THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, August 7, 1995 TAG: 9508070141
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Bob Molinaro
LENGTH: Medium: 68 lines
Ten years ago, Pete Rose was closing in on Ty Cobb's record for most hits in a career. In the summer of 1985, there was no better story in sports than Rose's race to 4,192.
As I recall, people cared a lot about Rose's quest.
I would venture a guess that far fewer people care about his current quest - to reach the Hall of Fame.
Mike Schmidt's ham-handed attempt to elicit enthusiasm for Rose's Hall of Fame bid created a spasm of attention on a slow news day, but nothing more.
Rose is no closer to entering Cooperstown today than he was six years ago when he was banned from baseball.
Except for Schmidt (``I'm a guy who's a Pete Rose ambassador'') and a few other diehards, Rose's Hall of Fame status is not even an issue anymore.
Time moves on. The redemption of Rose is yesterday's news. Arguing over whether baseball has been fair to him does not make the game any more relevant to teenagers who embrace other sports. For them, Pete Rose might as well be Axl Rose's father.
Now, as before, debate over whether Rose belongs in the Hall of Fame or not is pointless. The Hall of Fame is a museum. Out in the real world of baseball, Rose serves a life sentence with little hope for parole.
What always set Rose apart from other great players, besides all those hits, was his love of baseball lore.
``I think most people will forgive me for breaking Cobb's record,'' he said 10 years ago. ``From the beginning, didn't they say I played like an old-timer? I guess I was an old-timer before my time.''
Part of Rose's charm was his willingness to link arms with the past. But whatever Rose's time was, it isn't now.
Not that there isn't still plenty of cachet in being Pete Rose. One way or another, he has managed to remain in the public eye. He has even de-evolved into a radio talk-show host.
As long as there is money to be made, Rose will be around, reminding us not of his successful run at Cobb, but of his bitter, confusing expulsion from the game.
A couple of days before Schmidt's induction into the Hall of Fame, Rose was in Cooperstown signing autographs for people willing to pay $25 for the privilege. One pictures him showing up in Cooperstown every year, cashing in on his reputation while hoping his presence will somehow persuade the powers that be to find him a pedestal in baseball's shrine.
But that's where Rose and Schmidt and others miss the point. They assume that everything will be all right again if Rose can only get into the Hall of Fame. It won't be.
Rose may yet reach the Hall of Fame, and baseball will have nothing to do with it. If the writers want to accept Rose's word that he never bet on baseball, that he never gambled on his own team, they are free to do so.
That won't, however, speak to the issue of Rose's integrity.
Former commissioner Fay Vincent is convinced Rose was lying about his gambling habits. Before Rose can hope to return to baseball, the game must first find a new commissioner who is not a stickler for full disclosure.
In the meantime, we endure suggestions by Schmidt and others that Rose's omission from the Hall of Fame is a tragedy.
Maybe it seemed so at first. But as the years go by, Rose and his quest have started to feel like something of a nuisance. ILLUSTRATION: Pete Rose
by CNB