Month: August 2022

The Legend, The Myth, The Man

Maya Angelou said it best: “When someone shows you who they are, believe them.” Never has this been truer than in Philadelphia a few weekends ago. On Aug. 7, the Phillies held a 42-year celebration of their 1980 World Series championship. The team invited Pete Rose to attend. Rose showed everyone who he is (again). So, hopefully, that will be the last we see or hear from the 81-year old former batting champ.

Rose holds a special place in the mind, if not the heart, of many baseball fans. But, in order to truly appreciate the adage, “the man, the myth, the legend,” it is important to review the concept in reverse. When you do this for the all-time hits leader, the results are below replacement level.

Growing up in the late ‘70s and ‘80s, Rose was a god. With hits in 44 straight games in 1978, he is the closest anyone has come to matching Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game streak. And when he broke Ty Cobb’s hit record on Sept. 11, 1985, it was (unfortunately) just the first time the world stopped on 9/11.

Pete Rose’s legend was built on his resume. Over 24 years, 4,256 hits, the 1963 National League Rookie of the Year award, the 1973 NL MVP, three World Series titles, and a World Series MVP in arguably the greatest fall classic ever played (1975), Rose is one of the all-time greats.

The myth around Rose was personified in his nickname: “Charlie Hustle.” This is a guy who sprinted to first base after every walk. He famously decked (and effectively ended the career of) Ray Fosse in the 1970 All-Star Game. But, in later years, that “Charlie Hustle” moniker took on new meaning when we learned that Rose was an inveterate gambler who bet on baseball games, including those that he was managing for the Reds. When MLB discovered such transgressions in 1989, Rose was banned from the sport for life.

Which leads us to the man. As part of Rose’s lifetime ban, he was given the right to apply for reinstatement. Then-commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti gave Rose a roadmap: “The burden is entirely on Mr. Rose to reconfigure his life in a way he deems appropriate.” So what did Mr. Rose do? He didn’t reconfigure a damn thing.

He set up card-signing tables in Cooperstown each Hall of Fame induction weekend; he bad-mouthed Giamatti, who died a week after instituting Rose’s ban; and he denied he bet on baseball for nearly 15 years. Then, in 2003, while on a publicity tour for his forthcoming autobiography, he spilled his guts. And when asked what took so long, Rose blamed his delay in coming clean on MLB, explaining to ABC News that he “never had the opportunity to tell anybody that was going to help me … I couldn’t get a response from baseball for 12 years.”

It seems that the only place to seek absolution is at MLB’s Manhattan offices, or in a news studio when you are trying to hawk books. It seems that the only reason to tell the truth and take responsibility for your misdeeds is if someone is willing to help you — in this case, help you get reinstated so you can (potentially) be inducted into the Hall of Fame.

That should tell us all we need to know about Pete Rose, the man. But then, in 1990, Rose pleaded guilty to two counts of filing false income tax returns. He spent five months in jail, paid a $50,000 fine, and ultimately paid $350,000 in back taxes.

The final straw has to have been in 2017, when a report surfaced that Rose had a sexual relationship with at least one (if not more) underage girl during his playing days. Per the Philadelphia Inquirer: “Rose admitted in court filings that he had sex with the woman in question, but believed that she was 16 at the time their relationship began ‘sometime in 1975,’ when Rose was 34 years old and married with two children.” (For the record, Rose was not charged with any crimes because the statute of limitations had expired.)

Despite all of this information, despite the ever-changing landscape wherein gambling is still verboten for players (even if it is actively encouraged among the fans), despite the fact that women now have larger and more significant positions within the game, despite the idea that sensitivity training is at the forefront of all organizations, despite MLB’s best efforts to rid the sport of its old boys’ network, despite the Phillies becoming a feel-good story in the second half, Rose’s invitation somehow didn’t get lost in the mail. On the eve of the celebration, the team released the following statement:

“In planning the 1980 reunion, we consulted with Pete’s teammates about his inclusion. Everyone wants Pete to be part of the festivities since there would be no trophy in 1980 without him. In addition, the club received permission from the Commissioner’s Office to invite Pete as a member of the championship team.”

In the face of the protests of many Phillies fans (especially women), Rose walked onto the field with Larry Bowa, Bob Boone, and Greg Luzinski. I guess there was no (real) harm in that. Unfortunately, the Phillies didn’t send media training with the invite.

Prior to the game, Alex Coffey, a female reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer, asked Rose what he would say to the people who say his presence at the game sends a negative message to women. His response (which, come on, who couldn’t see this coming a double into the gap away):

“No, I’m not here to talk about that. Sorry about that. It was 55 years ago, babe.”

Yes, that is what he said. And when the AP questioned Rose about that response, he retorted (while attending a celebration for a championship that happened 42 years ago):

“And who cares what happened 50 years ago.”

