Charlie Hustle

 

Peter Edward Rose died Monday, September 30, 2024. He was eighty-three years old. I had a complex relationship with Pete Rose, though I never met the man. Let me explain.

           My introduction to baseball began with my dad. Family legend holds that he began playing catch with me in the backyard when I was three. Not long after that, I began organizing backyard games with my pals in the neighborhood. Baseball became an obsession for me, from sandlot ball to Little League, Peanut League, High School, American Legion, all the way through my first year in Junior College.

Somewhere along the way, it was etched on my baseball soul that you had to hustle. That meant running out every ground ball or pop-up, running to your position at the start of an inning, running back to the dugout after the third out, and giving one hundred percent effort on every play. In my mind, hustle was a rule, every bit as important as three-strikes-you’re-out.

When my sons, Matt and Gabe, reached Little League age in 1987 and 1988 respectively, I began a coaching “career” that spanned ten seasons. I had a program with four major goals: have fun; teach fundamentals; teach teamwork and sportsmanship; teach the value of hustle. I knew if we did those things well, winning and losing didn’t matter much. And that’s where Pete Rose came into my life. I used him as a prime example of the way the game should be played. He was “Charlie Hustle,” always giving one hundred percent effort.

And what was the value of hustle? I stressed two things with my players. First, hustle makes good things happen in a ballgame. Second, coaches absolutely love hustle. Show that you are a hustling ballplayer, and there will always be a place for you on a team.

In August1989, Pete Rose was declared “permanently ineligible” by Commissioner Bart Giamatti for betting on baseball. Several players, including my sons, came to me and said, “So, what do you think of Pete Rose now, Coach?” There was no defense. I had to find a new example, a new hero to sell the value of hustle.

The baseball pundits are likely to hold lively debates over Pete Rose’s legacy. How is it that the man who holds so many all-time records, including the most hits with 4,256, is not in the Hall of Fame? Can we separate the near-perfect ballplayer from the imperfect man? What about all those guys in the Hall who we know were not choir boys? (Hello, Ty Cobb. Raise your hand, Babe Ruth.) And if we forgive Pete and let him in, what about the steroid users like Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Alex Rodriguez, and Roger Clemens?

Americans are quick to forgive and offer a second chance if someone comes clean, confesses his or her misdeeds, and offers a sincere apology. Maybe if Pete had done that way back in 1989, we would have put it all in the rearview mirror. Let bygones be bygones. After all, he racked up all those records before he started betting on baseball. Didn’t he?

Pete couldn’t do that. He kept up the lie. He said, It ain’t so! And when each new scandal broke (cocaine, steroids, sign stealing), he said, See, I never done none of that. He finally confessed in 2004. Everything the Dowd Report alleged was true. And that was the tip of the iceberg. His personal life was even more of a mess: tax evasion, paternity suit, statutory rape. He was a deeply flawed human being.

But, man, wasn’t he fun to watch? Ripping line drives from both sides of the plate, flying headfirst into bases, playing infield and outfield positions with equal effectiveness, the heart of The Big Red Machine, three times a World Series champ. And always, day in and day out, the relentless hustle, hustle, hustle.

Pete Rose is dead, RIP. Long live Charlie Hustle.

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