Character is a funny thing.
I mean, I would contend that it’s important to each of us. It’s something we value, something we strive to build, and something we expect in other people.
Solid character — our integrity — guides us; it helps us weather the storms of life and keeps us from increased foolishness and wrongdoing.
Perhaps many would add that it’s a filter through which we learn to trust, support and even cheer on other people.
The challenge is that sometimes we begin to cheer on before any thorough evaluation takes place. And so when either that character becomes more clear or we become more discerning, we have a decision to make: do we still trust and support? Do we continue to cheer on?
Better yet: do we now ignore what we know? Or do we find ways to still cheer on very imperfect people?
For me, that was Pete Rose, the fuel that flamed the “Big Red Machine,” one of the most successful, iconic time periods in the history of professional baseball.
The 1975-76 Reds were baseball’s best. With a primary lineup of the same 8 starters over 2 seasons, the Great Eight won games at an unheard of .800 winning percentage. 3 of those 8 would later be inducted into Cooperstown’s Hall of Fame, along with manager Sparky Anderson.
Rose was not only the starting third baseman but also the captain of that team. As baseball enthusiasts know, he went on to win 3 World Series, 3 batting titles, 2 Gold Gloves, 1 MVP, Rookie of the Year, 17 All Star appearances, in addition to becoming Major League Baseball’s all time hits leader. And others on that list are not even close.
As a little girl learning to love the sport, I also learned to love Pete Rose. Not only was he an exceptional player, he played hard and fast on every ball in play. He did what every coach told me to do… try hard… give it your best… get better every day… no plays off!
And that’s what Pete did. Pete played the way we were told to play. Pete did the things, said the things, and on the field exemplified the things that I was trying to achieve. It’s not rocket science nor anywhere close to crazy that I would come to love Pete Rose. He became my earliest favorite athlete and therefore role model to this then kid.
As we grow, no less, we learn more. And hopefully, we become more discerning.
Rose would be banned from baseball for gambling on games. Granted, he never bet on his team to lose — doing everything it takes to win — but he was penalized with permanent ineligibility. He has thus been denied entrance into Cooperstown even with the above clearly, undeniable resume.
There were other questions about Pete on and off the field, sometimes seemingly saying or doing some stupid things; he wasn’t one marked by his noted humility. There were a couple of bitter divorces, charges of infidelity, tax evasion admissions, some rude public interactions, and seemingly shady dealings.
But here’s the thing…
It never stopped me from loving Pete Rose.
It never stopped me from appreciating him. And it never stopped me from cheering him on, on and off the field. It never stopped me from wanting to see him in the Hall. The learning in my love for Pete is that it’s ok to still love the imperfect — even while acknowledging the imperfections. There is no need to wash over or ignore the imperfect or wrongdoing, but we don’t have to dismiss a person either when the character cracks become evident. Wisdom suggests we error on the side of mercy.
Nine years ago I was an early attender at the summer All Star Classic, held that year in Cincinnati. We had decent seats, about 7 rows up in center right. About 50 feet to my right was a temporary announcers’ booth, and there sat the one and only Pete Rose.
We locked eyes for a brief few seconds, much to my surprised glee. And I just smiled. Huge. Pete did, too, along with an added wink in my direction. My guess is he knew he was still cheered on.
RIP, Pete Rose. Thanks for all you taught me.
Respectfully…
AR