Yesterday brought sad news: baseball legend Pete Rose died. Growing up north of Cincinnati, I was the fourth generation in my dad’s family to be a Reds fan. I remember my delight at being given a transistor radio so I could listen to late games in bed without disturbing my siblings.
My dad’s favorite player was Rose, in part because he and “Charlie Hustle” shared a birthday.1 Mine is Dave Concepción, their agile and underappreciated2 shortstop who helped put the lie to “unlucky 13.”
Seeing the Big Red Machine’s dominance in the ‘70s spoiled me. As that lineup broke up via trades, free agency, and retirements, my interest in baseball began to fade. When my then-husband and I moved to Cincinnati for the last leg of his specialty training, it coincided with the rise of the “Nasty Boys”—pitchers Norm Charlton, Rob Dibble, and Randy Myers—on the team. We splurged3 on tickets for Game 2 of the 1990 World Series and saw a fantastic game.
Pete Rose wasn’t part of that team: he’d been the Reds’ manager for five years prior, until he was banned from baseball in 1989 for betting on games, and specifically betting on his own team. But the song that was the Reds’ unofficial theme for that World Series fits him perfectly too, which is surely why it started playing in my mind yesterday.
“U Can’t Touch This” was a huge hit for M.C. Hammer and is his signature song. I remember being indignant about it because I thought he’d stolen Rick James’ funky riff from “Super Freak.” And that’s how I learned about sampling in hip hop and rap music. I settled down and enjoyed Hammer’s energetic song and video.
I know Pete Rose remains a contentious figure in baseball and major-league sports, and rightly so to some degree. In the Cincinnati area, he wasn’t just the hit king4: he was a local boy from a modest family who made it big, and whose love of the game elevated his teammates’ play. Rose accepted the consequences of his actions and continued to love and contribute to the game.
Seeing how gambling has infected and contaminated almost all major league sports in this country, the rank hypocrisy of baseball execs keeping Rose out of the hall of fame disgusts me. Perhaps I have a bit of a small-town-kid chip on my shoulder still, because I can’t help but think his background plays a role in it too.
But the last laugh will forever be Pete’s, because all of those gatekeepers and profit-focused bean counters will never be as adored and remembered as he will. Nobody can touch Pete Rose’s baseball legacy.
Dad was nine years older than Rose
by major league baseball, at least; the Reds retired his number decades ago
more a splurge of time than money, as we both had to work the next day. I could barely talk, but my students didn’t mind; we were all still excited by the win
and holder of several other records; the news report linked at the top lists them
Hammer time🔨🔨🔨