], Pete left a long, heartfelt message.
“But his personal life, that’s where it went sideways.’’
The last time most people saw Rose was in Cooperstown this summer, signing autographs in the back of a store on Main Street, still flaunting his celebrity status. Yet, his health was starting to deteriorate. He needed help handling steps. Friends say he was on heart medication. His memory was slipping.
He no longer looked like that kid with the shaggy haircut who played the game of baseball with a burning passion and aggressiveness, refusing to let anything stand in his way.
“Really, I think Pete’s health has been deteriorating ever since Joe Morgan died [in 2020],’’ Crotty said. “That really affected him. He worshipped Joe Morgan. That threw him for a loop.
“He got melancholy, more emotional. There was a rough, hard shell around Pete, and that shell was breaking.’’
Rose, beloved by fans, will certainly be missed by those of us who knew him. No one played the game harder. No one cared more about the game. No one told better stories. No one’s entire life was baseball.
And it was all taken away.
Hall of Fame players such as Morgan, who was vice president on the Hall of Fame’s board of directors, and former home run king Henry Aaron, campaigned for years to get Rose elected into Cooperstown. They spoke on behalf of Rose with four different commissioners. No one budged.
How can players who were suspended for performance-enhancing drugs, Morgan said, be placed on the Hall of Fame ballot but not Rose?
“I made mistakes, I can’t whine about it,” Rose said years ago. “I picked the wrong vice. I should have picked alcohol. I should have picked drugs. Or I should have picked beating up my wife or girlfriend, because if you do those three, you get a second chance.
“They haven’t given too many gamblers second chances in the world of baseball.”
Who knows, maybe one day, that second chance will finally come his way.
But just as he feared, he won’t be alive to see it.
Follow MLB columnist Bob Nightengale on social media @BNightengale
(This story was updated to add new information.)