But wait, there is more. After showing such great sensitivity prior to the ceremony, NBC Sports Philadelphia decided it was a good idea to bring Rose into the booth during the game. Rose began regaling the broadcasters and the viewers (and the FCC, I am sure) with war stories from years past. 

After (affectionately) referring to Bob Boone as a “son of a bitch,” and after saying he had to watch out for “horseshit” on the field, he recalled a story wherein Hall of Famer Tony Perez told radio broadcaster Joe Nuxhall that he hit a “cock-high fastball.” He then tossed out one more “no shit” before the announcers did their level best to change the topic, describing a Nelson Cruz single to right, and telling Pete that there was no seven-second delay. Rose just laughed it all off.

I have previously written that Rose should be in the Hall of Fame. The Hall is a museum, and it tells baseball’s story. It should tell Rose’s story, warts and all. And those warts should be emblazoned on his plaque. But there is no reason to give a man like Rose a platform, an invitation to attend award ceremonies or team reunions, an audience with journalists while wearing a team’s uniform, or a microphone during a live broadcast. That is just common sense.

It is always great to hear from former players — they provide color and context and texture to the game. They have tales to tell and yarns to weave. And teams should celebrate the anniversary of great moments (although, I am not sure the Phillies needed to commemorate their Jasper anniversary) and have heroes on hand for the fans to applaud once more. 

But the teams and the league need to be circumspect about those decisions, and take a cautious approach. Players get older and more crotchety and less politically correct; they don’t necessarily know what words and behavior are no longer acceptable. As such, it is incumbent upon the organization to make sure that the players don’t embarrass the team or themselves.

But with Rose, it didn’t take much thought. Everyone from the Phillies to the Inquirer to NBC Sports had to know that Rose would bring scorn upon the team and the former players, make himself the focal point of the weekend, and ruin it for everyone. Of course he would. That is the story of Pete Rose, the legend, the myth, and the man.

PLAY BALL!!

A Salute to Vin Scully

A lawyer friend called me the other day to discuss a deal. But before we got down to business, we had to deal with important matters. He wanted my thoughts on the trade deadline and the passing of Vin Scully. I offered a few bromides about the Dodgers’ failure to land Juan Soto and then jumped into my feelings about Vinny.

As a general rule, I try to find silver linings. And so I told my friend I had two thoughts about what was a very sad day for baseball fans in general, and Dodger fans/Los Angelenos in specific:

THOUGHT #1:

We are just so very fortunate to have this man’s greatest hits, his greatest moments, on audio and video that we can pull up any time we want a trip down memory lane. It is not often that we are afforded that opportunity – just ask anyone who has watched grainy Hi-8 videos of dearly departed loved ones. About a day after I shared this thought with my friend, Steve Rushin wrote the following (which, as to be expected, is brilliantly articulated):

In death, his voice doesn’t fall silent, for it lives on in endless recordings and in the eternal hereafter of YouTube. Indeed, now that Vin has joined the celestial choir—the analogies are apt for the Catholic boy with the golden pipes—his voice travels with him, as broadcast signals travel through space. Somewhere, someone in the firmament is always being wished a very pleasant good evening, courtesy of Vin Scully—St. Vinny of Wherever You May Be.

Like I said…

THOUGHT #2:

We, as baseball fans, are lucky to have had a five-and-a-half-year separation from having Vinny in our everyday lives. Had this death happened a few years ago, say, in the hours after Vin called another Dodgers-Giants game, such that he was here today and gone tomorrow, well, I don’t know how we would have reacted. I don’t know if we could have watched another Dodger game for the rest of the season. I don’t know how you have that essential part of your life – at least the lives of millions of Dodger and baseball fans who listened to Vin every night – ripped from you and not felt that loss at an emotional, visceral level. Had his death occurred this way, it is not hyperbole to say that the season may have been ruined.

Vin stepped away from the mic after the 2016 season, and that has afforded us our own mourning period. We were given the opportunity to meet and get to know Joe Davis. We have learned to watch and enjoy Dodger games without Vin – something we didn’t have to contend with for nearly 70 years.

In the many, many hours of reading, watching, and listening about Vin that I have consumed since Tuesday night, this one idea stood out to me: People born in the 1800s listened to Vin call games, and so too did people born in the 2000s. Sure, none of those nineteenth-century fans are still with us, but all of us would feel this loss that much more acutely if Vin had still been a day-to-day, night-to-night presence when it happened.

A MOMENT WITHOUT VIN:

Shortly after Vin retired in 2016, the Dodgers found themselves in an epic playoff battle with the Washington Nationals. After watching Clayton Kershaw save Game 5 for the Dodgers, giving them the NLDS title, I couldn’t have been more excited – for the Dodgers and for Kershaw. But I knew the moment was missing something. And, because I grew up in Los Angeles, and because I live here now, Vin’s voice and viewpoint are in my bloodstream; I can hear him calling a game, even when he is nowhere to be found.

