Rose Keeps Himself Out of Hall of Fame

Pete Rose is not the only American crook whose heyday was in the 1970s.

That other crook, former President Richard Milhous Nixon's moment in the sun was his fateful 1972 re-election bid. Nixon ran under a slogan of "Now More than Ever," which he rode on to a resounding defeat of Sen. George McGovern. Eventually, this high moment become an ironic footnote to the eventual uncovering of the Watergate Scandal in 1973 and 1974.

Now that the dust has settled from the most recent turn of events in the ongoing Pete Rose saga, his attempts to get into the Hall of Fame seem even less worthy than they did just two months ago.

Polling of fans by SportsNation asserts that only 54 percent of fans currently support his bid for the Hall, down from an 82 percent mark in July 2002.

How could this be? How could only 54 percent of fans want the all-time Hit Leader in Baseball in the Hall of Fame? How could this columnist, a former believer in Rose's bid, now agree with the "Keep Rose Out" camp?

Rose's latest salvo in his campaign wreaked more of a Karl Rove engineered move than a moment of true sincerity.

His book, "My Prison Without Bars" released the long overdue admission that Rose not only bet on baseball, but that he also bet on his team. Of course, Rose made his admission with caveats, as has been his pattern all along.

Never in this whole sordid affair has he said the words "I am sorry," nor has he told the story without making provisions.

The two buts to pay attention to this time around were that he never bet against the Reds while serving as their manager and that he never bet from the clubhouse.

Naturally, it seems odd to make the clubhouse defense so public. Why openly and brazenly defend a point that is so minor when looking at the overall story? The focus of attention on this remark only seems to highlight the probability that Rose is lying. After all, this is not a man whose word we can trust.

Furthermore, the notion that he did bet from within his own clubhouse as a manager, which was brought up in the Dowd Report, seems more than likely given the realities of the evidence in that document.

The other caveat, which is that Rose never bet directly against his team, is at first glance a relief.

One would hope a manager would never bet against his team, and such a move could be the line in the sand of keeping the ban.

Rose has admitted that he did bet on the Reds four or five times a week, as if that was proof of his loyalty to the team. But if the man bets on a team that often, what does that say about those times he does not bet? Is it not an indication of a lack of faith for the success of the team?

The timing of the pronouncement furthers the revolting manner in which Rose came forward.

Rose released the book the same day as the announcement of Paul Molitor and Dennis Eckersley's admittance into the Baseball Hall of Fame. These men were about to celebrate the greatest day in their lives, but were overshadowed by Rose. The juxtaposition seems even more sad knowing that they too have battled addictions: Molitor overcame a cocaine habit and Eckersley fought alcoholism.

The admission of these two reformed addicts, perhaps raises the most significant point in the Rose drama. How can people like Ty Cobb, a racist, or Babe Ruth, an alcoholic, or any other ignoble figure be allowed to be admitted to the Hall when Rose can't be? Should the prerequisite of a person being honorable and dignified, as the Hall of Fame ballot asserts, not apply to these people as well?

The fact is, the Hall of Fame is a baseball institution first. Despite their shortcomings, these men treated the game with respect. This is in no way the case for Rose, and in no way has he expressed regret.

Why tell us now, Pete? Why keep the admission a secret for so long?

The timing of Rose's admission now smacks of his attempt to beat the clock on his eligibility to be voted in by the Baseball Writers, not of his desire to confess his wrongdoings.

When Nixon resigned the presidency in August, 1974, he refused to say that he was involved in Watergate, he merely wanted the country to move on. Rose seems to be following the footsteps of "Tricky Dick." Of course, because Nixon resigned he was pardoned and did not have to face legal consequences for his actions. For Rose, the interests at hand seem to be his bid to the Hall and his pocketbook. The sanctity of baseball, like Nixon's America, is not the first priority.

The Hall of Fame used to seem naked without Rose's presence. But, in the words of Nixon, "now more than ever," the Hall seems better off without Rose.