For those of you who know, I have a fairly significant Cincinnati Reds memorabilia display in my home. My wife calls it a museum. I'll concede it's over the top, and admit that to others as they come to see it. But I'm a fan. I've been a Reds fan since I was a little boy, and the Cincinnati Reds hold a place near and dear to my heart for reasons that go far and beyond simple fandom. Perhaps someday I'll write something explaining that more, but for now, let's just say I'm a big fan.
The room, for me, scratches an itch that I miss about living in Indiana. I had family who lived in Cincinnati as I was growing up, and I spent a lot of time there in my younger days. I still have a cousin of whom I'm very fond who lives there. Being just a couple hours away from Cincy, it was a fairly easy car ride over, and as I grew older and had a family of my own, we would often visit my cousin there, take a quick 2 or 3 day vacation there, or just drive over on a given day and catch a game. Being able to just hop in the car and go to a game there is one of the few things I miss about living in Indiana.
So I brought my memorabilia with me to South Carolina and now have a room completely dedicated to the Cincinnati Reds, simply dubbed, "The Reds Room." In Indiana, my collection wasn't seen as such a big deal, but down here, oh boy, it elicits a wide range of responses from those who see it for the first time, even after I've warned them, "Whatever you have in your mind about what this looks like, I can assure you it's more than that." Most people either cuss, or cry out to Jesus upon seeing it. Some do both.
After the initial shock wears off, almost to a person, they tell me that even if they didn't grow up Reds fans, or even baseball fans, they always loved the Big Red Machine. And they'll mention the names: Johnny Bench, Tony Perez, Joe Morgan, and, of course, Pete Rose. And tell me how much they respected all those guys, even if the Reds weren't their team.
And then, almost without fail, I'll get this question: "What do you think about Pete Rose?"
As you know by now, Pete passed away yesterday. In my mind, especially after Joe Morgan passed a few years ago, I knew it was coming at some point. I mean, all our heroes eventually pass away, don't they? Pete was the eldest of the Big Red Machine guys. Truth is, the Big Red Machine literally began and ended with Pete Rose.
I have very strong opinions about the Pete Rose/MLB saga. Happy to share sometime if you want to hear them. But today? I'm just sad. Very sad.
Some deaths can best be described as just... bummers. Not devastating, per se, although every death could be described that way. Not even overly hurt. But rather, just sad. You're just bummed that somebody is gone. Names like Steve Irwin and Andy Griffith come to mind. Just guys you're just bummed they're not around anymore.
Pete was 83 years old. And if there's one thing you can say about him, he lived a full life. Nobody can say Pete got cheated out of life, in general. And so it's hard to be shocked or devastated anytime someone of advanced age passes when you know they've lived life to the fullest. But Pete was always just... around... even as MLB tried like the dickens for him not to be. And now, he won't be around anymore. That's just a bummer.
Of course, I say that as a fan. If you weren't from Cincinnati, or a Reds fan -- especially as fans of other teams -- you might really not like Pete Rose all that much. And his death may not be the bummer to you it is to me. But I would argue that his fanbase was more dedicated and devoted to Pete Rose than almost any other sports star. Names like Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, Ken Griffey, Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, Tom Brady, and even the likes of Johnny Bench all had massive, dedicated fans. But not like Rose.
Rose was a Cincinnati kid. Hard-nosed, lower class, street kid. Grew up in Cincy. Went to school in Cincy. And played his game harder and with more hustle than virtually anybody who ever played sports. Played it like you would expect a hard nosed street kid would play the game, and then some. None of those other guys grew up in the town in which they became famous. Rose fans weren't just his fans, they were his brothers and his neighbors and his teachers and his friends. He was, quite literally, one of a kind.
Many media outlets are categorizing him as "polarizing" as they announce his passing. I know what they mean, even if they don't, but I'm not sure I agree. Rose's troubles off the field were many, well-noted, and in many cases, really misunderstood. And I could likely write very little that hasn't already been written by others about all that, so I'll just save that discussion for another day. Today is just a day for sadness.
This much is true: for every one of us who ever watched Pete Rose dive headfirst into a base when we were growing up, we simply do not care about all that other nonsense.
As for me, yeah, I'm really bummed today. Rose was not my favorite player on the Reds. But even if he wasn't your "favorite," if you were a Reds fan, you still loved him, and respected him. I can share any number of stories about watching him growing up, but I'll share this one, and maybe -- just maybe -- it will give you a glimpse of what he meant to me as a fan.
In August of 1984, Rose returned to the Reds as player-manager after having played elsewhere for 5 seasons. As a young 8-year old when Rose left the Reds, I vaguely remember being very upset he was leaving, but it took a few more years of growing up to realize his impact on the Reds and the city so that when he returned, I was keenly aware as a now 14-year old the magnitude of the moment. And boy was I excited.
It just so happened I was visiting my aforementioned cousins in Cincinnati the day Rose returned to the Reds. It also happened that for some reason I cannot remember, as the game got underway, I was actually at their home alone. Being in Cincy, the game was on TV and I was watching along with a sold-out crowd at Riverfront Stadium and maybe millions on TV. In my uncle's downstairs living room, by myself, I watched as Rose was introduced for his first at-bat back home, and even at 14 years old, I was choked up.
Batting left handed, Rose leveled the bat, and laced one his patented line-drive singles into centerfield. I jumped up -- again, alone -- and shot my arms up in the air, as the crowd and the announcers went crazy. And then, the ball got past the centerfielder, and 42-year old Pete Rose was off to the races. I jumped up on the couch, and even though he probably didn't have to, Rose dove head first into 3rd base. Rose didn't "slide" head first, ever. He "dove" head first. As pandemonium was breaking out on TV, I was jumping up and down on my uncle's sofa, alone in his living room, screaming at the top of my lungs.
Nearly 20 years later in 2002, at the last event ever held at Riverfront Stadium -- a celebrity softball game featuring a whole host of former big leaguers, including most of the Big Red Machine -- I was in attendance with a sold-out crowd of over 55,000 other fans and watched a then 60-year-old Rose once again dive head first into 3rd base, and was part of what is still to this day the most thunderous ovation I've ever witnessed in person.
Quite simply, you either loved him or hated him, but Rose was one of a kind. And we've never seen the like since. A piece of my childhood is gone now. Other pieces will eventually follow and we'll watch, as we all do, those bits of our past slowly slip away. The debate over Pete Rose is not over, and will surely ramp up over the next few days and weeks. But we'll talk about that later.
Today, I'm just bummed. I'll hang out in my Reds Room a little more over the next few days but, man... what I wouldn't do to be able to jump up and down on my uncle's sofa and watch Rose dive into 3rd base just one more time.
