Lisa Simpson once inquired of her father, who had recently
started his own religion purely out of a desire to skip church
“What if God becomes angry?” Homer replied: “If I’m wrong, I can
always recant on my deathbed.” This seems to be the approach Pete
Rose chose in dealing with the gods of baseball.

With the clock ticking on his eligibility for the Hall of Fame
and age finally catching up to Charlie Hustle, he decided it was
time to start repenting.

However, Rose’s divisive plan backfired, leaving him no better
off than when he began.

So, last week, Rose finally put the nail in the coffin that
should officially seal the door to his potential return to baseball
and admission to the Hall of Fame forever.

In a nationally televised interview, which turned out to be more
or less a primer for his new book, Rose admitted to what many have
suspected for quite some time: He bet on baseball.

Not only that, he bet on his team, the Cincinnati Reds, while
still managing the club.

After so much pure deceit, for whatever the supposed truth may
now be worth, Rose claimed–as if it were to his credit–to have
never bet against his team.

Even if he is telling the truth, he still manages to deceive.
What Rose fails to recognize, or refuses to acknowledge, that as a
consequence of wagering on your team, any time you fail to place a
bet it is, in effect, a bet against them. This being the case, Rose
violated the cardinal sin of baseball, dating back to 1919.

Almost annually, Rose becomes a hot topic of discussion, gracing
countless pages of sporting news and facilitating the fluff of
journalism by adding twists and turns to his saga whenever
possible.

It took him that long to finally realize that the truth may be
worth more than the endless speculation. Rose was always a poor
gambler. Now, he managed to find a way to turn a profit.

But what cost does the truth carry with it?

As a longtime teammate of Rose, Joe Morgan, stated, “Writing a
book was the easy way out.”

Selling at its current rate, the worst thing that could happen
with Rose’s means toward an admission of guilt is to yield several
million dollars.

Not a bad way to say you’re sorry; but not the right way.

Never humble, Rose would often plant himself outside Cooperstown
during Hall of Fame induction weekend to sign autographs. Further
typical of Pete’s nature, the book release, conveniently timed
along with the same week of selections to the Hall, unfairly steals
the thunder that rightfully belongs to new inductees Paul Molitor
and Dennis Eckersley.

For a long time, I have supported Rose for his accomplishments.
I never fully believed he didn’t bet on baseball–in my mind, that
was a forgivable sin.

However, I also seemed to think that no manager was compulsively
stupid enough to bet on his own team.

Likewise, Rose’s admission proved tactless, ill-timed and
without remorse.

The title of the book is My Prison Without Bars. Mr. Rose, you
built the jail, now you complain that you can’t get out.

Does he not realize the damage of his actions, or is he too
pompous to admit their harm?

Those who vote on Hall of Famers, sportswriters and veterans,
are given criteria implicit of potential inductees. Included on
both lists of necessary credentials is “integrity” and
“sportsmanship”. Many argue that players like Ty Cobb, among
others, were racist or simply detestable individuals.

If they can be in, why not Rose? Maybe these individuals lacked
integrity as humans; yet, at the least, they had integrity toward
their profession, which can prove to be a rarity these days.

Being the small-potatoes sportswriter that I am, I have no vote
on the Hall of Fame; but if I did, I would never waste it someone
as crass or as unapologetic as Pete Rose.

Maybe, one day he will actually say sorry.

But by then, it won’t matter.