Growing up in Arkansas, I had no geographic affinity for any professional sports teams. I was free to pick and choose my favorites based on such key criteria (for an 8-year-old) as “cool helmets” (hello Oakland Raiders) and “unique court design” (Boston Celtics). In those prehistoric times, the only exposure to televised baseball was the NBC’s Saturday afternoon “Game of the Week” with broadcasters Curt Gowdy and Tony Kubek.
The Cincinnati Reds were on the Game of the Week quite often back then — it was the era of the Big Red Machine — and I fell head over hillbilly boots for Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench, Tony Perez, Davey Concepcion…
But my favorite player by far was Pete Rose. A gritty grinder, tough as nails. “Charlie Hustle.” I remember when he was Sports Illustrated’s Sportsman of the Year.
The accompanying article in SI mentioned how Pete was so obsessed with getting better at the game that he had a satellite dish installed at his house so he could study opposing pitchers. (With the gift of hindsight, we now know the satellite TV was just a way for him to track his bets.)
My friend Ned and I were at Riverfront Stadium in September of 1985 when Pete broke Ty Cobb’s record.
All hail the new Hit King!
Less than a year later, I got my first real job, working in the marketing department at Turfway Park, a thoroughbred racetrack in Northern Kentucky. Imagine my sheer elation when Pete Rose showed up in the press box where I worked. The 8-year-old inside me was doing cartwheels: “OhmygawditsPete! Pete! Right here! Be cool! Don’t say anything stupid…”
My joy lasted about as long as a six-furlong race. I realized Pete was a bit of an entitled jerk, and clearly hooked on gambling. My bosses allowed him and his cronies (muscle-headed butt kissers – and as we later found out, Pete’s errand boys for booking his bets) and their pneumatic girlfriends/spouses to hang out in the press box, with free food and beverages, because they were really good at increasing the track’s daily receipts. Finally, their loud, boorish behavior got to be too much for those of us trying to earn a living at the track the hard way, so management moved them to another smaller spot (“The Rose Room”) adjacent to the press box. (We could still hear them hooting and hollering, but it was muffled.)
A few years later, Pete was back on the cover of Sports Illustrated, but for a totally different reason:
I didn’t need the results of the official MLB investigation. There was NO doubt in my mind that Pete bet on baseball while he was the manager of the Reds.
“Never meet your heroes” is the old adage, and in this case it certainly was true. Pete was always unabashedly, and unapologetically, Pete, for better or for worse. And it was usually worse. If he could’ve just walked away from the seamy underbelly of sports, he might’ve earned a bit of forgiveness from both MLB and the general public. But that same hard-nosed persistence that made him such a tough out on the field worked against him off it. He set up camp at every casino and race track in the country, selling autographs so he could wager that money right back to his hosts.
Yes, as countless others have already mentioned, now MLB is in cahoots with the gambling that was once so verboten.
But rules are rules, and Pete broke them, and lied about breaking them… he only came “clean” when it helped him sell more books.
I DO think Pete belongs in the Hall of Fame for his feats on the field. This Substack post from Mark Whicker does a nice job profiling a warts-and-all version of Pete. Money quote:
The baseball Hall needs Rose the way the country music Hall needs George Jones or the chess Hall needs Bobby Fischer. It’s not the Hall of Well-Adjusted People. It should be the place where players of impact are recognized. There is no question that baseball was a brighter, richer place because Pete Rose was at its core, or that people who didn’t know a slider from a playground slide knew who Rose was, and that if we all loved what we did the same way Rose loved the game, our national GDP would be unmeasurable.
R.I.P. Charlie Hustle. I’ll always admire your baseball skills, but your off-the-field antics took the bloom off the Rose.
One year ago today, we lost our dear friend Ned. (The “we” in this case includes the countless people Ned befriended during his too-short time on earth.)
I’m reposting my tribute to Ned from last October below. And adding a few more thoughts:
Be kind to everyone you meet, from the cashier at the supermarket on up, like Ned was.
Be caring, like Ned was. Ask others how they are doing.
Be faithful, like Ned was. A devoted husband, a proud parent, and a true-blue friend.
Be open to adventure, like Ned was.
If we could all be a bit more like Ned, the world would be a much better place. And to those of us who were lucky enough to know Ned, our part of the world IS a better place than it was before he came into our lives.
Photographs and Memories (from oct. 2023)
Back in my college days, if we needed someone to get swung around like a helicopter blade during a party, Ned was there.
If we needed someone to dress up like an elf, Ned was there.
Getting handcuffed to a loft? Ned was there.
Beer bongs? Ned was there.
For all of our Spring break adventures, Ned was there.
If we needed someone to man the grill, Ned was there.
At all those parties — in the dorm rooms, in the quad, and at the bars — Ned was there.
Whenever you needed a friend, Ned was there.
After college, when some folks from our gang got married, Ned was there.
At all the memorable moments over the past 40 years , Ned was there. Always.
Then, this past Monday, out of the blue, Ned was no longer there.
Suddenly — You were gone From all the lives You left your mark upon
Ned had a stroke back in May of 2020 – it caused all sorts of health complications. But his departure still came as a shock. Now he’s in another “there” and we’re still here.
Tried to believe But you know it’s no good This is something That just can’t be understood
Every one of us has a special place in our heart for the guy who was good-natured, sweet, kind, caring, smart, attentive, funny… and always up for a good time. Ned is still there. He always will be.
[Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. The man’s been keeping me down. – Ed.]
We did it!
We raised $1,400 for cancer research and care in Greater Cincinnati.
Sure, I was the one pedaling 24 miles in the Ride Cincinnati fundraiser. But I had lots of help.
