By Bob Gaydos

    In this all-Trump-all-the-time news cycle we live in, it sometimes takes something dramatic to pull us up short and make us notice the rest of the world.

    Like death.

    Pete Rose died a couple of days ago. He was 83. Every baseball fan, I’m pretty sure, paused and said, “Too bad.” Or words to that effect.

    Too bad. There’s a compelling story contained in those two words. What kind of story depends on the reader.

   — “Too bad my kids didn’t get to see him play. He was the epitome of hustle. (His nickname was Charlie Hustle). One hundred ten per cent. Always. An all-star at five positions. And more hits than anyone else who ever played the game. The Hit King.”

   — “Too bad he had a gambling problem and bet on games involving his own team, the Cincinnati Reds, when he was their manager. That’s against baseball rules. That’s a big one, in fact. Shouldn’t have done that.”

   — “Too bad Major League Baseball banned him from all its activities, including the Hall of Fame, because of the gambling.”

    — “Too bad baseball couldn’t forgive, if not forget, after four decades, and let Rose be eligible for the Hall of Fame.”

    — “Too bad Rose, could never find it in his heart to give a sincere apology and say, ‘I’m sorry I did it.’ Instead, when he first addressed the issue he said, ‘I’m sorry it happened.’ No responsibility there. No humility there. But that was Rose. A couple of years ago, he sent a letter to Major League Baseball Commissioner Rob Manfred, saying in part, ‘I am writing today for three reasons. At my age I want to be 100% sure that you understand how much I mean it when I say that I’m sorry. Second, to ask for your forgiveness. And third, because I still think every day about what it would mean to be considered for the Hall of Fame.’”

    — “Too bad a young Pete Rose never addressed the fact that he was addicted to gambling. He bet on horse races, football, basketball, whatever, with bookies. Illegal. And he lost, which is the usual gambling story. Eventually, to try to make up for his losses, he bet on the sport he knew best, even though he knew it was forbidden. Because that’s what addicts do. They act irrationally and make self-defeating decisions. It’s a family-destroying disease. When Rose eventually fessed up, he said, he was sorry ‘it happened.’ No kidding. But it didn’t happen. He did it. This is classic addictive denial. Rose’s ego, which served him well on the ballfield, was his enemy when it came to his addiction. He couldn’t admit, and own, his flaw.”

     — “Too bad Major League Baseball, like all other professional sports, has now embraced legalized gambling as another major source of revenue, promoting it while barely paying lip service to the problem of gambling addiction in general and allowing players to gamble on other sports while still barring them from gambling on their sport. Hypocrisy.”

     Pete Rose is dead. Sad story. But that doesn’t have to be the end of it. Manfred has an out. To paraphrase Mel Brooks, “It’s good to be the commissioner.” Manfred can recognize one of the greats of the game and deliver a worthwhile message at the same time. Have a little humility. Yes, Rose was banned permanently from baseball, but almost nothing is forever. His story, all of it, belongs in the baseball museum. The commissioner can issue some kind of special decree acknowledging Rose as the all-time hits leader in baseball along with his other accomplishments and also explain that Rose’s gambling addiction, which went untreated, resulted in his necessary ban. It’s history. It’s fact. Find a suitable place for a display in Cooperstown in the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum.

    Give Rose the ball player his due and deliver a much-needed lesson on addiction for society at the same time. That’s what museums are supposed to do.

rjgaydos@gmail.com