So, this is what I wrote immediately after that game, and am republishing it today as it seems fitting to add to the canon:

 

THE CALL THAT COULD HAVE BEEN

(Originally published October 16, 2016)

*Editor’s Note: The words you will read below are what you might have heard when we came back from commercial Thursday night, starting as Clayton Kershaw finished up his warm-up pitches. As best you can, read this in Vin Scully’s voice.

“When Kershaw takes the hill, you get the sense that he is not pitching against Daniel Murphy, he is not pitching against the Nationals, nor is he pitching against the Phillies, the Cardinals, the Mets, or the millions of people who have written and spoken about Clayton’s troubles in the post-season.

No, you must imagine that Clayton is pitching against those doubts that bubble up in the head of every athlete – at one time or another – those doubts that ask, “Am I really that good?”

Anyway, enough about that.

Daniel Murphy digs in and Kershaw comes set at the belt.

Fastball, up and in.

Whoa! So much for fatigue.

That fastball had a little extra something on it. In fact, I don’t think Kershaw hit 95 even once on Tuesday afternoon but, sure enough, fatigue is no match for adrenaline.

Kershaw stares in at Ruiz, shakes his head, once, now twice. Kershaw comes set at the belt, and the one and oh pitch is a fastball in on the hands; short pop on the infield, Culberson takes a few steps back, and just like that, Daniel Murphy is retired.

You have to wonder if Dave Roberts will go out and get Kershaw, having gotten the one man he was brought in to get.

Well, I guess we have our answer.

Roberts is staying put, and you get the feeling that it would have taken Roberts, Honeycutt, and a team of coaches to pry the ball out of Kershaw’s hand at this point.

So the chess match continues.

Well, fresh out of options, Dusty Baker has gone to the last man standing.

Wilmer Difo, the rookie shortstop, is Baker’s and the Nationals’ last hope.

Wilmer, from Santiago de los Caballeros in the Dominican Republic, made his major league debut on May 19th, and here he finds himself square in the eye of the hurricane.

Difo, a switch hitter, digs in from the right side against the left-handed Kershaw.

Fastball, WAY inside. Difo had to do a little dance to avoid that 93-mile-per-hour heater. Difo must be wondering how he got himself into this situation, and wondering if he can pull a Houdini and get himself out of it.

Kershaw is ready, Harper leads from second, and Werth off of first. Gonzalez is playing behind Werth, and Seager is bird-dogging Harper, trying to keep him close.

The 1-0 delivery is a fastball fouled away. And Kershaw has squared his account.

When you look out in the infield, Seager is doing his best to keep Harper from getting too big of a lead, hoping to keep him from scoring on a single.

Of course, with two outs, the runners will be off on contact. Harper runs pretty well and knowing the way Harper plays the game, there will be no holding him at third if the opportunity to score arises.

Here comes the 1-1 pitch, Difo swings through a 91-mile-per-hour slider. I tell you, that just isn’t fair.

Difo started the season in Triple-A, and now, in the biggest moment of the year, in quite possibly the biggest moment of his life, he has to face arguably the best pitcher on the planet.

Kershaw brings his hands high above his head, and slowly brings them down and settles at the belt. He takes a look at the runners, and the runners GO.

Difo dribbles it foul up along third, and the runners have to return from whence they came.

Difo had an extremely defensive swing on that pitch, and really, who can blame him? He is doing his level best just to stay in the box at this point.

You know this is the 167th game that each of the Nationals and the Dodgers have played this season; they have split the first two games of this series, and here we are in the bottom of the ninth inning of a one-run game. Folks, it doesn’t get much closer than this.

Kershaw has rubbed up a new ball and is now ready to go.

Difo digs in while Harper and Werth take their leads. The 1-2 delivery is a BREAKING ball in the DIRT, SWUNG ON and MISSED. Ruiz keeps the ball in front of him and guns it to Gonzalez covering first to complete the strikeout.

At 12:41 in the morning, East Coast time, the Dodgers have won the division series; and maybe, just as importantly, Clayton Kershaw has slayed his demons.

I tell you, folks, just when you think you have seen it all – you get Clayton Kershaw saving a game in which Dodger CLOSER, Kenley Jansen, threw nearly three innings and 51 pitches.

And, not for nothing, but the last time Kershaw, the three-time Cy Young winner, recorded a save – it came ALL the way back in 2006, in rookie ball in the Gulf Coast League. His catcher that day…Kenley Jansen.

Well, that’ll do it from the nation’s capital where the Dodgers have defeated the Washington Nationals 4-3 to advance to the National League Championship Series.

For Charlie Steiner, Rick Monday, and the rest of our crew, this is Vin Scully wishing you a very pleasant good evening, wherever you may be.”

RIP, Mr. Scully. You were a one of one, and every time we look up into that “cotton candy sky,” please know:

 

PLAY BALL!!