[Actually I was out of town when the official event took place, but I did my ride the next day, and rode 25 miles, since my supporters went the extra mile for me.]
I had help from every single person who donated.
And my friends Phil and Suzie joined me on the 25-mile ride, which made it a heck of a lot easier and more enjoyable.
My inspiration and motivation was my friend John (a.k.a. “LJ”) who had a cancerous brain tumor removed back in May. Phil and Suzie have known John and his wife Patty since back in our college days, when Suzie and Patty were kicking butt as part of Xavier’s volleyball team.
We’re all connected. Not just John and Patty and Phil and Suzie and me and my donors… everyone has been impacted by cancer. Personally, or within their family, or within their social circle.
Just spokes on a big wheel – with love as the hub.
Despite the loud protests from my aching knees (damn you, Pickleball addiction!), I’ll be biking 24 miles in the Ride Cincinnati event in mid-September.
Ride Cincinnati is a grassroots bike tour that raises money for life-saving cancer research and care. Since 2007, Ride Cincinnati has raised over $6.6 million for vital cancer research at the University of Cincinnati’s Barrett Cancer Center.
I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d make a donation to support my efforts.
As you can see, at present, I’m woefully short of my fundraising goal. (Let’s hope I ride better than I raise money…)
Your hard-earned cash will be going to a great cause.
The Ride Cincinnati organizers have encouraged riders to share their “why” – their motivation for participating in the event. I think I covered most of my “why” in yesterday’s post about my dear friend LJ, who currently is battling brain cancer.
LJ is getting great care. Thanks to my neighbors Whit and Barb, he and his wife Patty were even able to consult with Dr. Bill Barrett, the medical director of the Barrett Cancer Center, about their treatment plan, and he said they were doing all the right things.
But not everyone has those connections. And overall, our fair city could use some help in achieving a National Cancer Institute designation, which would unlock millions more in research funding.
Currently, the Greater Cincinnati area lacks a National Cancer Institute (NCI)-designated cancer center. This prestigious designation signifies a center of excellence, offering patients throughout the tri-state access to the latest research and treatment options. Without one, many residents are forced to travel far from home for critical care. Ride Cincinnati is on a mission to change that.
My “why” also includes my mother-in-law Gloria, who passed from cancer last year… and my own mother, who died of leukemia 56 years ago. We’ve made great progress in the past half-century, but more work lies ahead.
Your donation is tax-deductible. But more importantly, if you donate to support me in Ride Cincinnati, we all win something much more precious than money. We win more days, weeks, months…. even years… with the ones we love who are battling cancer.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for your support. I’m going to make you proud in the ride.
I love live music, but I’m not really a stadium tour kinda guy. I’ve really only been to two stadium concerts in my life – the first was in 1986 (I think) at Cleveland’s old Municipal Stadium to see The Who on the first of their gazillion “farewell” tours. The second was two nights ago – Foo Fighters at the Reds stadium. The opening acts were Mammoth – the band led by Wolfie Van Halen, son of Eddie and Valerie Bertinelli – and the Pretenders, a band I adore.
I wasn’t planning to attend – the ticket prices for those big shows are waaay too high to suit me. I’d rather spend $200 on eight $25 club shows. But my friend Paul had an extra ticket. And I’d always wanted to see the Foo Fighters live. How could I refuse?
Photo credit: Sam Greene, The Cincinnati Enquirer
I’m really glad I went. I see what all the Foo fuss is about. Dave Grohl is incredibly energetic and charismatic, his band mates are extremely talented, and they put on a heck of a show. Their song catalog is perfect for stadiums too – a lot of singalong anthems. I don’t know how Grohl is able to scream his way through two-and-a-half-hour shows on a regular basis. My vocal cords would be shredded into sawdust.
Photo credit: Sam Greene, The Cincinnati Enquirer
I have some high-fidelity noise-reducing earplugs (as a regular concert goer, I highly recommend them – here’s my brand) but didn’t bring them because I didn’t think I’d need them in an open-air stadium. I was wrong. It was LOUD.
The Foos hit the stage at 8 p.m. and wrapped up their main set at around 10:15, then came back for an encore. As my friend Paul said, “Now there’s a guy (Dave Grohl) who loves his job!”
Photo credit: Sam Greene, The Cincinnati Enquirer
It was really cool to see a show like that where 38,000 fans were singing along. But after the sun set, I found it hard to keep my eyes from straying from the band on stage to the giant TV screens to the left and right of the stage. It’s hard to not look… but then you’re essentially watching a show on TV vs. seeing a concert.
Net-net: I loved it and I’m really glad I got a chance to see them live. But I think I’ll go back to my club shows. Stadiums are cool, but I’m a “small ball” music dude at heart.
My buddy Rob does PR for the Hamilton Joes — “Ohio’s Premier College Summer Baseball Team.”
He likes to have a bit of fun with the press releases. His most recent one is a prime example:
It’s smart. “I’ll take ‘Talkin’ ’bout a Revolution’ for $200 please, Ken.” (BTW, today I learned that Button Gwinnett has the first signature in the upper left corner of the Declaration of Independence.)
The press release is funny. Especially the line about “crumpet-nibbling fancy-boys.”
And it gets your attention. Which is exactly the point. Rob could’ve played it straight and just mentioned the game and the fireworks. But adding a bit of flair and frivolity makes the release a heck of a lot more interesting.
It’s a kids’ game, for crying out loud.
Oh, that’s right, there’s no crying in baseball. But laughing is always allowed.
impossibly4332b32374 on Light. Laughter. Grace.: “I’ve got The Wet Engine on my shelf, and think I read about half of it. Time for another look.” Apr 21, 09:15
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