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Pete Rose was held accountable. Now it's time to forgive


Some think that Pete Rose did not understand the gravity of his crime, gambling and cover-up. You are wrong

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I met Pete Rose in early 2006 through a friend I was sitting next to on a flight from Detroit to Los Angeles. His friend found out I was a civil rights attorney from Cincinnati and asked me if I knew Pete. I replied, “Not personally, but everyone in Cincinnati knew and loved him.” He asked if I could help Pete legally with Major League Baseball, and I said I would do everything I could. Shortly thereafter, I met Pete and represented him before two MLB commissioners, Bud Selig and Rob Manfred. We were an odd couple – a vegetarian, civil rights attorney from Los Angeles who had never been to Las Vegas, and, well, Pete Rose.

We were close friends for nearly two decades until his death last week. I understood what Pete's relationship – in its purest form – meant to baseball fans around the world because I grew up as one. My brother and I didn't grow up with much, but enjoyed every opportunity to see Pete play. Through my friendship with Pete, I discovered that for all his remarkable achievements on the field as a player from 1963 to 1986 and as a manager from 1984 to 1989, he genuinely believed that this was not his greatest contribution to the game. And he was right. Pete lived and loved baseball and as a direct result, he played the game the way it was meant to be played. To see baseball through Pete's eyes was to feel the beauty and passion of fighting head and heart to the bottom for individual and team glory.

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Pete touched us because he connected with every fan of every generation. Pete understood and enjoyed this relationship. He once told me that his favorite park to play at was Crosley Field because he got in close proximity to the fans while walking to or from a game. Even as he grew old and signed autographs at a mall store in Las Vegas – perhaps an unfortunate symbolic decision, but one that was greatly misunderstood – he truly valued talking to fans, especially children, who might only be interested in theirs parents had heard of him.

When I started representing Pete, I told him to stop doing shows in Las Vegas – the pictures of Pete Rose in a remote casino would hurt his reinstatement bid. But when I was there I saw the spark between Pete and his fans. and I stopped asking. I realized it was more meaningful to Pete and his fans than a narrative.

I told Commissioner Manfred that I felt privileged to represent Pete pro bono because it was retribution for the way he had been the link between my father and me and made the city of Cincinnati thrive. He brought us together as one. He gave us joy, excitement and closeness. Whether intentional or not, I love that you enter Great American Ball Park via Pete Rose Way. It was and always will be like this Pete Rose's Art that we see the game at its best.

The commissioner – and those before him – refused to lift Pete's decades-long ban from any participation or the fabricated rule that applied only to him and Joe Jackson that he was ineligible for the Hall of Fame. This really hurt Pete, every day of his life. Commissioner Selig sent his two highest-ranking officers to speak with Pete, and when he broke down and thought about how much he had disgraced himself and, he believed, his father, they told him that they were recommending reinstatement would. Selig rejected him without explanation some time later. To his credit, Manfred said he turned Pete down but made it clear he could still be considered for the Hall of Fame. But that was an empty gesture. When we spoke to the head of the Hall of Fame, he told us the door was closed. Pete couldn't even show up for an interview.

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The test Pete had to pass was that he had not “reconfigured his life.” That was the condition that Commissioner Bart Giamatti had insisted on in order for Pete to get back into the game. I could see that if reconfiguration meant understanding the seriousness of what he had done and persevering, that was exactly what Pete had done. This was not an easy task. Pete enriched the lives of the people he met through his genuine interest in their lives, pausing to listen to their stories about baseball and being inspired by his exploits. It was amazing how many lives he had been a special part of. At the same time, I wondered who should be the judge of our path in life as long as we didn't hurt anyone.

Of course, the Hall of Fame is not the place where anyone wants to learn about perfect men. This includes or will include impostors who have broken rules about what they can put in their bodies or how they might steal other teams' secrets, perpetrators of domestic violence and, most importantly, vicious racists. What rational entitlement allowed these men to get away and not Pete? If the Hall of Fame is determined by loyalty to the sanctity of the game – and it is not – Pete was hardly at the top of the list of those who brought shame to baseball.

When I spoke with Pete about the presentations we would make to the commissioners, I mentioned the possibility that big stars of the game who had been his teammates or opponents would come forward to express their public support for him. The names of those who spoke out, many of them volunteering, included legends of the game as well as ordinary players and team staff. Pete wouldn't have any of it. He told me that he was responsible for his mistakes and that he did not want to tarnish others with the chaos he caused or harm the game by causing division.

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Some think that Pete didn't understand the gravity of what he did, the gambling and the cover-up. You are wrong. He suffered more from this awareness than from his exclusion from the Hall of Fame. I saw and felt that from the first day I met him. That's what happened to everyone who knew him.

Everyone defines for themselves what it means to lead a meaningful life. Everyone makes mistakes or breaks rules. This is not the ultimate test that we subject ourselves and others to. Pete Rose made a serious mistake and broke a serious rule, but here's what I know about him: He made a lot of people happy. He has enriched our relationships. He worshiped at the altar of baseball and therefore played and brought joy to the game of baseball because he held nothing back.

More than anything, the Hall of Fame honors those who changed baseball. And so it's appropriate to ask: What would baseball be today if it hadn't been for Pete Rose?

I know that my life and the lives of my children, my father and Cincinnati were better for having him as part of us. We owe him something. Pete will never see his plaque in Cooperstown. But his family, friends and fans should now see what he didn't see. So should future generations, who will benefit from learning his story beneath their chests. He would want that, I know.

Baseball, Pete believed, was a microcosm of life. It can teach us the qualities of giving our all to our passions. Play every day like there is no tomorrow. Working every day to put a smile on the fans' faces. These are clichés for a reason – they’re true. And like in life, mistakes are inevitable in baseball. And so it teaches us that we have to take responsibility when we make a mistake, and that when a teammate makes a mistake, we have to back them up: We forgive.

Pete was held responsible. He carried out a punishment that was never given with that intention in mind. It's not too late for baseball to show the importance of grace and forgiveness. I hope that Pete will be the catalyst for this important lesson.

Mark Rosenbaum is a Cincinnati native and civil rights attorney who represented Pete before Major League Baseball for nearly two decades.

By Vanessa

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